Festival time

The Hindus in India just finished celebrating a nine-day festival called Navarathri ("nine nights"). The days are marked by late night processions with lots of singing, drumming, and the blowing of conch shells. It all ends with Dussehra, which commemorates the story of the Ramayan, when Lord Ram rescued his wife Sita from the clutches of the demon Ravan (with a help of his brother Lakshman, the god Hanuman, and an army of bears, monkeys, vultures, and Vanar princes) and when effigies of Ravan, his brother, and his son are burned to celebrate Ram’s success.

There was a big festival at Jakhu planned for Dussehra. Earlier in the week, we watched men building the demon effigies. They started by lashing together bamboo poles for the skeletons, which was followed by layers of newspaper and fabric. It reminded me of the Guy that is burned on Guy Fawkes Day in England or what I imagine they burn at Burning Man – times three.

Dussehra was yesterday, and we set out for the festivities after lunch. We were planning to take a taxi up the hill, instead of doing the hike, but trying to catch a cab was madness. Like many things in India, getting into a queue is a nice idea that doesn’t actually fulfill its function. We stood in line, waiting for the taxis to arrive. When one finally appeared, the people formerly in a line immediately surged forward, pushing and shoving to get in (while the original passengers were still trying to get out!), regardless of who had been there first. As you can see in the photo below, people are practically coming out of the windows – and still more are trying to get in the rear door. When this taxi went by, I saw that girls were sitting on each others’ laps, squished in like sardines. After waiting for forty-five minutes and deciding we didn’t want to have to fight anyone to get into a car, we decided to make the hike up after all.

There were more people than usual taking the path up to the temple. On an average day, there might be a young honeymooning couple or two, some aunties in saris, a few older gentlemen in sweater vests, a handful of teenagers in hip Western clothing and students in their school uniforms, and the odd Western tourist either going up or down the road. On festival day, there were hundreds: whole families in their very best saris and salwar kameez suits and button-down shirts, packs of young dudes, tourists in backpacks and brandishing cameras, and even some stray dogs from Shimla town who didn’t typically go up the hill. Even though Danny had brought his monkey stick, we didn’t really need it: the monkeys seemed too overwhelmed by the sheer number of humans to bother anybody.

Periodically along the path were vendors selling all sorts of festival day goodies. Normally, there is just a Tibetan woman selling shawls (I bought a couple really pretty ones from her last week) and a couple different people selling prasad, including an older woman I call Auntie Prasad, who pushes her wares on everyone who passes by (Rs. 20 for four packets of the white candy – and take two sets, because there are two temples), knits in the meantime, and talks to Danny in Hindi about monkeys and marriage and how she’d like to see me wearing a salwar kameez. None of the usual folks were there, though. Instead, there were people selling plastic flowers, bhel puri (fried puffs of dough that are, as Danny says, “filled with sickness”), and pillow cases with portraits of tigers on them. As we got closer to the temple, the path became lined with vendors selling a variety of street food (including pakora, jalebi, sandwiches of little fried patties, neon-colored cotton candy, and melting kulfi), as well as all kinds of toys for the children.

There were your typical dolls, toy cars and trucks, pop guns, and other assortment of cheap, plastic junk. For the festival, they were also selling Hanuman masks and the various weaponry used to defeat Ravan and his gang: the bows and arrows of Ram and Lakshman, the club of Hanuman, and swords, all covered in bright, shiny paper. Among the festival toys were masks of Krish, “India’s first superhero,” and Spiderman – just in case, I suppose, you preferred to dress up as something more secular.

The entryway to the temple grounds were decorated in silver and gold tinsel, hanging above our heads. The prasad sellers were out in full force, though there was not a monkey to be seen. We arrived just as the chief minister (similar to a governor back in the States) of Himachal Pradesh was leaving the Shiva temple to go up to the Hanuman temple. There were police officers everywhere because of this, more than I’d ever seen in one place at one time. After Danny bought some prasad from some vendors he knew, we headed up, too, and tried to find a good place to watch the festivities. There were people everywhere: crammed along the edge of the hill, crowded around the outside the temple itself, even up on the scaffolding where normally people were renovating some of the buildings. Danny estimated that there were probably nearly 3,000 people gathered to watch Ravan burn. We ended up standing on the edge of a planter box full of marigolds and barbed wire (to keep out the monkeys). Fortunately, the barbed wire they use around Shimla is fairly harmless; it doesn’t even stop the monkeys.

Ravan and his demon compatriots were set up at the bottom of the first slope beneath the temple (which I thought was a bad set-up, since everyone was above, trying to look down, and still having their views blocked by everyone standing in front of them). The effigies were pink-skinned, with curling mustaches, crowns, and swords. Ravan came complete with his ten heads. At one point, the cast of the Ramayan walked down into the gully where the effigies stood, though what they did after that is a mystery to me, since I couldn’t see down that far. Meanwhile, people were burning huge sparklers and setting off fireworks, which all went off with loud and sometimes disconcerting bangs.

I have to admit that I was a little nervous about three paper-and-bamboo demons being burned in the middle of a pine forest, but they’d done this before and all of the two firemen present would most certainly assure the safety of the trees. I can’t even imagine what would happen if a forest fire broke out with a crowd of thousands present. Crowds in India are not well known for their level-headedness in an emergency. In fact, last year at the Naina Devi temple, about 160 km from Shimla, "162 people died when they were crushed, trampled, or forced over the side of a ravine by the movement of a large panicking crowd" (Wikipedia). It seems to be part of the culture to push and shove when trying to get to where you’re going. (Danny says, “You can probably find any number of stampede deaths in India if you just search on the internet for five minutes.”)

Finally, the big moment arrived when it was time for the burn. The chief minister, sitting safely up by the temple, started the burn by remote control. He pushed a button or flipped a switch or whatever, and Ravan’s face began to spew fireworks (as depicted in the first photo below). Other fireworks in the bodies of the effigies went off with several loud bangs, and they all caught fire. The crowd cheered and took photos with their cell phones. The air was soon filled with even more smoke, and bits of burning paper were blown into the nearby trees (though, fortunately, without incident). After mostly going up in flames, Ravan toppled to the ground, to the triumphant cheers of the crowd. His companions fell shortly thereafter, fireworks bursting in the sky all the while.

Once that was over, the same crowd that had just swarmed in not an hour before began to swarm back out. As the sea of people thinned, we were able to get closer to where the effigies had been. There were still many people watching the prone bodies burn away – and there were still firecrackers going off in the base of dirt where Ravan had once stood. Suddenly, the small crowd gathered along the hillside rushed the fallen demons and began tearing them apart. Danny asked a fellow standing nearby what was going on, and we were told that the sticks used to create the effigies were “good wood” and therefore good luck. So I said we should get some for ourselves.

We clambered down the hill, into the smoke and the still-exploding fireworks, passing boys and old aunties going back up with handfuls of charred sticks. Another Indian bloke encouraged us to collect some of the wood, explaining that we would “have no fear.” It took some effort to break off a piece or two of bamboo, because the effigies were roped together quite well. On our way back up, I found a piece of demon cheek: one side painted pink and black, the other just regular old newspaper. We later turned to see boys carrying entire parts of rope-tied bamboo skeleton – essentially whole chunks of demon torso.

The evening was capped off by a stop at the café of one of Danny’s informants, where we gorged on way too much (free) bread pakora, as well as pakora of the potato, eggplant, and pumpkin varieties. We then went to the Hanuman mandir, which by this point was not as busy. I’d never been in before and was nervous about doing something “wrong.” We took off our shoes before climbing the steps into the temple. Inside was a pandit, seated before the shiny red-orange image of Hanuman. (Danny describes him as a “rock with googly eyes.”) We knelt down, along with a handful of other worshipers. The pandit started by handing out a round of blessed prasad (the typical hazelnuts and white candy), which I missed because I was trying to figure out what was going on. He painted our foreheads with a tilik of orange paint, then poured us handfuls of rosewater (which Danny warned me after the fact not to drink too much of, though, luckily, I suppose, I accidentally spilled a lot of it). Then Danny walked me around the room, showing me the depictions of scenes from the Ramayan. On the way out the door, I rang one of the temple bells, as people tend to do when visiting the mandir.

Our last stop was to the other café to watch a man making fresh jalebi. One of Danny’s friends was working, and he gave us some free “samples” of jalebi – which was almost too much on top of the other fried foods we’d eaten. Jalebi is deep-fried batter, almost like a small funnel cake, which is then coated in sticky sweet syrup. They’re especially good when eaten hot, right out of the pan.

By then, it was well after dark, and we made the long trek back down, to recover in our hotel room with beers and TV.

Langurs, the other kind of monkey

Often, where you find rhesus macaques, you’ll find langurs. This second type of monkey is different from their macaque cousins in several ways: they have long tails, cream-colored coats, black goblin faces, are strictly leaf eaters (and therefore don’t bother humans the way macaques do), and are adapted to living in the trees with their ability to bounce gracefully from place to place. The locals differentiate the two as “red monkeys” and “black monkeys.” Since they eat different foods, the two kinds of monkeys can occupy a similar territory, although they generally don’t intermingle.

A small band of langurs stopped near our hotel earlier this week to graze on the leaves and flowers of the bushes growing there. Even though I was battling both a nasty chest cold and the end of a bout with traveler's diarrhea, I grabbed my camera and went down to take some photos. Langurs seem to generally be less concerned about the presence of humans, so I was able to get pretty close and get some good shots. Unfortunately, humans seem to be wary -- even frightened -- no matter what kind of monkey, which tends to result in the chasing off of the monkeys with rocks or the waving of sticks. Thus, even the langurs got a little agitated after having me and Danny watch them for an extended period of time, and they eventually took off down the hill.

Dogs of India

No matter where you go in India, you’ll find dogs. The majority of them are strays, though occasionally you’ll find the odd pure-bred with an owner. In Delhi, the strays were everywhere: lying along the side of the street, sometimes begging humans for scraps of food, or fighting amongst themselves for territory. The neighborhood Danny lived in during my last trip was full of dogs that would bark and howl all night long – therefore keeping me up in the wee hours. They were pretty sad creatures, as most of them were skinny and many of them had injuries like limp or missing limbs.

In Shimla, the dogs appear hardier, many with thick coats, probably due to the fact that it gets cold up here in the Himalayan foothills. They are generally cared for better, insofar as many of them have been spayed or neutered (which is easily revealed by the notch cut into their ears). Plus people seem to adopt local strays by giving them leftovers.

Regardless of where they are, the majority of dogs tend to do the sorts of things that dogs do. By this, I mean that they will generally lie down wherever they please, sometimes block vehicle traffic with seemingly little concern for their own safety (in big urban areas like Delhi, this is where they get their injuries from), chase each other playfully, dig through the trash for tasty morsels, and look at you mournfully if you happen to be eating an ice cream cone.

Since Shimla is rather small, it’s easy to get to know the neighborhood strays. There are four that live up at Jakhu temple, who keep the monkeys in check and also spend a lot of time sleeping. There’s one who lives by the corner shop near our hotel that Danny often says hello to.

People here keep dogs as pets, too. Usually you see Labrador retrievers or little moppy ones like shih tzus or pomeranians, though I’ve also seen a pug. There is a dachshund named Magic, who is owned by a shopkeeper down at the Lakkar Bazaar (“wood market”), who seems to really enjoy chasing the monkeys that hang out by the shop.

While it may sound like there’s a lot of monkey-chasing going on, there really isn’t. Dogs and monkeys can be wary of each other, but often they will leave each other alone.

Coconuts for the monkey god

We went up to Jakhu temple for the second time this past Tuesday, which is Hanuman’s day and the best day to make offerings and ask blessings from the monkey god. There were several wealthy families from Delhi who had made the pilgrimage, bringing with them huge bags full of coconuts. After they had made their offering to Hanuman, they began to pass out the prasad to those outside the temple, including Danny and me. We each got one to enjoy.

Some of the monkeys did, too, by gift or theft. It seemed that they understood that the fibrous exterior needed to come off, but once they got to the shell, they were unsure of how to access the flesh. Other monkeys were given coconuts that were broken open, and they used their sharp teeth to make short work of the coconut meat.

Meanwhile, Danny and I went to the far side of the temple grounds to figure out how to get the nuts open. Danny asked for help, and an Indian fellow showed us how to pull off the fibers and then smash the coconut against the cement to break it open. It was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be. These coconuts were smaller than the ones we have at home, that need a hammer to smash them open. That’s how I remember my mom opening fresh coconuts when I was growing up.

I wasn’t too skilled on drinking the coconut water as it leaked out, which was fine by me, since it’s not one of my favorite things. But I went on to gorge on more than half a coconut. I can’t recall the last time I’d had fresh coconut, and I was surprised by how nutty it tasted – not at all like the sugary, flaked stuff you find on cupcakes. In fact, I ate so much coconut, I made myself sick and had to give some of the leftovers to the nearby macaques!

Ode to Shimla

Have I mentioned how pretty Shimla is?

Food, delicious food

Danny commented at dinner last night that, based on my running commentary of what I eat, I haven’t had a bad meal during our first week here in Shimla. He’s right: there are a number of decent restaurants that serve really tasty food. None of them are four-star cuisine, but then, no one comes to India for a four-star dining experience. You can have pretty much anything you crave, whether that’s pizza, sandwiches, dosas, curries, dim sum, omlettes and toast, soup, or ice cream.

We’ve been eating almost exclusively vegetarian since we arrived. This is mostly in order to remain socially conscious about what we eat, since the assumption is that the meat and poultry is from factory farms and, being that we’re in a land-locked location, we have no idea where the fish and shrimp come from. It’s not a bad country to not be eating meat, as you can imagine, with all the different veggie options available. We’ve only had meat twice now: at a Punjab restaurant, where Danny really wanted us to try butter chicken (which I’d never had), and on a chicken barbeque pizza, which had been recommended in the guide book.

I’ve really been enjoying paneer as a meat replacement of sorts. I really think that, in general , you can’t go wrong with cheese, and I especially like the dense texture of paneer. You could basically put any kind of sauce on paneer, and I’d be a happy camper.

I’m also enjoying any opportunity to eat fresh or lightly cooked veggies, since vegetables in most traditional Indian dishes are cooked down to a gravy. Subway, of all fast food joints, has a location here in Shimla, and I’m currently obsessed with the “Veggie Delite” sandwich, which is basically just a bunch of raw veggies (the usual tomato, lettuce, onion, cucumber, etc.) in a whole wheat roll with mayo. Yesterday, we went to lunch at a cozy café, where I asked the owner/chef what he recommended. He made me a huge bowl of steamed vegetables (carrots, green beans, cabbage, onions, cucumber, tomatoes, potatoes, cauliflower) in a light tomato-based sauce, with a few slices of mayo-smeared white bread on the side. Apart from the spongy bread, it was a really healthy meal – and really tasty!

My favorite light meal is a bowl of sweet corn soup or hot and sour soup, usually ordered from the hotel’s kitchen. I think it’s probably made from a freeze-dried mix, but both kinds are really comforting. True to Indian tastes, the hot and sour soup can be mouth-scorching, sometimes with little bits of chili peppers floating in the broth. Even the corn soup, which is just a clear vegetable broth with corn and some other veggies, can be a little spicy, which I really like.

And sometimes, what really hits the spot is just a tiny cup of steaming hot chai and a plate of pakora: either bread with butter between or vegetables, coated in batter and deep fried. It’s a perfect snack after watching macaques all afternoon.

At the monkey temple

After making the hike to the top, we took a moment to rest and pick up a couple of monkey sticks. We also had a short photo session with a group of young Indian men who were on pilgrimage to Jakhu. Men, in particular, love taking photos of the white folks they come across – especially if they happen to be tall, blonde, and speak Hindi.

The monkeys at the temple were up to their usual antics: scurrying about, climbing on things, fighting over food, grooming, and napping. We had brought up a couple of chocolate cookies, and then once there, also bought a couple packets of prasad (food offerings), one of which had little white candies, the other was hazelnuts. As soon as I started rifling in my purse, we found ourselves surrounded by macaques of different sizes. I broke the cookies into pieces and tossed them to individual monkeys, while Danny did the regulating with his stick. If a monkey got too close, he tapped the stick on the ground to let the monkey know to back off. They ate everything and anything that was available, right down to the tiniest crumb.

Some of the monkeys liked eating the flowers that grew on the temple grounds. You could see where they’d been eating by the petals strewn on the grass. Some visitors to the temple brought the monkeys marigolds as offerings, which the juveniles happily held in their feet and munched on.

We spent most of our time feeding and photographing the various members of the monkey troop. Danny, being more experienced with the monkeys and therefore more brave, would sometimes feed a monkey by hand, provided that he wasn’t being followed by a whole lot of other monkeys. One such monkey was content in collecting hazelnuts out of Danny’s open palm – until I guess he got impatient and decided to steal the whole packet from Danny!

While Danny re-established connections with his human contacts at the temple, I watched a couple of young monkeys tumble about on a playground set meant for human children. They clambered up the slide, then slid back down, before wrestling their way back to the top. It was much like watching young human children, and I think, at the end of the day, monkeys and humans really are quite similar.

Hiking up to Jakhu

Since Shimla is built on the side of a mountain, you have to trek up or down a steep road no matter where you want to go. Even just going out to internet café or to grab a bite to eat requires a little bit of a workout.

Jakhu, the sacred temple to the monkey god Hanuman, is Danny’s main research site here in Shimla. It sits at the top of a very steep hill: the closer to the sky, the closer to the gods. It’s only a walk of about a mile or so, but the incline is something like 45 degrees. Add the high altitude to the mix, and it makes for quite an endeavor to reach the top. Literally ten feet into the journey, my heart is pounding, my lungs are gasping for air, and I’m already feeling tired. There are stairs built into the side of the road, as well as benches periodically along the way. These are helpful to a tourist like me, who isn’t used to the traveling conditions.

There is a sign at the base of the road, which predicts your fitness level based on your age and how long it takes you to get to the top. Many of the locals, especially older ones, make the trek regularly – and therefore don’t need to take breaks on their way up. Since we’ll be going up to Jakhu fairly regularly, I’m looking at the walk up as a work out – one which I hope to be able to do without breaks by the end of our time here. I look forward to being able to make it to the top under half an hour and while still being able to hold a conversation.

On the way up, there are, of course, rhesus macaques. They hang out in the trees overhead, on the walls that line the road, and on awnings, roofs, and ledges of houses. Generally, they’re doing the sorts of things that monkeys usually do: grooming, cuddling, climbing up vertical surfaces, or looking off into the distance. The further up the hill you go, the more interested they become in the people making the hike up. These monkeys become a little braver and are more likely to jump into the road to try to take whatever goodies you might be carrying. Bottles of water and bags, which might contain foodstuffs, are especially intriguing. The macaques line up along the road and wait to leap out, hoping to frighten the humans into dropping their wares or, most likely, to steal these things right out of the human’s hands.

This leaves us humans to take necessary precautions against these little guys. A number of cafes and shops on the way up rent wooden walking sticks (for Rs.5 or US $0.10), which can be tapped on the ground to scare off the more assertive monkeys. Some people pick up rocks to throw at the monkeys. I had the bright idea of using my umbrella against the macaques, pressing the “open” button as they approached and hoping that the sudden unfurling of the umbrella would frighten them away. Instead, doing this just seemed to piss them off, and rather than backing off, they appeared more ready to go to battle against the humans with their strange tool. The sticks are more familiar to the macaques, and they have learned to be afraid of them. The umbrella was a new threat that I suppose the monkeys felt they needed to defend themselves against – so much so that one of the young males came running up behind us and bit Danny on the ankle! Fortunately, it was just a nip, and the monkey really couldn’t do much damage through Danny’s jeans. But we learned our lesson: stick with the sticks.