Here I am, back from the land of Khajuraho
What can I say really? There is no good adjective in the English language to describe the historical beauty of temples that have been around for 500 years, through India’s literal sands of time. I will resort to my recently acquired knowledge of the Hindi language:सेx टेम्प्लेस कहजुरहो में बहुत सुन्देर हुइन! I will say that I’m a very impressed with the ancient humans’ sexual imagination. I mean this as maturely as possible when talking about such deeds, but when I think of certain sexual acts, other than the basic man and woman action, I never think of how people were doing it in the old old days. I just never dawned on me that people knew about blow jobs before the eighties…okay maybe the sixties. I guess I just always assumed that that, and other positions, came with Love, Drugs, and Rock-n-Roll. Alas, I am wrong.
Thankfully, there was plenty to look at in Khajuraho both on and off the temples. Saturday, my girlfriends and I rented bikes and rode the distances from one temple to the other. It was a really beautiful ride that allowed us to see common people in and about small villages. The scenery was lush with the yellow blooms of mustard crops in front of the beautiful mountainous backdrops. As we rode, children and women would wave and say "hullo," "hullo," and we would call back, "Namaste! Ap Kasi/Kasa Hein," (how are you). Khajuraho, existing almost solely for the tourist that cattle in every couple of days, has some over the most persistently desperate and practically to the point of irritating salesmen. The main part of Khajuraho, the "town," consist of a couple blocks of shops sort of mazed in around each other, and then a stretch of rode, which leads to temples off in the distance, with more shops on the left and ride side. Our hotel, which I hardly believe the word hotel can be used to describe it--more like accommodating lodge although it was quite nice I have to admit--was setback into what would be where one tries to get the little pin ball when playing a hand held maze-game. As we would walk to and from out hotel, salesmen would comes up to us saying, "Madam, come to my shop," "Madam, you haven't been to my shop yet," "Madam, you said yesterday you would come to buy shop," "Just look--no buy," and my personal favorite one, "But Madam, it's not fair you went to his shop but not to my shop." To the later one, I always wanted to spin around and break my stone face and say, "You're right life's a bitch." (Okay, every teacher I ever had and Mom and Dad, I apologize for saying this like 5 times a day when you wouldn't let me go to what's her names party or go wherever it was I wanted to go.)
I did buy several items, but only on my own accord, and I must say, I think potential Jewish mothers are damn good bargainers because we don't put up with meshugas-ness (thank you moses). This one guy tried to sell me a ring for 650 rs. I said absolutely not. He wanted to know what my "good" price was, so I told him 300 flat. Nothing more. He responds, "Okay, I make you good price, 500." I tell him he's kidding himself. "What's a couple rupees more," says he, "you can afford it, it's not that much." "I tell him if its not that much, then he obviously doesn't need it." "Fine, Fine, 375," he says. I say, "okay," cause really I'm fine with that. But then he won't make the ring smaller so that it fits on my finger. "50 rs. extra--wear it on the other finger," he exclaims. "Absolutely not," I say. "It'll cost me just as much to make it smaller as it does to buy." "No," he says, so I grab the money from off the counter and say. "Alright. Then bye." Don't screw me over little man, American woman will keel you.
SO now for the reflecting... (harp music.) I am really glad to be back in Delhi where people don't come up to you every second and ask you to buy their products, or look in their stores. I'm glad to be back amongst the hustle and bustle. I feel stronger now, like if someone is going to try and rip me off I'm going to go Piranha on them. When we got back into Delhi around 7am, from our night train, all these auto drivers and taxi drivers kept asking it we wanted a ride. However, we were going to our school for class which is literally across the street from the train station. After the dozenth or so man asked us if we wanted a taxi or auto, I yelled back to the herd of drivers looking for someone to drive and said, "I do not want a taxi or and auto. Do not ask me. I am going across the street." Of course some smart one says, "Fine, ma'am, meter se," which means he's willing to give me the fair price.
Driving to the lake through rural Khajuraho:
Photos of the Weekend:
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