Agra is a stinking cesspit of a city that no human being should ever have to endure… and none ever would, if it hadn’t had the undeserved luck of containing the Taj Mahal.
It does have some other nice monuments too, which is why people say Agra’s beautiful, but if a dog ate a few gemstones and did a poo, you wouldn’t call the poo beautiful.
A pig eating from a pile of unutterable filth in an open sewer, at a food market in Fatehpur Sikri, Agra
It’s impossible to write about my visits to the cities of Jhansi and Gwalior without first explaining the historical reasons why I would be interested in them. The first part of what follows is therefore a brief-ish and opinionated summary of what Wikipedia, that bastion of neutrality, calls the “Indian Rebellion of 1857“, but is traditionally known in British historiography as the Indian Mutiny. Feel free to skip it if you just want to read about me wandering around some forts.
Rani Lakshmibai of Jhansi, one of the leaders of the 1857 Indian Mutiny
I’d never heard of Orchha before I arrived in India, but people kept raving about it, and it was described as a “must see”. Since it fitted nicely into the route from Khajuraho to Jhansi and Gwalior, I decided to stop off and see what all the fuss was about.
Selfie from Jahangir Mahal, showing Raj Mahal in the background and Chaturbhuj Temple in the far distance, Orchha
Anyone who’s been following this blog recently could be forgiven for thinking that I’ve become obsessed with sexy statuary. I’ve certainly been talking about it a lot. Each time I’ve mentioned it, it’s been in the context of making a point about religious hypocrisy, or a joke, but taken as a whole, it does look a little repetitive. But I’m only writing about what I’m seeing. The temples of India, and especially the major sights of Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh, are really quite pornographic. And we haven’t even got to the best stuff yet. Ellora and Ajanta were just foreplay; Khajuraho is the money shot.
Detail, Lakshmana Temple, Khajuraho
I had a sudden epiphany last night and realised the best way to explain India to 30-something computer-gaming geeks.
You know that massive empire you acquired by military conquest in Civilization 3? And then converted to democracy, thinking it’d become an economic powerhouse? But you couldn’t achieve anything useful because every city was mired in 90% corruption? And the only reason you weren’t facing all-out revolt was because you had temples everywhere, keeping the populace distracted enough to stay quiet?
That’s what India’s like in real life.
The second day trip from Bhopal, and my last Indian cave experience (on this trip at least) was to the rock shelters at Bhimbetka.
Yet another World Heritage Site (I’m racking them up), Bhimbetka is a group of… well, not caves precisely, more like big rocks with overhanging bits. And painted on the sheltered undersides is one of the most impressive and important collections of prehistoric art in the world.
Giant hairy crab menacing antelope, cave art at Bhimbetka rock shelters
It sounds like pessimistic conclusion. It is. But it’s born of bitter experience. Every day I spend in India teaches me afresh how difficult – and often impossible – it is to achieve change here.
It’s not because of a lack of desire for change. Perversely, it’s because everyone wants it, that it’s so hard to get. Because no-one’s willing to reach into their pockets and hand it over.
Oh yeah, sorry, I’m not talking about enacting major social and political change. Forget that! I’m just talking about trying to squeeze a few 100 rupee notes out of a goddam shopkeeper.
I’ve left Maharashtra. I’m (almost) done with caves. But I haven’t quite finished with Buddhism yet.
Sanchi is a small village in Madhya Pradesh, near (ie, in Indian terms, a two hour bus journey from) Bhopal. On a small hill just above the village are the Great Stupa and other monuments, a World Heritage Site and one of the oldest and most important Buddhist artefacts in the world. Or, as an entirely serious, but questionably translated, information plaque put it, the “numero uno among a string of Buddhist sites”.
The Great Stupa at Sanchi, Madhya Pradesh
“I love the smell of methyl isocyanate in the morning. It smells like… massive industrial negligence and corporate murder covered up by successive corrupt governments.” – Colonel Kilgore, Apocalypse Now (modified, Tom Bell)
From Aurangabad, my next destination was Bhopal, state capital of Madhya Pradesh and scene of the 1984 Union Carbide disaster, in which a leak at a chemical plant exposed over half a million people to toxic gas, killing at least 3000 instantly and subjecting countless others to health problems which continue to the present day. I didn’t go there for industrial accident tourism, though I did consider visiting the Sambhavna Trust to find out more about the disaster and its lasting effects (unfortunately, due to the events below, I didn’t have time). I mainly wanted to use it as a base to visit Sanchi and Bhimbetka, both within day trip distance.
I have two stalkers. They probably think I’m stalking them. I’ve bumped into them four times now in various locations around India.
I guess this sort of thing happens quite a bit when you’re travelling, as other travellers, even though they’re on their own itineraries, will be visiting the same places too.