Dog Days and Desert Nights

If India is another world from what we know, life in Rajasthan's Thar Desert is the equivalent to what NASA is now speculating could be living under the surface of Mars. Last week, Radka and I explored about 100 kilometeres of this vast, arid landscape near the Pakistan border on board our camel's Raju and Johnny Walker. The novelty and romance of a camel safari lured us out there but it was the unique insight into this isolated culture that was most intruiging. After the fist few day or so of treking through a surreal desolation of sand and scrub, our guide, Malu, began to open to us as we chatted around the fire in the evenings. Eight years as a desert guide had afforded him the opportunity to become conversant in English although, as he told us, he had never writen his own name. Schooling is secondary to survival in this harsh environment where the monsone has failed to come three years and counting. The desert was all he new, he said. "I know every part of this desert...where to find shade...water...I know the the people. But I never been past the city." Which city, we wondered...Deli perhaps? "No, no, no. Jaisalmer," he replied. Now... by what you and I know to be a city, refering to Jaisalmer as such is somewhat akin to reffering to a tranny as a real woman: they may share some similar features but it's a far cry from the real deal. Radka and I sat there with the realisation that we've been fortunate enough to see more of these peoples own country than they could ever hope to see. "Have you ever thought of taking a train down south somewhere," I offered naievly, knowing even the poorest of the poor travel by train occasionaly. "Too dangerous," he replied. "Many problems for me. I no read bus signs. Don't no where to go. Maybe people make problems for me." Well, you speak the language. You can just ask to find out your way around. "No Hindi. Only Desert Language," he offered. "Any way...people find out where from..and my caste and make fight with me." It was becoming clear that Malu and the other desert tribals where a prisoner to their desert (and lack of education) but were, at the same time, content in this contaiment. The simple life suited him and what he grasped of the outside world from traveler's tales didn't seem to appeal to him much. Television has not yet infiltrated and dictated their reality and their world view is almost nonexistent. "What country?," I was asked by a Muslim sheep hearder we encountered. "The United States," I answered apprehensivly, the way I've come to do when asked this question by a man of Islam. "Hmmmm.....The U-ni-ted States. Are there many Muslims there?," he enquired curriously, oblivious to our current administrations foreign policy concerning his people. "Well....yes, actually there are," I replied, a bit taken aback. He just smilled, nodded and carried on.
Radka used the opportunity presented by our campfire conversations with Malu to make further enquires into the plight of women in India as well as on the subject of arranged marriage. Malu, at 23, was of course married and spoke honestly on the difficulties of the arranged marriage. He spoke of his wife crying for weeks after leaving her family to become part of his and the fact that she still speakes only to him and not the rest of his family. "It will take time, " he said, " before can know each other." (The men of this region seem to understand camels far better than females) This admission was in contrast to the usual cheerful portrayal of Indian matrimony we've heard before. Malu was married at the age of 21 but child marriage is still common among the desert people. An infant daughter is paired with a similar age son from the village amidst great ceremony. Even in Jaisalmer, an upper caste shopkeeper we befriended mentioned in passing of how his father, at 33, married his mother when she was nine. Of course, all of this is nothing compared to a newspaper report we read yesterday. It seems four small children were wed to four puppies (of the opposite sex, of course) in a small Gujarati village in an effort to fend off an evil omen. The omen in question?... the childrens first teeth had emerged from there upper jaw as opposed to the lower...very inauspicious they claimed. Very bizarre, we thought. The journalist couldn't help himself. His opening line? "Every dog has his day."
India has continued to open our eyes wide with amazement, even as our four months here draw to a close. To call it a learning experience would be like calling a trip to the moon a unique opportunity. It hardly suffices. All though we are both eager to see what awaits us next in South East Asia, it is with a bit of sadness we bid farewell to the sub continent and it's myriad of languages, colors, tastes and, of course, smells. We've packed our bags after our final week spent in Udaipur (best known in the West as the setting for James Bond's Octopussy) and depart by train this evening bound for Bombay. By this time two days from now we'll be in a plane enroute to Don Muang Airport, Bangkok. Namaste, India and danyavad for the memories.