Chandigarh

Our journey began at the Inter-State Bus Terminal at Kashmere Gate in Delhi.  Our bus was due to leave at 5:40, and we knew that we were cutting it close time-wise. Emerging from the metro at 5:30, we made our way towards where we thought we needed to be, arriving in the bus terminal and asking around to try to find the right bus.  We were directed from one bay to another, ultimately realizing that our bus had already begun to exit the terminal.  Out of the corner of my eye, I recognized the company name on the side of a bus located feet from the exit gate. Hannah and I ran towards it, shouting, and some guys knocked on the door of the bus as it was moving to stop and let us on.  We climbed aboard, gasping for breath, and sat where there were seats, in the back, in front of a man pouring whiskey into his coke bottle.  So relieved to have caught the bus, we should have known that this was the start of a crazy few days.

From the bus station we found an auto to take us to the hotel where we had a reservation and woke up the next morning excited about celebrating Independence Day in Chandigarh.  An unusual city for India, Chandigarh is a planned city that was built in the 1950's and designed by French architect Le Corbusier. The city was built to be the capital of the state of Punjab, after the original capital, Lahore, became part of Pakistan as part of Partition.  It's pretty spread out as a city, making it hard to walk all over, but fortunately there were lots of autos.  Unfortunately, the small number of tourists in the city made it super hard to get a fair price from the auto wallas, who consistently overcharged us.

Paranthariffic breakfast

Our day began with paranthas: flat, fried bread made from potatoes.  A traditional breakfast item, these paranthas were spicy, greasy and delicious, paired nicely with plain curd (like yogurt) and chai. The restaurant was a typical Punjabi dhaba, or local place with Punjabi food, and was full of people, many of whom stared at us the entire time we ate.  After stopping at a bag walla to buy straps for the top of my backpack so Hannah could use it as a day pack, we got in an auto headed toward the Nek Chand Fantasy Rock Garden. 

The auto walla, however, had plans of his own, and dropped us off at the manmade Sukhna Lake, created as part of Le Corbusier's vision of the city.  We walked around the lake for a while and then walked along the side of the road for about 20 minutes to reach the garden. Nek Chand was a Punjabi road inspector who moved to Chandigarh during Partition, as his home of Gardaspur ended up in Pakistan when the borders were drawn.  The story goes that he was struck by the amount of waste generated as  people left their homes and moved across the borders of the new nations during Partition.   With no formal training as an artist, he began collecting the debris and junk left behind and creating massive sculptures on several acres of government land.  When the city eventually discovered his project, its demolition was imminent, until Chand got public opinion on his side and the site was designated a public park, allotting him a salary and employees.  Being that we were visiting on Independence Day, everyone had the day off and the park was crowded with people--families, couples, girl scouts and teenagers.  I took a ton of pictures, which can be seen in the album which you can see via the posted link. 

Swings! Notice the texture of the columns made by
 filling sacks with concrete.

Chand used very innovated techniques to create unusual effects, such as filling sacks with concrete to create walls that have the texture of lumpy pillows, and using recycled glass to color the saris of his sculpted women.  My favorite part of the park was an area with huge arches,  above which stood large horses covered in white tile, and between which where huge swings, obviously made for adults.  Nearly every swing was occupied, sometimes by several people at once, and you could hear the laughter and cries of delight echoing across the courtyard. 

After the rock garden we headed into the main downtown shopping area, had a quick lunch of rolls on the street, and spent an hour in an air-conditioned cafe just resting.  We decided to head towards the museums, located in a cluster not far from the city center.  We got in an auto and agreed to pay 40 rupees.  As we approached the museums, we saw that they were closed for Independence Day, and decided to head to the bougainvillea garden, one of several gardens incorporated into Le Corbusier's master plan of the modern city.  When we got out of the auto, the auto walla demanded 80 rupees, double what we had agreed upon!  Granted, he did take us farther and I was going to give him about 20 extra, but double?! This was outrageous.  He was so insistent and refused to take any money if it wasn't what he felt he deserved.  After arguing with him for like 15 minutes, Hannah said he looked like he was about to cry and we gave him 70. Keep in mind that this has never happened to me in India, where a driver demands more than we initially agreed upon; the  unwritten code with auto wallas, at least in Delhi, is very clear in that what you agree on initially is what goes, and if you change your mind about the destination, the driver says something then and there about more money.  We walked around the garden for a while--it was very lovely despite the fact that not much was blooming.  Throughout our time in Chandigarh, we were impressed by how clean and well-kept the city was, and the garden was no exception. It was fairly empty, with a few couples here and there, and we just enjoyed the silence and peace.  At one point, a girl came up to Hannah to beg.  Hannah declined, in Hindi, and the little girl muttered "danda kha!" (eat dick!) as she walked away. Not even ten minutes later, as Hannah and I sat on a bench, she approached us again, this time asking me.  Hannah reminded her of the rude parting words she had shared just moments ago, and the girl claimed she had no idea what Hannah was talking about.  "Those are very bad words!" she said in Hindi.  We spoke with her for a while and eventually went on our way.

When we left the garden we decided to visit a temple called Mansa Devi,  a little outside of the city in a town called Panchkula.  It wasn't in the guide book, but everyone Hannah had spoken to at her school had recommended she see it, so away in the auto we went.  Twenty minutes later, we emerged in a small market with stalls selling all kinds of accoutrements used for prayer.  An important element in visiting Hindu temples is prashad, basically an offering of food--usually puffed rice or nuts--which you have blessed by the temple holy man, give a little bit to the god, and eat the rest yourself.  People often will bring a whole bunch of prashad that they have blessed and then take home to put on their own altars and to savor throughout the week or share with friends, family and coworkers. Stalls also sold the powdered vermilion, placed in the part of women's hair to show that they are married, or mixed with water and dabbed on the forehead. There were framed pictures of all different gods, incense holders, marigolds, and a variety of sizes of red fabric covered in gold tinsel, used on altars and to leave in the temple.  We took off our shoes and climbed the marble steps, where we waited on line, the only non-Indians, to ring the bell and enter the temple.  Bells are located at the entrance to each temple, as a way to "wake up" the gods and alert them of your presence.  When we got to the front, where the idols were, we rang a second set of bells and the monk asked if we had prashad.  I said no and he handed me tiny manila envelopes filled with sugar and cardamom, as well as a large piece of the red fabric with gold tinsel. When I asked what I should do with it, the man behind me said I should keep it in my house, that it's a nice thing to have.  

We walked up to another temple just up the hill, nicer than the first, and made even more lovely by the setting sun.  We saw the temple and then sat on the warm marble of the courtyard for a while, just taking in the sights, watching young boys race each other up and down, and entertaining the few families that asked us to hold their babies while they took our picture. I really have no idea why people want this, a picture of random foreign strangers holding their babies, but who am I to know?  There was an enormous tree with hundreds of the red-with-tinsel squares tied on its limbs, giving it the appearance of strange organic fringes on the bottom of the foliage.  As we made our way back down we were swarmed with very young girls, between the ages of five and eleven, begging and tugging at our clothing to give them money.  Upon approaching the security guard at the first temple as we descended, he took off running after them, shaking his giant bamboo stick and eventually throwing it at them as he chased.  We also witnessed amateur, makeshift tattoo artists, inking boys that looked about 13 with electric needles that looked homemade.  

Hepatitis, anyone?

We took the bus back to Chandigarh, and enjoyed a meal at the Indian Coffee House, a co-op run by its workers, packed with locals and waiters dressed in traditional white uniforms.  

Inside the Indian Coffee House

After dinner, we strolled around downtown, enjoying being part of the crowd of people celebrating Independence Day and just enjoying the mild evening weather. Weary and worn, we found an auto to take us back to the hotel in Sector 42. (The areas of the city are called "sectors," making me feel like I was in Star Trek).  We agreed to pay 70 rupees, a price we knew was high for the distance we were going, but not caring to continue arguing.  As we neared the hotel, the auto walla turned around and stated that he had only agreed to take us to the market in Sector 42, and that if we wanted him to take us to our hotel it would take us another 40 rupees. Shocked, we told him that would not be happening, and insisted he drive us to the hotel, another 100 feet beyond where he claimed we had asked to go for 70 rupees.  When we got to the hotel, I gave him 70 and he started yelling and ranting that we had cheated him, that we owed him more money, blahblahblahblahblah.  Like the other guy, he refused to take our money if it wasn't the amount he wanted, so we gave it to the hotel workers that came out when they heard him yelling and just went upstairs, where we leaned over the balcony to listen to the commotion.  The guys from the hotel agreed that even 70 was overpaying, and he eventually drove off in a huff. Oh, well.

We awoke early the next morning to take the bus to Kalka, in which we would board a toy train to Shimla, a hill station in the eastern part of the state of Himachal Pradesh, in the Himalayas.  Upon arriving at the bus station, I ran in to the dhaba cum convenience store to get something for breakfast, while Hannah made sure the bus didn't leave without me.  I walked into the store and realized that I was limited to three food options: potato chips, samosas and cake.  

Hannah eats her breakfast of champions

As I walked back to the bus, Hannah took one look at what was in my hands and went: "Is that...cake??" Indeed, I chose cake as the lesser of three evils at 9AM, and boy, was it delicious.  Little did we know that it would be the only food we would eat until 3PM that afternoon!  When we got to Kalka, we were promptly informed that the train to Shimla was not running, and onto another bus we went, winding through the Himalayas and holding on for dear life as we we jerked and jostled up the mountain at what felt like a ridiculously fast speed, (considering we were barely hovering over the edge of a cliff). 

For the epic conclusion to our journey, tune in to the next post! (read: I am too lazy to finish writing right now and want you to not have to wait so long to read this and also don't want to make you read something 4728647286 pages long). If you really canNOT wait, I would encourage you to read Hannah's blog, because a) she is awesome, as is her blog, and b) we were on the same trip! 

Sending much love from Mother India,

xoxox