I am not finding it easy to write this. No, I am not under severe emotional or even physical strain – nothing so glamorous. It is merely the old man’s disease, lack of memory. Perversely, I am, for the first time in a long time, bang smack up to date, by dint of slow but steady catching up in Kashmir, Delhi, Udaipur. But when I was days or weeks behind, I kept notes to help me, + was able to ponder reflectively on events + their significance. I also, I suppose, had the benefit of hindsight to help me highlight the events which, insignificant at the time, would later balloon into importance, tho’ I cannot actually recall any instances of this. So the last couple of days have been chronicling without reflection, + not always complete or accurate at that.
I certainly forgot to mention yesterday one more item in the continuing catalogue of my drug experiences, major + minor. A café we have visited once or twice advertises bhang lassis, something I had heard of before but had never sampled. Bhang, by the way, is either simply another name for dope or is something very similar – either way it is freely available, always providing one knows where to go. But perhaps because of the festival, bhang has gone underground. It was unavailable the day before yesterday when I had asked, + again today the young man running the place began to say no, before taking a look around + inviting me inside. As a drink, it was hard work, being rich + plentiful to boot. As for effect, that being, of course, the main point of the exercise, it was mild, perhaps a little too mild, but certainly not unpleasant. And one could hardly complain about the cost – a mere 3 rupees. And as I said, one more for the list.
But on to today. Very little to tell, however, virtually the whole day being taken up with travel. A bus to Ajmer first, then another one to Jodhpur (where the trousers come from. Came from.) For this 2nd journey we employed the services of a professional seat-reserver. It was a through-bus from Jaipur, so promised to cause difficulties in the obtaining of a couple of seats, but a man promised us a couple of seats for Rs10. Eventually, I offered 4, which he appeared to reject. However, close to our expected departure time, in he rushed, + picked up one of our bags. “Quick, quick,” he cried, + rushed out again, me in hot pursuit. He showed me the 2 seats he had reserved for us, using the expedient of somehow persuading another passenger to put her bags on them, but he urged me to go aboard + claim them more positively + personally, while he would take care of putting the pack on the roof. I knew Val was following hot-foot, so, after a moment’s hesitation, on I went. We settled up the financial side thro’ the bus window. He claimed Rs6, the additional 2 for putting our bag on the roof. I refused the surcharge, tho’ good-naturedly enough. And in similar manner, with a smile + a philosophical shrug, he accepted the refusal.
The 5 hour journey had several stops, + at every one I got out + checked the bags. There were just 3 on the roof, + that very solitariness bred fear – what did everyone else know that we didn’t. At one stop, I nearly missed the bus – haggling with an urchin at a tea-stall over a torn note he had tried to give me in my change. I dismissed his gesticulations for bluff, exchanged the note, + turned round to find the bus pulling out. I marched smartly across + flagged it down – the urchin must have thought me very cool.
Arrived at Jodhpur around 5, found out from the information desk at the bus stn how to get to the railway stn, + walked out past the too-eager rickshaw-drivers + tonga-wallahs. I feel sorry for them, their hopes raised so high by the sight of a couple of white faces, only to fall in ruins as we walk past. But really, if they only knew, it is better so, to avoid the worse heartbreak later when we failed to pay them enough.
We caught a small local bus from the corner of the street. It was surprisingly civilised, being both clean + relatively empty. That, however, was not to last, for as we travelled along, we picked up more + more people. So in no time – + it really wasn’t far to the train stn – the bus was the familiar sardine-tin on wheels. We arrived at the stop nearest the stn, + the conductor, looking after us well, told us so. The problem was that, from our seats at the back, we couldn’t possibly, short of emptying the bus, reach the door in the front. So we passed our bags out the window, + then exited the same way. Val managed it with a minimum of exhibitionism. At the station, we discovered that there was a train to Jaisalmer at a little after 10, but that nothing could be done about it for a couple of hours. Those we whiled away, first in the Refreshment Room, then in the First Class Waiting Room. For the first time, we were challenged upon entering, tho’ all we were required to do was fill in a register. I invented a ticket no’, + there was no further problem.
Quite an exciting day, seeing as most of it was devoted to the business of travel. And the first time we had had to exit a bus by climbing out the window.
