I'll Be There Dreckly: A Journey to Remember

Sunday, 9 March 2014

A Journey to Remember

Hassan, India (map)

In this blog: the colourful Indian railways, and a surprise festival

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I left Hampi with a smile on my face after a cracking few days amongst the amazing scenery there, and set off on a long and protracted journey of six separate journeys on trains and buses. The most interesting was the train from Hospet to Hubli, where I sat in the lowest-of-the-low second-class carriage with all the locals, a 90 mile journey that cost an unbelievable £0.30 (30 rupees). I found a seat in one of the busy booths alongside a couple of families, and at each station things got busier and busier until there were kids on strangers laps, people sat on the slatted wooden bunk beds above, many people standing, and squabbles over who just stole who's seat. For the first time in India I felt a bit of hostility as a westerner, when a couple of people separately indicated that I should give them my seat, and move to sit on the bunk above. I later wondered though if they were were actually trying to help by getting me out of all the madness. As ever, I was stared at constantly but for once was completely left alone, save for a guy who without so much as looking me in the eye, kindly gave me some fried peanuts and bought me a tea.

The scenery outside was pretty dull, save for passing a chicken farm, where the many huge open-sided buildings contained thousands of stacked wire crates of poor white hens. Inside the train though was much more interesting. A man in traditional robe dress slept on his side on the wooden slats above, whilst another similarly dressed old guy sat cross legged on the opposite rack. When the train emptied out a bit many other passengers sat cross legged on seats, and kids ran around the place. When one child spat out the open window, his parents took the decision to not stop him, but teach him how to spit properly! A very common habit in India. Chai wallahs and crisp wallahs (sellers) got on the train selling their wares before getting off at the next station, and a couple of Indian ladyboys entered the carriage, clapping at people to demand money before continuing on.

Humbli station

I changed trains for the overnight journey south, this time travelling in the more upmarket AC3 carriage where I was back to civilisation, and it was much duller for it save for a brightly-robed Buddhist monk sleeping in the same compartment. Waking up at the ungodly hour of 3.45am, and complete with a freshly acquired air-con cold, I got off at Hassan station, an insignificant city except for its transport links, and thought 'what now?' since the bus station didn't open for three hours. Bleary eyed, I decided to find a cheap hotel to get some kip and somehow despite the time of day and my tiredness, managed to haggle out a great deal on both a rickshaw to a hotel nearby, then on the nights stay. This, despite the fact that I was obviously the desperate one, giving them the upper hand on negotiations to name whatever price they wanted. You win some, you loose some.

Rude awakening

I was awoken the next morning by the sound of kids singing, and perplexed, drew back the curtain to find a large school assembly taking place in the gravel yard just outside, with uniformed kids all in line. Feeling pretty rough from both the interrupted sleep and my cold, I went and had a dosa for breakfast - a huge rolled-up pancake nearly half a metre long and made from rice batter, which you tear strips off and dip in a sauce.

Walking to catch the bus at around 10am, a turn of events then happened that I could never have predicted, something which really made my day.

Traditional dancers

I was trying to find the bus stop, when I saw a crowd gathered around a side road, and before I knew it a group wearing identical clothes started playing music. I stopped to watch. People started filming on video cameras, and the police diverted the traffic from the street. It was all very confusing, but I soon found out that I was at the opening ceremony for the Hassan Literature Festival of all things. Only in India would the streets come alive with a marching procession at 10am for a Literature Festival! And were they alive - a decorated tractor led the procession of three sets of marching drummers, various styles of dancers, people in traditional costumes, local scouts, ladies in saris, a band, and many others besides. There were hundreds, if not a thousand of them. And all this on my way to catch a bus!

I was stood, obviously looking a bit perplexed at all this when a guy in his fifties came and talked to me, explaining in broken English what was going on. He kindly ushered me along, and we walked through town alongside the procession, with him saying it was just for ten minutes (it was actually an hour!). We walked beside them all over town, stopping to watch a certain section before overtaking it again. It was very loud, colourful and really exciting, and comparable to a carnival in its energy and spirit. The guy who's name I sadly forget, stopped and bought a freshly squeezed sugarcane juice from a street vendor for each of us, kindly refusing to take any money. One of the officials introduced himself - 'Your country sir?' - and we briefly chatted.

The procession ended at a large theatre, and we went inside and took a seat, whilst some of the parade went in one door and out the other. The guy then said he had to go and pick up his motorbike from a service, and I suddenly found myself looking like a right plonker, sat alone in shorts and t-shirt beside my big backpack, in this huge room full of smartly dressed Indians, with all of us bemused as to how I came to be there. Some curious teenagers from in their Air Cadet Corps uniforms sat next to me and asked the usual questions. A guy came and without asking, stood right in front of my face, took a photo and walked off. On the stage, various dignitaries entered and a ceremony took place, all in the local Karnatika language. Flowers were given, women sang a song, and flowers were given out, whilst the crowd clapped very briefly but quite insincerely. As fun as it had all been, I had no clue what was going on and was pretty bored after an hour, so with the excitement gone I decided to leave and head to where I was actually going in the first place. Which after this long story, I'll now leave for another day...