Delhi, Ajmer, and Pushkar

“No people whose word for ‘yesterday’ is the same as their word for ‘tomorrow’ can be said to have a firm grip on time.” –Salman Rushdie in Midnight’s Children

That’s my attempt to use humor to shift the blame and divert attention from the fact that I haven’t posted in a month. It’s cultural! In reality it’s my fault of course; a mix between genuine busyness and that feeling that when you let something go for a while, it’s too much to finally take on, so you continue to put it off.  A lot has happened; in fact, my time in India has almost doubled since my last post, and I’m one third of the way through my internship (yikes).

Getting past the seven week mark was like getting over “the hump” for me (that’s pun-based foreshadowing, a literary device that I just invented; edit that Mr. Gold-Medal-Creative-Writing-Prize-Winner). Week seven was marked by nine days away from Udaipur, FSD’s midterm retreat, and my first bout of unserious-yet-incapacitating food poisoning. But I must say that the tainted chutney wasn’t the only thing about Delhi that left a bad taste in my mouth – the unbreathable air, immense distances between sights, and impassable gridlock all take away from the charm of this historic metropolis. Don’t get me wrong, there were some redeeming experiences: the Qtab Minar, a beautiful archeological site built up by a number of Delhi’s Muslim rulers; “Piccadelhi” Restaurant, a Tube-themed eatery with moderately-priced pitchers; and India Gate, which is quite…well, tall.  One consistent positive in Delhi was the incredible hospitality of Amitabh, his wife, and their two adorable kids. It’s no fun being bed-and-bathroom stricken, but it’s much more comfortable when you’re in the home of such welcoming and accommodating hosts.

Of course though, I enjoyed the actual reason for my visit to Delhi: The Microfinance India Summit, perhaps the premier venue for the microfinance sector in the country.  This three-day conference at the (quite incredible) Taj Palace Hotel was a great chance to hear academics, practitioners, and policy-makers discuss a wide range of topics related to the development field, and to network a little with people from organizations around the world. And did you know that the Netherlands has a Princess? Of course you did; well I got to see Princess Maxima speak in person. Then, early Thursday morning, I bid a bittersweet farewell to India’s national capital territory and rode the rails to Ajmer.

Ajmer was just what I needed after the Big City: small Indian town, narrow winding streets, more cows than cars; just charming. The religious history of the place runs deep, so I was out of the hotel at 7:30am Friday morning to see the sites on foot.  Ajmer is home to the tomb of a revered Sunni Muslim Saint – Muinuddin Chisty – and the site itself marks a holy pilgrimage for his followers.  Aside from the architecture, which was built up by numerous subsequent Indian and world leaders (including a donation from Queen Mary of England), the fervent devotion of its many pilgrims was striking.  In the area around the tomb, which is adorned with gold and jewels, the complex also runs a charitable foundation with a school and food kitchen. And, they have staff members whose apparent task it is to orient confused-looking Americans traveling solo. Which is nice.

Winding twenty kilometers through the mountain pass from Ajmer to Pushkar on a packed government bus was an enjoyable experience (not the kind of bus where people sit on the roof, but a packed bus nonetheless). Though I made my way there alone, I met up with six other FSD interns and our Program Coordinator for our “midterm retreat.”  None of us were expecting the things that you normally associate with the word “retreat.” See, this was the week of the famous Pushkar Mela, India’s biggest – and most publicized – camel trading fair. What is an Indian festival like in one of Hinduism’s holiest cities, you ask? Not terribly unlike an American state fair actually; but instead of one Ferris wheel, they had six; instead of trading prize pigs, they trade camels; there are sideshow performers with leashed monkeys, snake charmers, acrobats, tight-rope-walking seven-year-olds, tug-of-war, and pilgrims bathing in the (this year, mostly dry) sacred Pushkar Lake.  Just like Timonium, Hon!

Pushkar was an remarkable juxtaposition between genuine Indian religious and cultural tradition, and thousands of camera-clicking foreigners (and the swarm of touts that accompanies, selling everything from souvenir sculptures to special “holy” flowers).  The city has undoubtedly been influenced by the influx of tourists, drawn for years by the reputation of the Mela.  But remarkably, it has maintained its character too. It’s as if the people of the city have accommodated to meet the demands of Western visitors who, ironically, are seeking a non-Western experience.  Mainstream western influences, though (chain stores, etc.) have stayed out entirely. I think that so much of India’s rich history and culture has been formed by outside groups drawn to its wonders: spices and silk, tigers and temples, even just the sights and smells of the camels. Each group that comes leaves bits of its own tradition and places new demands on the local economy, changing and reciprocally being changed. When I think of Pushkar like that, the apparent contradictions seem to make just a little more sense.

Arriving back in Udaipur Sunday night was a remarkable relief: familiar sites as we entered the city; a warm welcome from my host family; my own bed and bathroom; home-cooked food. For the first time in India, I think, I felt at home.

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