After a few hours at the Taj, even the most romantic place on earth, when jammed pack with thousand, plus tourists can start to be pretty ripe. At this point Matt and I were scrapping the bellies of our stamina gas tanks and were eager to deposit ourselves back into Lucky's care. He and our guide, who also seemed to have tired of methodically chain smoking in the car, were eager to hit the road, so once again we piled in and pedal to the floor began white knuckle racing though Agra to the highway. By now, Matt and I were fairly certain our driver was not actually going to kill anyone, including ourselves, so with windows shut, Lucky's snoring and the bleating of horns, we abandoned our defenses and fell deep asleep.
In what seemed like seconds, but was likely hours, I was woken with a crack outside the car window. It was the kind of awakening that feels like you are being pulled quickly up an elevator shaft, or what happens the moment you drink water, laugh too hard and know what will happen one instant before it comes out your nose. We've all had it, but never get accustomed to it. What had happened, was the sun had set and the car had stopped. Lucky had mentioned a few time in passing he wanted to take us to an Indian temple between Agra and Delhi, but in the 24 hours we had known Lucky he had mentioned a lot, a lot, a lot of things and we were beginning to ignore his "insights to the city" as basic money laundering via the bank of Meg and Matt inc. I had forgotten the temple entirely until we were being ushered from the car on the side of the highway. My contact had gotten sticky in my eye, so I was more than regular fumbly and did not see the mess of cow poo I managed to step in as we were instructed to take off our shoes and check them through a small slot in a grated wrought iron fence. I know it was cow poo because the transaction went like this...
Step one: fumble with contact. Step two: Lucky waggles at my feet, "shoes off, shoes off now, now, now, now!" Step three: step in poo. What kind of poo? Step four: turn head right, see cow 10'' away, remember thinking: "Oh, good, it's only a cow it's not going to eat me." Then thinking, "I'm a little out of it, I could use a bed." I took a few seconds, wiped my foot off as best I could and bought three rope garlands of tied rose buds. Lucky took off toward the temple, and as well, Lucky-ish as he had been, he was the only one we knew, so it was a simple choice--- follow Lucky. We stepped inside the temple and suddenly it was----- illuminated.
The temple was one big room with a sunken middle floor and simple verandas around the sides. There was a low gated altar at the front and painted statuines of gods and goddesses adorned in garlands and images of what I took to be as gurus framed at there feet. This temple was lively, and in a way jubilant. I have been to many religious ceremonies in the past. I appreciate ritual, I respect reverence, I am intrigued by culture. I do not share in spiritual comrodiary though, I don't feel it in ceremonies and in life, I rarely have. This temple was had the celebratory atmosphere of a wedding reception, without the drunken karaoke. There was no real sense of structure, or formula in the place. Some persons were praying and bowing, others sitting and chatting and hugging on the floor. Most were gathered toward the front of the altar clapping in time to the members who were dancing and singing light, fun mantras. Lucky worked his way to the front with us in toe and handed our garlands to a young man who dipped them in holy water, placed one half on the altar and handed one half back to us. He gave us each a small singular flower that looks like a marigold, but wasn't. Lucky touched his to his forehead and prayed. Matt and I followed the way children mimic adults, in naive, eager to please gestures that miss the significance but attempt to participate.
Lucky, who to now had been, "very nice this," and "you go to here, you'll like my store, my hotel, my...." was radiant. Big toothy smiles, clapping and kind. He was proud to bring us here and we stood in the crowd and no one starred, they just let us be. Two circles of young boys were dancing, one inside the other. One of the young priests(?) grabbed Matt's hand and pulled him into the circle. Matt, being a pillar to the concept of "a good sport" did a great job of keeping up with the dancing, and even made a keen effort to attempt the "hands held two people spinning around as fast as you can" part. We were both having a blast, but tired down to our marrow when we waddled out about 20 minutes later, checked our shoes, and skipped back into the car. At this point Lucky was much more invigorated and told us all about his wife, his little daughter, "Nikki," his "princess of perfection." He talked about India with pride for having a developing middle class, that his daughter will be educated, that he has worked his whole life to succeed, he believes in dreams, in work, in survival. He boasts that in the last ten years India is gaining everything America has. He has been to many night clubs. He knows how to pick a nice leather couch. He was going to give his garlands to his wife, who loves roses and likes to scrap book dried petals. He likes us for wanting to see the "real India," and for being so polite to everyone no matter what the class. He has traveled the pilgrims path of 600k walk, fasting and carrying sacred water from the Ganges six times in his life. He wants to be facebook friends and told us about his family in Rajistan.
Half an hour after that, we pulled up to a road side eatery and Lucky got us some beers and roasted chicken. Here he was back to overcharging us for food, trying to pressure us into booking hotels for the rest of our stay in India. We have sense decided that we are glad to have met Lucky. I think more than just a character, he is a portrait of developing India.
In what seemed like seconds, but was likely hours, I was woken with a crack outside the car window. It was the kind of awakening that feels like you are being pulled quickly up an elevator shaft, or what happens the moment you drink water, laugh too hard and know what will happen one instant before it comes out your nose. We've all had it, but never get accustomed to it. What had happened, was the sun had set and the car had stopped. Lucky had mentioned a few time in passing he wanted to take us to an Indian temple between Agra and Delhi, but in the 24 hours we had known Lucky he had mentioned a lot, a lot, a lot of things and we were beginning to ignore his "insights to the city" as basic money laundering via the bank of Meg and Matt inc. I had forgotten the temple entirely until we were being ushered from the car on the side of the highway. My contact had gotten sticky in my eye, so I was more than regular fumbly and did not see the mess of cow poo I managed to step in as we were instructed to take off our shoes and check them through a small slot in a grated wrought iron fence. I know it was cow poo because the transaction went like this...
Step one: fumble with contact. Step two: Lucky waggles at my feet, "shoes off, shoes off now, now, now, now!" Step three: step in poo. What kind of poo? Step four: turn head right, see cow 10'' away, remember thinking: "Oh, good, it's only a cow it's not going to eat me." Then thinking, "I'm a little out of it, I could use a bed." I took a few seconds, wiped my foot off as best I could and bought three rope garlands of tied rose buds. Lucky took off toward the temple, and as well, Lucky-ish as he had been, he was the only one we knew, so it was a simple choice--- follow Lucky. We stepped inside the temple and suddenly it was----- illuminated.
The temple was one big room with a sunken middle floor and simple verandas around the sides. There was a low gated altar at the front and painted statuines of gods and goddesses adorned in garlands and images of what I took to be as gurus framed at there feet. This temple was lively, and in a way jubilant. I have been to many religious ceremonies in the past. I appreciate ritual, I respect reverence, I am intrigued by culture. I do not share in spiritual comrodiary though, I don't feel it in ceremonies and in life, I rarely have. This temple was had the celebratory atmosphere of a wedding reception, without the drunken karaoke. There was no real sense of structure, or formula in the place. Some persons were praying and bowing, others sitting and chatting and hugging on the floor. Most were gathered toward the front of the altar clapping in time to the members who were dancing and singing light, fun mantras. Lucky worked his way to the front with us in toe and handed our garlands to a young man who dipped them in holy water, placed one half on the altar and handed one half back to us. He gave us each a small singular flower that looks like a marigold, but wasn't. Lucky touched his to his forehead and prayed. Matt and I followed the way children mimic adults, in naive, eager to please gestures that miss the significance but attempt to participate.
Lucky, who to now had been, "very nice this," and "you go to here, you'll like my store, my hotel, my...." was radiant. Big toothy smiles, clapping and kind. He was proud to bring us here and we stood in the crowd and no one starred, they just let us be. Two circles of young boys were dancing, one inside the other. One of the young priests(?) grabbed Matt's hand and pulled him into the circle. Matt, being a pillar to the concept of "a good sport" did a great job of keeping up with the dancing, and even made a keen effort to attempt the "hands held two people spinning around as fast as you can" part. We were both having a blast, but tired down to our marrow when we waddled out about 20 minutes later, checked our shoes, and skipped back into the car. At this point Lucky was much more invigorated and told us all about his wife, his little daughter, "Nikki," his "princess of perfection." He talked about India with pride for having a developing middle class, that his daughter will be educated, that he has worked his whole life to succeed, he believes in dreams, in work, in survival. He boasts that in the last ten years India is gaining everything America has. He has been to many night clubs. He knows how to pick a nice leather couch. He was going to give his garlands to his wife, who loves roses and likes to scrap book dried petals. He likes us for wanting to see the "real India," and for being so polite to everyone no matter what the class. He has traveled the pilgrims path of 600k walk, fasting and carrying sacred water from the Ganges six times in his life. He wants to be facebook friends and told us about his family in Rajistan.
Half an hour after that, we pulled up to a road side eatery and Lucky got us some beers and roasted chicken. Here he was back to overcharging us for food, trying to pressure us into booking hotels for the rest of our stay in India. We have sense decided that we are glad to have met Lucky. I think more than just a character, he is a portrait of developing India.
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