I diligently waded through the many websites that touted luxury accommodations for this mela (fair) which would swell the population of the small town with visitors and avid photographers. I chose a luxury tent a stone's throw away from the fair. It promised Maharajah style luxury and I thought to myself that if it was good enough for a Maharajah it should be good enough for David and me. After over 8 hours on the road we arrived at the campsite farm of our luxury tent. I may not have thought this through...did the Maharajahs enjoy the indulgence of hot running water back then? Our green carpeted tent had two single beds pushed together, a solitary little red lamp on a side table, a rickety black metal luggage stand all housed in the vinyl tent which did not provide much protection from the freezing cold of the desert. A canvas door led to the facilities...a spacious brown carpeted room with a flushing toilet, a wok-looking sink, and a 4' x 4' square metal basin sitting on the carpet with a low faucet and a bucket. I quickly realized that the Maharajahs probably travelled with an entourage including 10 minions just to heat up bath water! David and I quickly got ready for bed, and yes, this did not include my almost ritual ablutions. Under the covers we slipped, popsicle toes and all, cold and unwashed! Surely this is how the Maharajahs did it? A window was above my head. Exhaustion caused me to drift to sleep quickly only to be awoken by the cold air seeping through the window. I fumbled for my now very precious red cashmere shawl, turbaned it around my head as the tribal dessert men do and curled up closer to David who was now designated as my personal radiator.
As an amateur and ambitious photographer, I requested that hot water to be brought into our bathroom at 6am the next morning. I planned to get up early, greet the day and the languid camels by the time the sun rose to light the dunes gold. I would then click away and capture the idyllic photograph I would proudly show Sharma sir upon my return. 6:00 am came and all was still at the camp. No one stirred. No hot water either. I decided to go back to sleep thinking better of my ambitious plans.
Finally ready to explore Pushkar before breakfast at 8:00, we took a quick drive around town plotting our course for the day. From the car window I spotted an amazing field of pink. A mellow rose aroma surrounded us as we got off the car. Yes, it surrounded and embraced us, an aroma so sweet, a sight so splendid that it caressed all the senses. I have never loved the rose as much! Rose petals covered the grounds. They were to be dried for medicine. What a sweet cure it must be!
Pushkar is a sleepy town in eastern Rajasthan. It sits on the edge of the small and beautiful Pushkar lake. It is believed that during the kartik month of the Hindu calendar, the lake takes on magical powers: a dip in the lake will purify the body and cure all ailments. It is at this same time of the year that the frenzy of activities and the riot of colors of the desert tribes takes over the town in the grand scale Pushkar Cattle Fair.
Ambrose drove as close to the mela as was allowed. A road block and uniformed police stood at the entrance to the pedestrianized grounds. The freezing night temperature gave way to a hot dessert day. All manner of kiosks and stands were set up on the side of the roads. Mahendi men laid out their blankets and woodblocks; women sat with their children as they displayed their metal woks and cooking implements. Fruit and vegetable carts were plentiful; bangle bazaars, frying food stalls, cotton candy men all contributed color and dazzle to the already festive air. Richly festooned camels walked about.
Tall and lean old mustachioed men donned chartreuse, fuchsia, and gold colored turbans. The women in their bright ghargas, arms covered in bangles, noses pierced with three-inch loop nose rings walked in groups sometimes their faces covered, but more often with wide friendly smiles. The children, forever inquisitive, marveled at my camera and requested "one photo please." I always obliged when there was no enterprising mother close by who would bill me 10rupees per shot! The one constant in every Indian city I have visited is the persistent peddler, whether he be selling camel rides, guides to the festivities, a Pushkar photo book, or anything at all. They too roamed the grounds and it became tiresome saying no to all the offers of a desert safari.
There were many scheduled events for the day: turban tieing contests, best mustache contest, camel decoration contest, camel races. However, try as I did to follow the events as listed on the fair announcement, the events never occurred when they were supposed to. I guess everyone just went with the flow of the day, conducting this contest or that whenever it was convenient.
The camels! Festooned in plastic roses, colorful ropes, ribbons, yarn pompoms, feathers, sequins, beads, mirrors, and anklets, they alone were a sight worth travelling 8 hours for! They walked obediently, parading the opulence of their ornamentation. What docile uncomplaining animals they seemed to suffer through all the "make-up" and "get-up"!
We meandered on to the cattle ground. Camels, horses, cattle were about. Some were strong, handsome and sturdy and it was clear they would fetch higher prices. Others looked old and tired. They were scattered on the sand dunes tethered to their owners tents. They stood patiently eating their grasses oblivious to the activity and frenzy of the deals struck around them. Men sat in groups checking out the livestock, bargaining back and forth. This was the heart of the fair, the center where business was conducted.
Taking a respite from the mela we joined the moving crowd to the bathing ghats: all roads in Pushkar seemed to lead to the 52 bathing ghats. Priests performed pujas continuously and led people through the rituals of taking the holy dip in the lake. The frenzy of the mela was transformed into the solemnity of purification. How I would have loved to see the final day of the festival when the faithful set afloat a hundred lights on the lake with the full moon shining above!
We returned to our tents for an afternoon nap and an early dinner. In the evening, we returned to the mela for more festivities--more dancing, more pageantry and color, more music, more tradition...a whole day and evening of imbibing the ambience of the festivities was worth the trip after all. Perhaps I did not see the romantic golden dunes and the languid camels. Perhaps our tent was a far cry from its claim to luxury. But the color, the vibrancy, the solemnity at the ghats, the festooned camels were all worth the long drive to Pushkar.
1,000 Places to See Before You Die--I am crossing Pushkar off my list now. 85 down, 915 to go!
Please click on the link below to view my photographs of the Pushkar Mela.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=8774&l=e7454&id=686591597
+DSC_7019.jpg)
