2.1 The girl on the motorbike

learngrowlove
27 déc. 2017
21 min de lecture

Dernière mise à jour : 3 mars 2021

Going to India without preparation is to put your hands in the grease without knowing the mechanics. Afterwards, I remove them, look the dirt under my nails, but I do not care because I'm happy and I managed to overcome the obstacles. One day, I tacitly said to someone "I'm going to India to have problems". And I got some. At first, I often asked myself the question: why do we say that we do not leave this country unscathed? Everybody knows that we learn more when it’s dark…

I observed a lot, went to a few touristic places. Rajasthan is the country of unique architectures, kings and queens, Romeo-and-Juliette stories in every city. However, down the street, there are so many things already that I spent a lot of time to feel, to observe.

What have I done all this time?

I found a lot of answers about everything. From privacy, solitude and comfort until protection.

Going to Nepal before one’s first time in India helps a lot; although in Nepal, there are less random situations like people on camels in the middle of the night, a traffic jam of cows, and many details you'll see if you bring your own ass in India. On the other hand, horns will resonate until the end in my destroyed ears.

DELHI. I like the atmosphere right away. It is a happy mess. I tried there to get permission to ride a motorcycle legally. It was useless, but I saw interesting places in the city where someone who does not have the intention to go to the transport department does not see. It is a big city like the others, the roads are wide, filled with vehicles of all kinds, there are six or eight subway lines, a few cows in the old city, hens of course, and many, many people.

I hang out with a French woman for a day in the popular Chandni Chowk street, we do not visit the Red Fort and do not visit each temple. We end our long and laborious walk around Connaught Place, Delhi's circular ‘Champs Elysées’. The 'Old Delhi' / 'New Delhi' transition is radical. The horns and tuktuks disappear in ten seconds leaving the space for luxurious shops and white limousines. An ear-cleaner offers its services in the central park of the place. It's funny, here the Indians keep a lot of Guests books in which strangers or other Indians have praised their services. It's a scam, of course, and he's asking for too much, but when you give a few bills, he looks eyes wide open because for him, it is not enough at all from a Westerner, so, you pat his shoulder and nod your head, because you cannot pay 2000 roupee for that. 150 will make the job, it's already a lot and it's worth it considering the grime of your orifices that he throws on the grass.

I stay the next two days in my bed thanks to Miss Delhi-Belly, we met in a Lassi at the corner of the street ... (a drink made of milk). I change rooms and opt for an Hostel (I missed its entrance on arrival). An Indian in the room gives me advice: "typically, that, that and that you don’t eat, and for that, stay suspicious". We laugh at the stupidity of some hygienic food conditions.

I tell you, India is not a country of clean streets, white toilets and soft skin. There is a lot to see and to feel, it's fascinating! And if you're already disgusted with those poor lines, I cannot really say if the rest is better or not ...

I wander an afternoon in the Lodi Garden, a park quite visited by groups of children and lovers. You can see these tombs that great megalomaniac dukes built when their wife died. I make a detour at the Lotus Temple (a temple dedicated to the Baha’i Faith, all people of every religion are welcome inside) with an Israeli guy. There is space, benches and resonance like inside a church. A building that hold a great peace, especially at the time of the sunset; spectacular. We could expect the Lotus to open at any time.

We also illegally enter the Qutb Minar (the red stone minaret) by jumping off the wall from the back garden and we save 500Rs. The governors of the time showed their power, building high towers (minaret). Besides Qutb, another wider minaret on its base has never been completed. Another governor wanted to show off his wealth, but he forgot that it was volatile.

Then I asked to the Israel guy if he was down to go to Rishikesh, a very popular city for Yoga in Uttarakhand State. First night-first time in a sleeper class train. We both mistake the car; somebody wake us up loudly at midnight to reach our real space. Going from the business class to the basic bunk class at midnight is not the same comfort standard. I sniggered. And then I was cold.

The Israeli does not know where to go and as I struggle also to know what I want, I leave him the day after and continue on my own.

RISHIKESH. I meet Ketan who is a student in physiotherapy and a couchsurfing fan. He started to host people a year or two ago in his hometown Kanpur. He developed a great curiosity for the new worlds that foreigners showed to him. He opened his mind a lot, welcomed a veiled Muslim, a gay couple, and he told me lots of stories of people who do not fit into Indian cultural standards coming to his house. He has become more and more comfortable with girls, he has developed this will to make people happy, to welcome them warmly. It reminds me of Kamal the way he was telling me stories about foreigners he had welcomed. Such great goal in life is nice to see.

In the room, there is already Aleksei, a Russian and Sergei, his Ukrainian friend. While Ketan works in an Ashram and in a small hospital, I spend a day with the two guys in their forties. There is something beautiful, quiet in their personality. Aleksei is a doctor and Ayurvedic practitioner since 10 years near Moscow (a mixture of acupuncture, massage, and the use of many natural plants). Sergei is a computer engineer and is the only one to know a little bit of English. Their way of traveling fascinates me, they go from city to city, peacefully, ask questions about alternative medicine in research centers, walk, do couchsurfing with professors, artists or doctors.

When they leave Rishikesh, Ketan and me rent a motorcycle and drive for an afternoon in a village high up in the mountains. Rishikesh is rather a calm city, the Ganges flows majestically, turquoise in its large bed, the inhabitants are adorable and do not harass the tourists like Delhi. Finding some birds melody in the mountains make me feel even better. I would have spent the day breathing near a tree, but it's not K’s thing even if he did Vipassana, so we only spend a short time there... We climb a metallic structure; he is proud to share with me this experience he has already did with another couchsurfer. The squirrel honors the climbing of the building and waits for his friend the bear, delicate animal, on the platform. This is damn high, good. We enjoy the sight and the courtesy of the sun at 4pm.

Next day, we get up early to go to a refreshing Morning Yoga class. I forget to breathe in this country, it's so polluted and dry everywhere ...

I discover new Indian dishes: the Masala Dosa (a kind of potato gratin in a brik pastry sheet shaped like a tube), chapatis obviously with their Mix Veg, or Paneer (a cheese that looks like mozzarella cut in cube with the texture of the feta, in a spicy tomato sauce), the Paratha, salted pancakes and mixed before cooking with Aloo (potato), Gobi (cauliflower) or Plain (nature). Not to forget the Samosas, the fruits, the teas (chaiiiii), Thalis (mix between curries, rice and chapatis) with their varieties of vegetables. Spices are perfectly bearable because in India, we speak of spicy food, not chilli. I have to describe the food because I hate to take pictures of meals (so I forget).

We often eat at Uncle's, a smiling, small and solid man who takes care of his nephew from heart. "He looks like a Snow-White dwarf," chuckles the future physiotherapist.

Ketan has given himself the nickname "Dr. Ketan Strange", inspired by the movie Doctor Strange. He finds that since he has done Vipassana, strange things and happy coincidences are happening in his life. He does not seem to realize that he has developed a great positivism, a confidence in his future and a certain faith. He is a big kid and it's ok. We all have to stay child on this way. We watched the movie together and I was totally amazed in front of scenes shot in Kathmandu and Patan.

We leave each other with a smile, a solid friendship is born.

AGRA. The city is in the fog when I arrive in the early morning with a tattered neck. Buses in a sitting position 8 hours by night: never again. I do not sleep anymore, put my belongings in an hostel and walk in the morning dusk. The old city surroundings the Taj Mahal is mysterious, really old, especially poor.

The frame and the architect reminds me of the movie Azur and Asmar. The director has perfectly reproduced details, complex mosaics reflecting the light to create the same atmosphere. It's beautiful. I think about Francesca. She likes details and she takes pictures of them. I stay for ten minutes in front of doors and windows of this kind of mausoleum.

I visit the Taj Mahal which definitely costs an arm for a single entry, the Taj baby, empty of tourists, the other side of the river. I kill my time with a half-blind tuktuk driver who takes me to showrooms to earn a commission of 100 Rupees. It's always sometimes for him in his pocket for dinner. I learn more about the art of stones embedded in the Taj, traditional embroidery, the work of marble. Interesting. Quite challenging to leave without buying anything because sellers insist in many ways. A guy in a restaurant shows me another guestbook. Haha...

I never take audio guide, nor guide. I just look at the buildings, their power, the immense work. I look at these people who live in camps on the other side of the river, this Tata bus cemetery, I take a forbidden road with the help of an Indian and save 200 rupees to see the Taj through in a thick fog.

However, here, the Indians people doesn’t respect anything, neither the place, nor your presence. Generally speaking, they often want selfies with white people. I end up refusing, losing my smile, completely. It irritates me a lot, all those people who call you from all sides to sell their trinkets or a private tuktuk. In Agra, everything is poor, everything becomes a tourist attraction and everything revolves around money around the Taj. There is almost no human respect. Grr ...

While pictures sell dreams on social networks (see Instagram), knowing the truth of reality behind changes the game. It makes me avoid my phone for some time.

I literally flee Agra for Bharatpur.

I had noticed a national park and an opportunity to ride a bike, even at 500 rupee the entrance, but I needed to find a little corner of nature. I spent 3 hours losing myself on the roads, listening to birds, beautiful green parrots, I see deer with majestic woods, cows. The sunset is filtered by the tree branches and falls as a fire puddle on the asphalt. It makes me dream, but nostalgically.

When I return to the guest house, the owner tells me gossips, that he likes the beach of Arambol north of Goa because obviously it is full of European bikinis. I don’t give a *, but I listen to him with a quarter of ear, I want to sleep. I'm fleeing the next day to Jaipur.

JAIPUR. In the bus that leads me there, I breathe, I calm down. God, it's hard to keep control in Uttar Pradesh ... Ketan advised me to contact another friend and when I go to his home, there are soft mattresses, a nice rooftop, it feels good to arrive in the cocoon. The biggest surprise is to meet Aleksei and Sergei again. The Russian friend offers an acupuncture session to the couchsurfeur's father, straightens his back. And while son and father go to a wedding, Sergei and Aleksei teach me some rudiments of thai massage. They leave the next day for Goa ... I stay 4 days to rest a little, to walk in the streets of the Pink City. I write on a stool in the middle of a walking path where the near traffic has never been so noisy since Delhi. But I find a certain calm, paradoxically.

The couchsurfer takes me to the fifth day of the wedding. I am curious to see the customs of this country. However, when I come back, I am very disgusted. Weddings, whether in rich families or more modest last 6 days: 5 days of festivities and the last day is the exchange of rings. The orgy of the place where I have the chance to enter gives me nausea. This immense complex was neither the same the day before, nor the before day before etc. A complex like that each night ... People sleep in front of the gate. Most of the guys go to the carpark to get drunk, come back to fill up the belly; fifty cooks are behind the haute-cuisine stands and wait for the guests, each richer than the other to come and serve; inside, there is a scene and a giant screen, artists and speakers who spit too loud... The women, wrapped in their Sarree, hurt me sneering for nothing, eating too much, making dirty jokes about domestic violence. After this event, I still have empathy for my host but I start slowly to move away. I don’t know how to express it clearly, but I feel the contrary I was feeling at the beginning. Too bad…

It is time to leave so I ask him the next day to help me with the bike. He helps but I feel he is expecting something in return for this service...

I put chains on my feet with this story, because renting in a place, you have to go back. When the contract is over with a mustached-guy that does not inspire me 100% confidence, he gives me a forced smile, look at the pulsar 150cc black I just rent for 20 days and asks "Are you happy now? you can start smiling again.” After the wedding, I clearly feel a nascent anger towards his attitude and remarks that smells the misunderstanding from very far because of my fault. I want to be far far far away.

The guy makes paintings with gems reduced to very small pieces and draw characters, nice landscapes. It's traditional. He has an impressive stock and sells them online. His way of thinking, to smoke too much weed, to look at people with that air of little child, I wonder sometimes if this guy is an artist the way I see them...

I'm leaving with this bike that I desired so much; dreams and delusions in my head. I enjoy the adrenaline of the race, the challenge of roads and traffic jams. A Mexican comedian who visited India made the following remark that is so true: in India, the traffic is huge, but when nothing moves in America or Europe, here it moves very well!

ROADTRIP - December 11- 29. (I only tell a few anecdotes for each city)

PUSHKAR. The small touristic town hold a vital peace with its holy lake and the surrounding houses and temples. Their pastel colors at sunset, stalls and shops that offer a bunch of products, hippies pants not shameful to wear here, leather bags, scarves, incense, travel agencies, restaurant, trinkets. Cows, motorbikes and pedestrians share the narrow Market Street and care must be taken to avoid dung in non-strategic bits. The guy from Jaipur advised me to go to a Guest House by the lake and I'm glad to be well received.

The bike inspires people, it impresses sometimes, it opens doors for me and helps in the negotiation. I feel proud and strong. In Pushkar, I climb the surrounding hills, watch a Bollywood with a lovely British couple, chat with the hostel owner who calls himself "Doctor Alone" and has lots of stories to tell. He constantly repeats that he is 'full power'. It gives me energy and the joy of living.

JODHPUR. The city of the sun, the blue city, only seven days of rain a year. The buildings have a special blue color, also the one used to represent the Hindu God Hary Shree Krishna on icons. When I arrive after driving for the first time at night (the sun went down too early, oops ...), I am royally greeted by the owner of the hotel -hill view- right down the fort. Zafran, a strong smiling woman with tobacco-ravaged teeth (people keep chewing and spitting it), is proud of me. She offers me a very good price for the room. She is the leader in the Council for the old town city district. I ask some questions about the place and the protection that women can be use here, and she explains that there is a council in Jodhpur for women run by women. I would have liked to stay one or two weeks to take the time to meet them, to discuss with them, to propose to them some ideas but especially to learn more about this culture which still oppresses the woman a lot but respects Mothers. But instead, I go back to bed-fever-emptyingmyself, stay 3 nights, visit the fort entering from the old town. The view and the colors are striking. We can see the bending of the earth. I observe for an hour the market square around the Clock Tower. The bell rings and reminds me of the churches, those cool, quiet places that I miss a little. It's Christmas soon, I feel a void inside that I do not know how to fill. I should be happy, but it's hard for me to get some energy to move on, to get up, to see things. I do not think I like being a tourist, but I definitely love traveling the roads on my two-wheelers. Maybe I need company…

JAISALMER. The Golden city.

In Jaisalmer, I couchsurf again. I spend time with Pushpendra, an IT teacher at Air Force Elementary School. The friendship is clear with him and it reassures me, after the experience of Jaipur. Jaisalmer is a city very close to Pakistan, and as the history between the two countries is not one of the most peaceful of the world, the army is massively present around the city. On the road, I saw the military bases spread over hectares. I visit the fort that dominates the city. When I was little, I was fascinated by this kind of fortress. I lose myself in the narrow streets, sit down and contemplate the ocher colors of the buildings below. The traditional buildings are adorned with fine and carved details. I meet Khan-ji, a generous man who takes me in a resort in the middle of the desert 40km from Jaisalmer with a Franco-Hindu couple and some Indians, -complete improvisation ... I ride a camel with the trainer who tells me "I have never been to school, I went to camel school, I'm waiting to save money to buy other camels and be independent". It was cute, but I feel bad enjoying this tourist attraction. The mount is young but I see others dragging trolleys with 2-3 Indian mamas at a time ... When the camel (Mickael Jackson, it's his name) gets up, I'm impressed by the height of the animal and its technique to stand up. See-saw one day, always remains. It is possible to learn to ride this kind of camel and go on a safari for a few days. But again, I do not have time.

Sunset, sitting on a dune ... It's funny to say from the camp: “let’s go into the desert”. Then we climb the dune which is 1km far from the road and the sandy soil of the valley. In the evening, after a show of traditional dancers and musicians by and for the Indian tour group of the camp (a very luxury resort), we eat a Thali and we go back to the desert with Khan- Ji (Ji is a mark of respect when we call our elder by his first name) and the Franco-Hindu couple. We make a fire and fall asleep on the cold sand under the milky way, more magnificent and clear than ever. A fresh wind blows; the blankets are moist but it does not matter. The moment is unreal, suspended. The fire goes out, we are plunged into the darkness, in the middle of the dunes of the mini desert of Khuri village.

The next day, I stay in another resort own by Khan. Everything is deserted, we are alone with Karen and KK (the couple), Khan went back to town. I try to appreciate the fact that I only enjoy life, landscape and silence, but I have the desire to escape, all the time... To do what? The clouds soften the heat of the winter sun, and at the end of the day, I can calm me down and enjoy a little better. New evening and Thali by the sand in another place, near other dunes, with two Australian girls whom Khan-Ji brought back from Jaisalmer by car. It is nice to see people, talking, laughing for nothing.

The air is dry but I really like this city and desert atmosphere, the slowness of our brain and the time passing by smoothly.

Khan-Ji.

There is nothing to say. This guy teaches you with the greatest tranquility and simplicity to enjoy your moment, the one he offers you, the opportunity you took to go to the desert with him.

"You cannot regret it."

He makes spontaneous breaks on the road, climbs to the top of the stony mound and looks at the miraculous green field and its Indian bean trees in the middle of the dry valley. He laughs and coughs a little right after, turns his eyes towards what is good, the human benefits of his business, sleeps little, late at night because he cares for his guests from around the world ... In Khan’s smile, there is all the mischief, kindness and the intelligence of the Indian that you want to meet. There is humanity. You breathe in his presence: phew, that kind of person exists!

Mt ABU. That day I drive 470km. It's huge distance and it destroys my body. I was supposed to do 440 but I made a mistake at one point and it extends 36 kilometers. I drove at night, in the cold, with the energy from Idon’tknowwhere, on a mountain road. Very risky, but possible. A policeman stops me, I prepare my words to justify myself but he ends up shaking my hand because he has never seen a girl on a motorcycle. Mt Abu is very popular for Indian tourists but I was definitely the only westerner ... I spent time near the church, tried to calm my impatience, fill the void that is growing again. I was lucky to find a room at a very reduced price for the season, especially arriving at 9pm, after 13 hours, 7 tea, a 20-min nap, only 1 meal and too-sweets butter cakes.

Mount Abu, I went because it's Christmas, and there is a church around. It is curious to see palm trees and mountains on the same area. The smell of the place reminds me of my house at spring. Windy, soft like a caress, natural. A girl invited me to the morning Christmas Mass (I stay 30min because it is in Hindi), I say hello to Maria who smiles at me in front of the Catholic Church. I grew up with her, not with Vishnu or Brahma. It is comforting to see a face I can recognize. Two nights later, the contemplation of a splendid sunset and a little improvement brought by the force of the mountains, I am on the road again, repair the chain loose of the bike, and it is difficult because no one speaks English, go for 280km. Maybe it does seem to be a lot for you, but trust me, on Indian road full for holes and speed bumps you cannot see, it is laborious…

UDAIPUR.

I did not see anything in Udaipur except the two main lakes, the royal palace from far away, the market street. I spent Christmas with the couchsurfer and his friends. It was nice. But violent fever the next overnight, I sweat badly for 12 hours and I understand definitely that I could not take it anymore. Long distances, loneliness, adaptation in each new level, it makes me die. I never have time to stay with the people I meet and start to love, it makes me sad, useless and incomplete. So much people also with whom I must make an effort not to slap because they are too insistent or stifling, and because they make remarks that are ok, but in the long run, it's too much.

Tuktuk? Grrr…

My head is full of noises, confusions, sadness. The nature of the couchsurfer’s house does not bring anything anymore because I am tired of everything, even him. I lost my power, I lost myself, I am not nice, it is not normal. I don’t even know what do to except get rid of the bike.

I see the Australian friends and we chat around a vegan meal but the fever makes me flee to reach the bed again. It's strange this feeling of purvey dreams saying 'I'm doing a motorcycle roadtrip' but that in fact, what we want is to finish it as soon as possible. Why? Chains of the rental contract or the fear of coming back to Jaipur and facing this guy with unreal desires?

I'm going back to Pushkar. I wanted to go through Bundi on the way back, but I'm already in ‘survival mode’, so there's no point overstep the mark. I speak with people I know there and it makes me feel better. I'm no longer 'full power', but I keep the expression in mind for the rest of my adventures.

I give the motorcycle back after 2 nights in Pushkar, I go back to Jaipur and spend the worst 4 hours of my life with this guy who in the meantime, was so happy to see me again that he hit my wall of silence and coldness. I don’t even have energy for myself, I cannot have it with other people I know. I cannot force myself to be kind, I am lost. It is impossible to explain to him when I don’t even know who I am at that time…

I booked a bus to Rishikesh anyway. It cannot stand in front of fake romance, issues about Indian guys and add them to the list of my personal confusions. I showed interests for the work and life of this guy, his art, and I do not know if he wanted to manipulate me so that we get married and he could develop his business in Europe but it makes me run away again ... I know nothing. I am a free spirit, I said, before leaving. My heart finally released from these chains.

INDIAN ROADS, TEA BREAKS ...

I loved having this freedom to ride a motorcycle (and it's not over :), this ability to do it (thanks to the confidence of Nago, my parents, and many others), to eat meals along the highway, to stop because a cow crosses nonchalantly the road, cross small villages, overtake Indian bikers and royal entfields. The roads in India are corrects. We must stop saying that it is impossible. It is challenging.

It's just mega dangerous when suddenly, a cow comes out of nowhere, when you overtake a motorcycle that overtakes itself another bike, when you pass in a narrow space between two trucks, when you drive at night, when you have to go from 80 to 20kmph to let camels, sheep, goats cross (the road of Jaisalmer is epic!). The Indian habit is to overtake systematically in the bending roads, when you find yourself honking nonstop because a car or a truck is right in front of you... It leads to develop safety reflexes, oh yes! I know the rules of the horn and I will definitely have to go back to the French rules when I come back.

But what? I'm alive guys, it's nice eh! I have lots of beautiful pictures, color, anecdotes of what happened on the road in my mind, few physical pictures unfortunately. I am proud to have done it, 2000km total, 3 full tank, mountain roads, countryside roads, peak at 110kmph on a deliciously flat and asphalted road.

I love driving, motorcycle, car, camel, everything. The long motorized hops give me the impression of changing levels in the Mario game. Cities are worlds by themselves.

Important is to stay attentive at every second, but long distances wear yourself out. The eyes without smiles, insistent, dissuading me from taking breaks sometimes, because you have to face them. I count the kilometers, sing loudly in my helmet and tell to myself that everything is alright. I have the impression to do visual education; to show them that yes, it is possible a girl on a motorcycle! Even kindly couchsurfers are curious to host me.

In some places where I take a tea break because the bag weighs on my shoulders and my buttocks are shattered (I did not try to tie it somewhere to relieve my back for a speed reason), I gather the whole village and the daylight struggles to pass through the countless bodies around me. A man protects me one day with admirable respect. I will remember him even if we cannot speak to each other. Smile is a language by itself. On the picture, he makes the sign of ‘Full Power’.

In the end of this roadtrip, I felt so unstable both physically and mentally that I had to spend the New Year in a place I had loved. Back to step one at my friend Ketan's place. I go back in the sleeper-night-bus that stays my favorite transportation and reminds me the trips at the back of the dad’s van (hehe). I breathe finally the fresh air and the Ganges, give me time to sleep, to walk, to restore my body and mind. We chat a lot, I write everywhere anytime, wash my clothes that took the dust for 20 days out, wash my troubles with cold water.

We spend a simple new year, after a nap on the banks of the Ganges, we invite ourselves to public evenings, guided by loud music around. We end up dancing with students in biology, in a courtyard of an old building they have decorated for the event. We rent a scooter to make daily trips and I sit on this other way (upside down?) to watch the landscape disappearing from behind. This is something that one can only do here in India. No rules on the road, and it makes people laugh. Normally, girls sit sidesaddle behind their husband.

Then we go to Mussorie, a city on top of a mountain, go through Dehradun to see a Buddhist temple overcrowded. We stop in a big mall. I am a child who rediscovers his luxury roots. So many days spent in broom-rooms, showering with jug (but the water is hot so no big deal actually), to feel cold, not to be able to wash my dusty pants. Entering this mall, eating a hamburger, going to the movies, doing research for future projects finally concrete, eating toast with Nutella, it heals me 50 life-points in one go. Wow. Ketan is as happy as me, he says it's the first time he's doing all that, we laugh like two kids in an adult world. We sing loudly "when I get older, I will be stronger" on the scooter and we talk about positive-thinking and life plans at any time. A good day in the European way.

Then, after I put a little order in my ideas, I decided for the Vipassana retreat. That's the only thing I find logical to do in India now. Return to a vital silence and reflexion. I do not know at all what ten hours of meditation represents in a day, but I feel it, I feel doing it, that's all.

The day before my second departure from Rishikesh, I arrive for the evening Puja in Trivani Ghat (Ghat = stair and bank along the Ganges), one of my favorite Ghat in Rishikesh and I am touched by the beauty of the ceremony. It is a daily tribute to the gods, to Buddha, to Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, to our mother holy Ganges. The five elements are there united: earth, water, air, fire and sky-space. Puja, it's a kind of hindu open-air mass. The priests, on their pedestal, proceed to a collective gesture going in pace with the traditional music. People buy things to be faithful, depose them in the holy water and make a wish to a God whom they worship maybe blindly.

When I get home, Ketan talks to me about a strange sensation going on inside him, and I think he's getting emotional and falling in love ... But he keeps saying, "you're my best friend".

Noooooo…

I take my bus to Pushkar, cross KK from Jaisalmer and he drives me to the Vipassana center.

To be continued.

(I am not going to translate the second texts about Vipassana, sorry, but you can read the third one).