I get into the back of the little Tata taxi which is to take me from the airport to my "home" for the next week; a hotel in central Dehradun. Unlike the cars I've had on my last visits, this one actually has working seatbelts in the back, although they are the old non-retracting type I haven't seen in decades. They have clearly not been used for a very long time (probably never) and I spend quite a bit of time struggling with them before I get them working and fitting properly. The driver is no doubt wondering what I am doing - I don't think I've ever seen anyone wear seatbelts in the back of a vehicle here and he probably hasn't either.
The drive from the airport to town takes something like 45 minutes and for the uninitiated is definitely an eye-opening experience. Even for those of us who've made this type of journey before, it's still an interesting experience! Driving here is characterised by constant use of the horn and driving on wrong side of the road when it seems convenient - if necessary forcing the motorbikes (not to mention cyclists) off the road. It's often a bit of a game of "chicken" with traffic coming from the opposite direction bearing down upon your car as your driver overtakes the motorbike overtaking the motorized rickshaw overtaking the bicycle. Who will get back to their own side first?
I spot little stalls along the road with big signs advertising "goggles" - "Lucky" and "Fancy". It turns out that they are selling sunglasses, but why not call them "goggles"?
The section of the road passing through a forest populated with red-bummed monkeys seems to be still the same as it was back in January. The dual-lane road is still under construction, so that sometimes you have opposing traffic on your side of the median strip, and sometimes it's on the other side of the median strip. It's a bit random, and there's no formal indication of whether you're driving on a section that has one-way or two-way traffic. Just the fact that suddenly there's traffic coming in the opposite direction on your side. The monkeys are still there, scratching themselves by the side of the road, or flashing their red bums and enormous balls as they scuttle across the road. I have yet to see a squashed monkey on the road, although I can't imagine how many of them are not hit by cars each day.
We arrived unscathed at the hotel, which is on Rajpur road, the main road running through the centre of town. It all looks much the same as it was ten months ago, which is good in the sense that it's all familiar, but not so good in the sense that it doesn't appear to have improved at all.
The hotel has been (or is being) refurbished - which seems to mean essentially new painting: everything is painted, even things that shouldn't be. There are multiple botched repairs and in the bathroom of my room there is mould growing in the new grouting, there's loose plumbing, exposed wires to a light in the cupboard, remnants of cement on the bathroom floor under the basin and so on. The new paint is already bubbling in places on the walls where moisture, probably from the bathroom next door, is seeping into the wall. The curtains are drooping from broken tracks and the pull cords are brown from years of greasy hands on them. Cigarette burns already pockmark the new(ish) carpet. Apart from these little details, the room is fine and the air-conditioning works. There's what appears to be clean towels in the bathroom and the bed linen looks good. I am not game to even think about what might lurk under the mattress or under the bed. Then I remember reading a news article about a dead body that was discovered under a hotel room bed after having been there for 13 years, although that was in the USA, not India. I resolve to definitely not look under my bed.
In the hotel restaurant there is a couple who sings on a little stage at the end of the room almost every night. I recognise them from my previous visit. It must be deadening - every night going on stage, singing (accompanied by mechanical-sounding recorded music) while your audience, who at times number only one or two, are eating and completely ignoring you. But I don't have too much sympathy for them, as their music is pretty awful, and it is overpowering as well.
Tonight the restaurant was full - something I haven't seen before. There's a large table set up near the stage and tonight we are being treated to the raucous sounds of a farewell party for someone. My initial joy at seeing that the usual singing couple were not performing is quickly replaced by dismay when I realise how noisy this group is. And it gets worse. There's some sort of singing theme to this farewell party, and the guests begin taking it in turn to serenade the rest of the group. Some of them can sing; most of them most definitely not. There's two who stand out from the group: a woman with a half-decent voice, and an older man who has the uncanny ability of looking like he's having a conversation or giving a speech, but he's actually singing. The restaurant is big enough for me to get a slight delay between his movements and the sound of his voice, which adds to the surreal feeling of the event.
I'm surrounded by the babble of voices in multiple languages: to my left there's an Indian couple. She is heavily made up with black eyes and red lips, and she talks at a rapid-fire pace. Her partner doesn't have to say much and I can't understand a word (of course). To my right are a couple of guys form Africa, speaking heavily African-accented English. They are stereotypes in their mannerisms and actions, and instantly take me back to Nigeria. Across the way is a large group of Indian businessmen with what are probably two foreign guests. One of the guests is enormous and he looks even bigger sitting next to his colleague who is rather small. The big one is also loud (and his English sounds American-accented) and he's dominating the table, both physically as well as vocally.
Interestingly, both on the night I arrive, and the night before I leave, there are large wedding parties being held at the hotel. My room looks out over the lawn (I use the term rather liberally) and it is again set up with tables and a stage. There's a band (incredibly loud, and the old unsealed windows of my room give me the full benefit of its repertoire) and a large crowd of people, many of whom, especially the women, are beautifully dressed. It's all colourful flashing lights and bling.
Speaking of weddings, the Sunday paper has a complete "Matrimonials" section complete with several pages of classified advertisements for brides: Wanted Brides / By Caste. One ad reads, in part: "We are looking for non Manglik extremely beautiful, slim, tall & smart bride...". Probably not an ad you'd see in a European, US, or Australian newspaper.
The drive from the airport to town takes something like 45 minutes and for the uninitiated is definitely an eye-opening experience. Even for those of us who've made this type of journey before, it's still an interesting experience! Driving here is characterised by constant use of the horn and driving on wrong side of the road when it seems convenient - if necessary forcing the motorbikes (not to mention cyclists) off the road. It's often a bit of a game of "chicken" with traffic coming from the opposite direction bearing down upon your car as your driver overtakes the motorbike overtaking the motorized rickshaw overtaking the bicycle. Who will get back to their own side first?
I spot little stalls along the road with big signs advertising "goggles" - "Lucky" and "Fancy". It turns out that they are selling sunglasses, but why not call them "goggles"?
The section of the road passing through a forest populated with red-bummed monkeys seems to be still the same as it was back in January. The dual-lane road is still under construction, so that sometimes you have opposing traffic on your side of the median strip, and sometimes it's on the other side of the median strip. It's a bit random, and there's no formal indication of whether you're driving on a section that has one-way or two-way traffic. Just the fact that suddenly there's traffic coming in the opposite direction on your side. The monkeys are still there, scratching themselves by the side of the road, or flashing their red bums and enormous balls as they scuttle across the road. I have yet to see a squashed monkey on the road, although I can't imagine how many of them are not hit by cars each day.
We arrived unscathed at the hotel, which is on Rajpur road, the main road running through the centre of town. It all looks much the same as it was ten months ago, which is good in the sense that it's all familiar, but not so good in the sense that it doesn't appear to have improved at all.
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| Room with a view |
In the hotel restaurant there is a couple who sings on a little stage at the end of the room almost every night. I recognise them from my previous visit. It must be deadening - every night going on stage, singing (accompanied by mechanical-sounding recorded music) while your audience, who at times number only one or two, are eating and completely ignoring you. But I don't have too much sympathy for them, as their music is pretty awful, and it is overpowering as well.
Tonight the restaurant was full - something I haven't seen before. There's a large table set up near the stage and tonight we are being treated to the raucous sounds of a farewell party for someone. My initial joy at seeing that the usual singing couple were not performing is quickly replaced by dismay when I realise how noisy this group is. And it gets worse. There's some sort of singing theme to this farewell party, and the guests begin taking it in turn to serenade the rest of the group. Some of them can sing; most of them most definitely not. There's two who stand out from the group: a woman with a half-decent voice, and an older man who has the uncanny ability of looking like he's having a conversation or giving a speech, but he's actually singing. The restaurant is big enough for me to get a slight delay between his movements and the sound of his voice, which adds to the surreal feeling of the event.
I'm surrounded by the babble of voices in multiple languages: to my left there's an Indian couple. She is heavily made up with black eyes and red lips, and she talks at a rapid-fire pace. Her partner doesn't have to say much and I can't understand a word (of course). To my right are a couple of guys form Africa, speaking heavily African-accented English. They are stereotypes in their mannerisms and actions, and instantly take me back to Nigeria. Across the way is a large group of Indian businessmen with what are probably two foreign guests. One of the guests is enormous and he looks even bigger sitting next to his colleague who is rather small. The big one is also loud (and his English sounds American-accented) and he's dominating the table, both physically as well as vocally.
Interestingly, both on the night I arrive, and the night before I leave, there are large wedding parties being held at the hotel. My room looks out over the lawn (I use the term rather liberally) and it is again set up with tables and a stage. There's a band (incredibly loud, and the old unsealed windows of my room give me the full benefit of its repertoire) and a large crowd of people, many of whom, especially the women, are beautifully dressed. It's all colourful flashing lights and bling.
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| The wedding party in full swing - the happy couple is on the stage for photographs |
Speaking of weddings, the Sunday paper has a complete "Matrimonials" section complete with several pages of classified advertisements for brides: Wanted Brides / By Caste. One ad reads, in part: "We are looking for non Manglik extremely beautiful, slim, tall & smart bride...". Probably not an ad you'd see in a European, US, or Australian newspaper.
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