Sunday, on the Train to Pushkar

Dinner was fun. The Odyssey company arranges home visits for travelers. There were 7 of us at the home of Anjuli, a 50-something manager of a bridal store. As we sat down and exchanged pleasantries, out came an 80-something distinguished looking gentleman, her father in law. He proceeded into a monologue and to regale us with stories of his past. He had grown up in a real estate family in north western India under the British, and the Hindu family had found themselves on the wrong side of the border at Partition in 1947. They had left everything behind in what was to become Pakistan and moved to Delhi to rebuild. He had gone into some kind of economics or accounting, and had worked for years for the Ford Foundation at various places around the globe. He had been able to invest in real estate and had done well. They owned the land in their development (called an Enclave) and the 3 story building with a flat on each level. Various family members lived up and down, and they had 12 in help. He waxed and waned about the state of affairs in India and the world, and India’s growing economic power. And, oh, there was dinner, too. Prior to dinner we had a fried potato, something like a latke, but smoother in consistency. Dinner was Chicken Biryani with rice, Roti, Dal (a yellow lentil), Paneer (a type fried cottage cheese), Okra sautéed with tomato, onions and some spices. Desert was leftover sweets from a wedding of her niece from the previous day. None of it was very spicy, as I’m sure the company had advised her to keep it bland for our American tastes. Other groups had similar experiences, with one going to the home of a cooking teacher who made them hand made chocolate.


We were up before dawn, and really got moving by a few minutes after 5. Our guide, Ritu, congratulated us, as few groups really are that prompt. A bus to the train station which only had 10 thousand people or so milling around. Ritu said this wasn’t too crowded. As in Bollywood movies, we half expected a dance routine to break out at any moment. The First Class car we are in looks like something out of the 60’s, with airplane-type seating and little drapes over the windows. The porter came around to give us tea, juice, newspapers, etc. The air outside is still gray and smelling of burning. The landscape so far is mostly filled with trash and tent cities and abject poverty for much of the 6 hour train.