Thursday, November 3 Pushkar Camel Fair

We got into Jodhpur Station in the early morning, and Nikhil had to speak Hindi to negotiate the fare, which was massively overpriced at 600 Rs for 2 hours. Oh well. It’s nice to be traveling in a group because, for once, I don’t have to find out everything myself. Actually I’m taking the opposite approach and instead not doing any planning. The drive was boring and we listened to some random Arab mix, which featured some hit song called, “Excuse me, to please”. We got into Pushkar around 10 am, and had a cab pick us up. And by cab, I mean a guy with a cart for our luggage that he takes to the hotel while we walk. Pushkar is a holy Hindu city on a calm lake at the edge of the desert. There are over 400 temples, and it is said to be the site where Brahma (the creator) dropped a lotus flower, and it is now home to one of the few Brahma temples in India. Because it’s a holy town, public displays of affection, non-veg, and alcohol are not allowed. This month is Karthik Purnima, the auspicious time for Hindus to bathe in Pushkar Lake. This is actually the main reason for the Pushkar Fair (Pushkar Mela), and now has become synonymous with the camel festival, which coincides with this date. What this means is that it’s a crazy time to be in Pushkar. The morning was gearing up for a lot of excitement. The fair started yesterday, and goes for two more days. The Pushkar Mela is the largest and most famous festival in Rajasthan, and is a massive congregation of camels, horses, cows, livestock traders, Hindu pilgrims, and tourists. Huge open spaces were converted into campgrounds, with luxury tents for foreigners. We walked through the entire town to our hotel. It was hard to walk through the bazaar in the huge crowds. We reached the hotel, and they lied to us because they wrote down our reservation a month ago saying it would cost $3 for a room, but now they tried to charge $15. So we left, and as we were going, the lady was grabbing hold of Snehal. Luke basically pushed her away, and she started cursing us and our trip, so Nikhil for some reason paid her 500 Rs. We walked to the Hotel Om down the street, and checked in and had an unimpressive buffet. Then we walked through Pushkar to see the goings-on. The bazaar was lined with temples, stairs to ghats on the lake. Lepers and elderly scantily-clad sadhu men with dreadlocks and walking sticks begged. Street vendors sold marigolds, dried bhang, jewelry, keychains, and prasad. The actual shops catered more to tourists, selling sweets, swords, fabrics and readymade Indian garments, CDs, postcards, and handicrafts. Spiritual Hindu music, chanting, voices in numerous languages, and the smell of incense, fried foods, sweat, urine, and shit filled the air. It was the most eclectic mix of people I have seen in India. Not surprisingly, there were a lot of foreign tourists, all speaking French or England English, with their dreadlocks, Neoprene pants, bucket hats, backpacks in the front, and huge SLR cameras. The rich Indians also had a presence, speaking English, wearing bug-eyed sunglasses, and talking on their mobiles. Rajasthani villagers in bright turbans, white kurta, colorful saris, and gaudy jewelry were also everywhere, many of them livestock traders, local residents, or tourists. And Hindu pilgrims milled around the ghats, many of them with faces painted, and saffron robe-clad Sadhus with dreadlocks and walking sticks. They have come to bathe in the sacred lake to wash away their sins. It was fun looking around at the shops and just people-watching. After the main street bazaar (which, like Mervyn’s, probably generates 50% of its yearly revenue this weekend), we got to the fair part of the town. On a big plot of dirt stood dozens of carnival rides from little spinning airplane rides to ferris wheels. It was loud with music and people yelling on microphones. We saw a magic show, and I was stunned and still don’t understand how they jab 20 swords into a box with a woman inside, pull a rabbit out of a hat, and how the water jug keeps refilling on its own. There was a sports arena with events like a dog show, but with well-groomed camels. There was also a game called kabaddi, essentially a homoerotic game of tag where a bunch of men in tighty-whiteys wrestle in a sandpit. We walked around and finally saw the main livestock trading grounds, an enormous collection of all kinds of Rajasthani livestock including cows, horses, and of course, camels. Since our pelvis’s killed from the camel safari, we decided not to ride camels when accosted by about 20 hawkers. Instead, we took a leisurely ride on a camel cart through the livestock grounds. We saw a milking competition, which was actually kind of sad, considering the cows had udders hanging down to the ground, about to explode. It hurt watching it. They ultimately filled 5 buckets of milk. Then we walked around, and saw a group of people around two horses fighting. But looking more closely, we realized the horses were tied up and people were trying to get them to mate, which they eventually did, but after a lot of kicking. Actually, most of the camel-trading took place last week, so today is only the day to show off. And show off they did, as Yoda would say. The camels were painted, had their fur shaved into designs (like with an Afro), and were adorned with gold jewelry, colorful necklaces, mirrors, and pom-poms. They were all on display, along with their caretakers and owners, rural Rajasthani men smoking bidis in their huge turbans, moustaches, and earrings. I had contemplated buying one and riding it to Delhi, but then they said for one camel the cost is $200. This is because they are extremely hard-working and strong, have great endurance and require little water or food, can traverse the harsh desert, and their gestation period is so long that they hardly ever reproduce. We watched the sunset behind the scraggy desert hills, and some guy came up to us and told us that he shouldn’t even try to sell us anything because we’re Indian-Americans, so we’re cheap. Indians, I feel, are very generous and not cheap; they give money to beggars when rich foreigners do not, and they offer hospitality and food to anyone. He also said he could speak any language, and we tested him in Spanish and then we gave him a hard one, Sanskrit, which he even spoke. Some tourist spent 30 minutes positioning this musician’s hand for a photograph, it was embarrassing. We went back to the hotel and ate dinner at one of the 30,000 rooftop restaurants. I got sick afterwards, I figure from the bhang lassi yesterday.