Epilogue

Home. Back with my beloved family, my beautiful granddaughter. Back in the warm embrace of familiar comforts, my garden ablaze with spring glories. Bees busy themselves in the thick  pink coat of pink cherry blossom hanging heavy on the trees, yellow daffodils and multicoloured bulbs push up eagerly through the earth, the bucolic English pastoral landscape quivering with anticipation of new life.

This pastoral idyll is in such stark contrast with the bedlam of India my senses are adrift in bewilderment. Was it only a week ago I fought my way through the mad crowds of Delhi, ducked into pockets of shade for moments of relief from the blistering heat, my lungs burning from the pollution, my ears aching from the continuous noise, my eyes gritty in the dry dust haze and a scarf wrapped around my face in a vain attempt to keep out the dirt.

Memories of India ebb and flow through my consciousness, drifting further away with every tide. The continuous crashing waterfall of sound, smells, sights, the whirling maelstrom of sensations, the permanent  adrenalin coursing through my veins, now fading into  gentle currents of cool, calm, peace.

I see with fresh eyes the privileges of my birth, appreciating anew simple commodities. Clean tap water,  a wondrous luxury after so many weeks where the struggle to have enough safe drinking water could dominate a day. Electricity which stays on, oh joy!  The blissful bath, sinking down into hot water to soothe my aching bones. This and much much more. I am incredibly fortunate to live here in Southern England, to benefit often unthinkingly from our affluent western lifestyle.

But..I  miss India. The indomitable will of the people, their fierce pride, their ferocious passion, their frenzied excitable nature. Their true kindness, the  genuine hospitality, their spirituality and genuine belief in a ‘karma’ so alien to my own psyche.


I remain fascinated by this deeply complex culture, steeped in fascinating traditions, where the most intimate rituals of body, mind and soul even unto death are inextricably woven into the rich tapestry of everyday life.

India is total madness. Another world. Looking back, this has been one ' hell'  of a trip. The hardest by far I have ever done. A three month rollercoaster of extreme highs and lows.  I am so relieved and grateful to be home.

But I am so, so, very  glad I went.   India has crept yet again under my skin, it has touched my soul.  An amazing experience in a unique country. A privilege.

Countdown to home

Back in Delhi and the heat is a killer. In my week up North the temperature has risen sharply: it is now 35 degrees as I type. I am also back in my tiny cell which seems smaller than ever after my four room grand 'delux' suite in the mountains. Still, packing will be easier for the home run.

There is a pool, as seen in the selfie on my balcony. Completely unusable unless you want to swim with monkeys. The staff can't keep them out and watch with bemused frowns as the primates splash about keeping cool whilst the humans fry.

spot the swimming pool 

Yesterday's route down to Chandigarh airport was a four hour scenic masterclass in the beauty of nature. Spring has come to the Himalayas, the slopes ablaze with colour, the silvery tips of the high peaks glistening in the pure blue sky.

Delhi - Old and New

Delhi 's faults, its smog,smoke, dense population, deprivation, etc etc are now magnified by the soaring heat. The touts and scams are as bad as ever. Even  my prepaid taxi from the airport tried to take me somewhere else/ask for money and this is the system monitored by the Police. ..ah well, just one more day to avoid being mugged/robbed/getting food poisoning/swine flu etc etc and I'm coming home!!!

Today I sharpened my elbows and my nerve and got stuck into the bazaars. Literally, the ground was melting, the rickshaws one giant traffic jam in the main Chandri and Chawri markets. Nervously protecting my still vulnerable hip I hurled my rucksack before me to clear my way and managed, eventually, to shop. I've been looking forward to a manic spending spree courtesy of a sudden increase in luggage allowance but when faced with hundreds of stalls crammed into sauna like alleys I was overwhelmed with choice and it took me ages to make any decisions.

Loaded down with purchases I fought my way onto the manic metro to the sanctuary of my little room.  I cannot wait to come home, to see my beloved family and to sink into the comfort of my own bed. But this trip has been one hell of an experience!  Heaven too, creating memories which will stay with me for ever.

at the Jangar Minar , an ancient observatory set incongruously in the centre of Delhi

There is 'something' about India. I can't define it. The myriad of complex cultures,   societal practises from the ugly to the sublime,  the class/caste system, the multiple religions, faiths...everything is as much as a conundrum as it ever was. The simple truth is , despite everything that I hate here (and even after their sacred cow tried to kill me)...I love this country.

My last reflective evening in the Delhi sunset

Sun setting over Delhi temples and domes - taken from my window

A walk through time

Shimla is as if I am walking back through time. There is a 'Harry Potter' like feel to the soaring architectural structures, the grand very English style buildings echoing with voices of the past, from the glory years when the British Empire was ruled from here as all officialdom escaped the sweltering Indian heat for the cool mountain hill station.

Looking down on Shimla

The quaint Kalka to Shimla railway dates from 1903 and, like its counterpart in Ooty, the rolling stock and the stations are much used and little changed. The town itself is a curious mix of styles as it sprawls precariously along the ridge, seemingly on the verge of sliding down into the valley below. In the lower part, away from the salubrious higher class colonies up top, the housing clings dangerously onto the slopes, layer after layer added piecemeal with each 'ad hoc' addition crushing those below.

 Inevitably, given the geography, there are steps. Lots of steps. Hundreds of steps. Coffee at the 'Indian Coffee House’, the cooperative chain beloved by locals, tourists and me alike, means climbing hundreds of steps to find a seat on multi level tables perched teetering on the brink. Sipping coffee with my feet literally hanging out over the edge was, um, rather nervewracking.

Fortunately the weather has been great. A mist descended late today and the splendid rugged ranges which I l so love vanished in minutes. As it rained for weeks before I arrived these sunny days have been a truly lucky break. I've spent my days trekking in the warm spring sun,  walking miles today down through the glens carpeted with red rhododendrons to Summerhill, a former British 'village' where I was overtaken by the picturesque train . The station bears a striking resemblance to Horsted Keynes with thought provoking signs summing up the towns multi faith population.

The 'Toy Train' passing me at SummerHill

with some Nepalese students. Apparently the red rhododendron is their national flower 

Sounds good to me!. One of the signs at SummerHill station

Red blooms everywhere!

One revelation...my asthma, previously a problem at high altitudes, has been fine. Magic! I may make it to Nepal yet. The fresh pure air has revived my body, soul and mind after the endless smoke and smog, dust and dirt. There is poverty and filth here too but the wind carries the smell away in the far distance. There are still the homeless, the beggars, the destitute, scraping a living (I cannot imagine how they survive outside in the bitter winter nights), but my outlying village is a quiet oasis surrounded by the majestic mystical mountains

Town view - high rise up the slopes

Street life - yes that is a barrel of water he is carrying

looking up the crowded alleys

Highest bazaar against an old British tower

Tomorrow I leave for Delhi to shop till I drop before homeward bound. Amritsar and Shmila have been amazing. The complex politics dominating India seem not to have yet touched these gentle places. Their beauty is unspoiled by the nasty turn in Indian current affairs. The Modi Government is dividing families and friends with its defiant pro Hindu stance, turning the clock back on the historical tolerant co-existence of religions here. But in this house in high in the sky life carries on as always.  Muslim and Hindu happily bed down side by side, Sikh and Christians in the village wave and smile, the Buddhist monks from the monastery bestow their blessings.  Long may this untroubled peace continue.

Traffic Warden

I can see you

Selfie with the town behind me

Stairway to the sky

Jakho hill towers over Shimla. The peak is crowned by a Hindu temple dedicated to Bhagwan Hanuman atopped with giant orange statue visible on the skyline for miles around. At 2,500 metres it is a sheer, steep climb upwards from the town.

Awoken as always at dawn by bright rays of sunlight splashing across my face I finally got the hostels free transfer from our outlying village into the city by 11am. One of the many Indian mysteries; everyone gets up around 7 but nothing, nothing,  happens or even opens until at least 10 if not 11am. And I thought I took time to get going in the morning! Just one piece in India's impossible jigsaw puzzle.

I am, according to the base signpost, astoundingly fit. The 40 mins it took me to reach the summit did not even feature in my 50-70 age range time predictions. My guess: this is based on fitness levels in a country with a predominately fat/sugar based diet. Even with my increased plumpness from weeks eating it plus the fact that I'm at least a head higher than the average Indian female, I am also at least half the average size.

This is the climb

and I made it in 40 minutes!

My speed was also due to the need to outrun the ferocious monkeys which haunt the forested slopes. This site is notorious even by Indian standards. I m used to monkeys, they sit on my balcony here peering in, as in most places I've been, but this is an aggressive breed who rule the temple grounds despite the guards with sticks and slingshots. Wearing sunglasses is impossible, the grounds are littered with the remnants of those these vicious primates have claimed from unsuspecting victims.

The views are worth the climb. The colourful town flows down the slopes below but most spectacular are the surrounds of white mountain peaks and the undulating valley slopes, contrastingly bare or thickly forested. Scores of Buddhist prayer flags from the monasteries dot the hillsides with splashes of bright colour.

Snow topped peaks

Selfie at the top

hanuman looking down from the Jakku Temple

Back down in the town I spent a pleasant hour or so pottering in the bazaars taking in the Himalayan culture and customs. The Tibetan influence is obvious in the local dress and I now appreciate the habit of draping oneself in the traditional heavy woolen 'blanket' shawls. The nights are freezing and by day in the shade it is still chilly. Blankets lift off easier than a jumper and this place involves frequent clothing layer adjustments!

The street food here is similar to Amritsar: breads of every description, although I have to find my favorite Kulcha, Momos, steamed egg based vegetable filled dumplings, or, my current staple,  the warm potato/salad filled rolls,  usually 20 pence  a portion which is enormous. My food budget, including copious teas and coffees, rarely exceeds more than a pound a day. English prices will come as a shock.

This evening I sat quietly alone on the high roof terrace gazing out at the setting sun enjoying soothing solitude. My homestay is odd (even by Indian standards) as the family has both Muslim and Hindu worshippers so the house is always filled with devotional rites from one or other religion. At times they have been lovely but at other times I sense I am in the way.

Valley below my hostel in the setting sun

Sunset from my rooftop

Their home is vast, given over to tourists in high season. But I am the first, and currently only, guest of 2015. My instincts are that this multi generational group are used to their own company in the winter months and are finding it hard to adjust again to opening their doors. I empathise.  Shimla was a 'must do' and has been a 'must see' but home is where my heart is.

Shimla

The majestic mountain range of the western Himalyas tower above me as I type. The last stop on my wish list, Shimla, in Himachal Pradesh,  sprung out on a mountain ridge where when the sun disappears it is freezing! Literally.. In the bright morning glare this morning I see snow capped peaks encircling the valley. This hostel was like an ice house last night until the bright glare of the morning sun streamed in.

I arrived in the dark via two planes, one large and one here very small (!)  And then a four hour taxi on the Himalayan expressway...a slight misnomer given the single lane twisting, winding hairpin track. Fortunately the views were so stunning it distracted me from the sheer drop and increasing altitude sickness. Fortunately again the sickness abated..probably driven away by the cold! My first impression of Shimla was hundreds of twinkling lights illuminating the mountain side like a curtain of stars.

Flying low over India

Heading towards Shimla...

...getting higher

Tea/Loo stop 

The local train goes faster!

My hostel is some way out set in the mountain hence for a cheap price I have a palatial suite with floor to ceiling windows looking over the Himalayas. Its quiet, the season is just starting as the snows melt, my hosts are a lovely Muslim family with many rescue dogs who are proud Shimla born and bred and a mine of information.

A free drop off is offered in compensation for the village setting so this morning when I had warmed up enough I was duly dropped off. It’s a hard choice with hostels; location/budget/facilities, a trade off doubly hard in India where nothing ever works anyway. And here is peaceful tranquility whereas Shilma is hectic, a city expanding by the year, putting far too much strain on an ancient infrastructure. (I reckon I've typed that a fair few times this trip). But it is still a beautiful place, strung out along the mountain like a coat of many colours, surrounded by the jagged towering mountain peaks.

Sunrise over the mountains

the view from my room

Today I walked the heritage way marking the historic landmarks of the town from British times. (again a sentence much typed). This was a British hill kingdom, the summer capitol of the British Empire in India. Hence the hydro electric water power, the famous railway 'toy train' line and fine architectural gems of colonial structures. The Viceroys Lodge resembled an English castle. With magnolias in bloom, red rhododendron bushes everywhere, I felt as if I was already home!

up high in The Himalayas

snow on the distant peaks

its a bit windy - and my hair is getting long 

the British legacy - the Viceroy's lodge

National trust-like

Magnolias - looks like an English scene

Sunset

High up in the clouds my trek took me above the bustling mall area, once a fashionable promenade but now tourist heartland,  a path in the upper reaches of the town where the army and government still use the original buildings from the 18th century.  Gazing down at the higgledy piggledy mish mash of colours and styles, from the modern reconstruction to the ramshackle ruins, peering down in the layers of bazaars deep down in the valley floor as the town descends the slope, I drank in the glorious scenery and the blissful cool clean mountain air.

Mother and baby

the family group

Jallianwala bagh

My time in Amritsar has been short but I can see why its a 'must see' for India the aficionados.  The Golden Temple is, like the Taj, an image of magic and mystery. There is a gentleness in the air for all the usual city chaos:  the Sikhs who dominate this state of Punjab are non drinkers, non smokers and, on the whole vegetarian with high hygiene and cleanliness habits, a welcome relief.

Sikh elder reading the Holy book

The Golden Temple

The lifestyle is primitive to my western eyes, the horse and cart is the main transport here still, the old city delapitated with past architectural glories just visible under run down ramshackle slums, the poverty and destitution obvious. But the people are lovely, kind, helpful, genuinely friendly.

Devotional chanting

Selfi at the Temple

The British have left their mark here too. At Jallianwala Bagh, near the temple, stands the site of the notorious 1919 massacre when British General fired on unarmed demonstraors, an event significant in India's road to independence. The bullet marks still show in the walls of this tiny alley, the well many drowned in trying to escape is a site of remembrance near to a simple memorial.

The Jallianwala Bagh memorial

Topiary at the memorial

Yet last night the final notes of the border ceremony, after all the carnivalesque routine, was the poignant notes of the trumpet sounding the last post to a respectful silence from the maddening crowds. Such a complex relationship between India and Britain, grievances and glories interconnect past and present.

Here in a state divided from neighbouring Pakistan purely by  politics, I have found the capital city seemingly at peace with itself.  Echoes of devotional chanting rise above the mundane, the golden rays of sunlight reflecting from the orbs of the temple spread outwards through the town. The image of the shimmering golden shrine will stay with me, lifting my spirit with its beauty and my soul with its message of unity and equality.

Amritsar's famous breads...from shacks so certainly authentic

India Pakistan Border ceremony

Oh, this was worth the long bumpy tuktuk ride and the endless long security checks.
Every night at sunset in Wagah an elaborate flag lowering ceremony takes place at this obscure village. The only India/Pakistan border that is accessible for foreigners it is most  famous for this nightly extravaganza where mustachioed guards of both countries wearing extreme  headgear, formally lower their national flags, in an exuberant, boisterous pompous. ceremony.

Border crossing ceremony

Goose stepping tall soldiers in massive turbans strut their stuff, performing a bizarre ' dance off' to the cheers of crowds from both countries. Politics has no place in this feel good party, cheerleaders whip up national fervour and patriotism in a way which unites the countries in celebration.

Partying crowds before the ceremony

I had remembered my passport but had a bag ..which is prohibited. Unless you are British. When you get a free ' pass' ,after a token telling off, and get to sit in a special enclosure. Brick steps, yes, but with space to breath..unlike the national enclosures.

ok - who goes next?

The Border crossing march

A fellow guest and I had opted for a tuktuk to ourselves to travel out as taking a shared one here brings with it the risk of asphyxiation or being squashed to death. Worth every penny. We arrived early to fully indulge in the high spirited fun, which starts hours beforehand as the carnival atmosphere builds up to an exuberant peak.

Flags up....

....Flags down

and the Indian flag carried back 

A great great experience, I shall certainly never see this again, long may it continue!

The gate to Pakistan