So many memories they’re running away from me. We’ve eaten every meal at the Alka hotel where we stay as it’s too hot to go out much. Bought ticket for trip back to Siliguri from a guy in the corridor of a shopping arcade. He had his own shop (sitting outside it) but if he sat inside, he’d have to pay a government tax. No other shops were open either. He paid 20 rupee of his profit to Raj, the young guide who follows us almost every time we leave the hotel. I took the others there to get their tickets, but he asked us not to tell Raj. We did and hope that he gets his cut.
I was offered a shave on the beach yesterday for 5 rupee. My chin was itching terribly, so after assuring myself it was a new blade, I agreed. He did a pretty good job, but when he’d finished, he started massaging my head. All for 5 rupees, I thought? Sophie, my brother’s travelling companion thought it was ok, so I let it go. Then he moved to my shoulders then back… Finally another joined him and before long, they’d seduced Sophie and Geoff – Brady had gone off to find a swimming pool. The massage became one of gripping and twisting but I endured, now sure it wouldn’t be 5 rupees. ‘Are you happy?’ the guys asked me and got a grunt in reply. Finally it was done and the expected request came for 300 rupees. I offered 200 firm. They tried for another 50 on the basis of the shave – originally meant to be 5. This is India, the money hungry culture.
I went to buy the illustrated karma sutra in the evening as my souvenir. In each country, I try to get a souvenir I can use – not just look at. In Japan it was futons, in Belgium, an antique sofa, in Germany, kitchen knives. And having the karma sutra on the coffee table has got to be a lot more cultured than having ‘the Joy of Sex’ hidden in the cupboard.
On the way back, I dropped by a music school on impulse. We’d found it by accident the day before when looking for the internet. The owner seemed like a nice guy, so I decided to go back. After being invited in and offered tea, his composer friend turned up with a Harmonium and they started practising for a concert. The women in the family next door were singing in preparation for a wedding – as they apparently do for a month beforehand – so he suggested we move out onto the rooftop.
There I sat on the railing, with the river breeze on my face, families splashing playfully in the holy Ganges river below, the setting sun turning the clouds red and a new friend playing drums on the floor nearby. Moments like these make me glad to be a traveller. They can’t be bought. They can’t be created. And they’re what make life worthwhile.