Leaving Pushkar For Bombay

Puskhar was the longest time I spent in a single place in India: five weeks. I had the spiritual awakening I had sought. It was high time for some big city action. But during such a relatively long sojourn, it was impossible not to form relationships with a number of the locals, who were saddened at my departure beyond anything I could have imagined.

Fareen, of eBay start-ups, medical and dental adventures, gave me a way-cool shirt. Then he showed me a passport photo of me that had fallen out of my bag, without my knowledge. He asked if he could keep it. I thought it was a silly question, because it seemed clear that he most definitely should. I took the picture out of the little sachet to make sure it wasn’t too bad of a shot, as photogenic, I am not. On the back, he had written “André. The best man in the world.” I couldn’t believe it, and was instantly reduced to tears.

Monu, of motorcycle and Mountain Baba fame, gave me blessings, complete with red tikka, and then garlanded me with marigolds. Having seen the garlanding ceremony in Bollywood movies, I understood that it was an exceptional honor to bestow on someone, and had always had something of a vain and silly fantasy of receiving one for myself. Nevertheless, it occurred to me that I was going to look absolutely ridiculous traipsing around Ajmer, and later Jaipur with this thing around my neck. I wore it anyway and with some pride at that.

Accompanied to the train station by a veritable entourage, for once, the usual disturbances that foreigners endure from beggars and touts, were kept safely at bay. Everyone boarded the train. Hugs. Promises of return trips. Tears restrained, but barely. These wonderful people, who had only done good deeds for me, showering me with hospitality and boundless generosity, were genuinely distraught at my leaving. It was a unique and overwhelming experience which I will have and hold in my heart forever and ever and ever. Thank you Pushkar. Thank you so much.

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Jaipur is a nondescript provincial capital. Anyway, I just overnighted there, anxious the reach the Big Lights. My heart lept with joy upon sighting our Jet Airways craft on the tarmac. This carrier is hereby awarded Skye Frontier’s Best Airline of the Decade Prize.

For all my whining about India’s dreadful infrastructure deficit, Bombay’s domestic airport is spanking new, clean, efficient and modern. Through the kindness of others, I managed to get a coveted room at Bentley’s Hotel, with air conditioning, running hot water and cable TV. I had a McFish combo at the Golden Arches, since I was in desperate need of some animal protein, not to mention variety, after the culinary monotony of a small town. I even had Domino’s deliver a pizza to the room for dinner. Zoom TV provided me with everything I’d been missing with respect to what the heck is going on in Bollywood, so I can hit Nariman Point’s Inox cinema. I may emerge from there once I go in tomorrow. We’ll only know if it actually happens. The highest cinematic priority is the premier of Johnny Gaddaar, which opened to mixed reviews, but is nevertheless my best shot at 15 minutes of fame.

However, that won’t be before I put on the dancing shoes I’ve been lugging around since Delhi, and set the dance floor ablaze at a party in Juhu Beach.