Destination India (15 page)

I realised I’d subconsciously forced myself to grow a hardened shell over my feelings. Trust no one. You can do it alone. I shook my head, laughing in silent mirth. What bullshit. I couldn’t do it alone. I couldn’t do anything alone. Look at how my business was blossoming but to the detriment of my social life, relationships and physical wellbeing. Burning the candle at both ends was only going to end up in literal burnout. Coming to this country famed for its extremes, and riding this emotional rollercoaster that it sends each of its plucky visitors on all by myself, was utter madness.

I dried my eyes roughly and tried to blot out a voice in my head, Trisha’s voice, her words of warning about how India treats you like an elastic band, stretching you until the point where you think the only end result is for you to snap before she loosens her grip and you bounce back to the shape that you choose to be. Well I was at breaking point right now.

‘Hello, how do you do?’ A slim arm was poking me in the leg, willing me to wake up. Lost in my miserable
thoughts I grumpily turned over to see a teenage boy with a bright smile and a tray of chai tea in his hands. ‘Chai tea?’

I growled a guttural ‘fuck off’ through clenched teeth; the lad bobbed his head and went to wake up the person in the next bunk.

‘It’s like they can smell your exhaustion. A pack of vultures waiting to attack the weak,’ a woman cradling a sleeping baby said in a soft lilt of an Indian accent before smiling.

I rolled my eyes. ‘That’s
exactly
what it feels like,’ I said exasperatedly.

‘They see the colour of your skin and think easy pickings,’ she said, brushing her thick fringe from her warm face with a free hand. ‘Well, it’s like that but times a hundred when you get to Mumbai. You’ll soon realise that everyone there is trying to get ahead. But you need to remember that they are just trying to make a living.’

I nodded, already feeling like such a bitch for the way I’d just spoken to that boy; he was only doing his job. I told myself that I’d buy a whole jug of tea the next time he came round.

‘I know.’ I sighed deeply. ‘It’s just hard to act polite, especially when you’re feeling so hot and bothered and they’ve just woken you up. If they were selling ice cream then it might be another matter.’ I smiled softly.

The new mum gently placed her baby next to her and rummaged in a large plastic bag before pulling out what looked like two strangely shaped white pears and handing me one. ‘Here, it’s not an ice cream but they are good for cooling you down.’

I shook my head. ‘No, I mean, thank you but I’m OK.’

‘Don’t worry they’re clean,’ she said, flushing with embarrassment.

‘Oh no, I didn’t mean for that.’ I felt my own cheeks redden. ‘I meant because you have a baby to feed. I’ll go and grab something from the snack bar soon.’

She pushed the weird-looking fruit into my hands. ‘There isn’t a snack shop on board and unless you want hot chai tea you won’t be getting anything to eat or drink for the rest of the journey. I would like you to take it, really.’

I took it and bowed my head. ‘Thank you.’ Her hazelnut-coloured eyes crinkled in a smile. ‘Err … what is it?’

‘A little taste of heaven on a hot train.’ Her short bob danced as she threw her head back and let out a tinkle of a laugh. ‘It’s called white jamun, also known as love apples. They aren’t available all year round so enjoy it whilst you can.’ She took a deep bite, breaking the waxy skin, and I followed her lead.

Crisp and crunchy like an apple with a snow-white pith that tasted cool and slightly sweet, it was exactly what I needed. And just like that I’d gone from wanting to punch someone to feeling humbled and overwhelmed by her generosity. This stranger, this friendly new mum, had nothing but offered everything. Something I could do well to learn. I smiled to myself thinking about what Trisha had said; maybe I was starting to shape my own rubber band after all.

Candour (n.) The state or quality of being frank, open and sincere in speech or expression

Fifteen long hours later our train wheezed to a final stop and everyone around us started to collect their things and wearily stretch their legs. With our backpacks heavy on our shoulders we patiently filed off the creaking train and out into the bright streaming sunlight.

I waved goodbye to the man who I felt like I’d shared my life story with and the kind new mum and trotted to keep up with the others. Difficult to do as the station concourse was like a beating heart. Throngs of people poured past in the clammy oppressive heat, a tidal wave of commuters, a sea of faces all heading in the same direction sweeping myself and the tour group along with them.

Thankfully, a minibus was already waiting for us and the driver, an overweight man with a serious handlebar moustache and a limp fag between his rubbery lips, was soon hoisting our bags onto the roof and strapping them down.

‘Is that safe?’ Liz asked biting her thumbnail.

I looked up at the fraying straps and wondered the same thing.

‘Well if it falls off then some poor sucker will just be getting a bag full of my dirty undies.’ Bex laughed and roughly slapped Liz on the back. ‘Don’t worry so much.’

Liz nodded and took a last look at the roof rack before climbing in the minibus. I clambered on afterwards and noticed that she had taken the seat next to Ollie, both of their faces a lovely shade of crimson as their elbows banged together over the sticky armrest.

Nihal slammed the door shut and jumped into the front seat before turning round to face us all, his grubby shirt getting trapped in the gaps of the seventies-style beaded seat cover.

‘OK, we made it. So we’re going to head to the hotel and drop our things off and have a shower.’ A cheer of applause erupted from the back of the van. ‘Yeah, I can smell half of you from here.’ He winked. ‘Then we’ll meet again in a couple of hours to head to the next stop on the tour. We’re going to take another trip but this time by boat. Don’t worry it’s only a short journey to take us to Elephanta Island. A place that I can assure you will be worth the effort.’

I’d never felt so clean and fresh in my life after a long shower in the small hotel where the water had turned brown as dirt, sweat and the stresses of the train washed off me and settled down the rusty plughole. We were soon back in the minibus driving to the famous Gateway of India, down wide lanes of noisy, fast-flowing traffic against the backdrop of a buzzing metropolis of skyscrapers that reflected the sun’s blinding rays. The non-stop beeping of horns wasn’t just a Delhi issue; all the drivers were at it here too. The humidity was exhausting, my hair had frizzed up like some badly kept Afro and beads of salty sweat trickled down my arms. It felt like my heart never stopped hammering.

As we drove, Nihal explained how Mumbai is
the
place ambitious Indians come to make their fortune. Glancing up at the towering skyscrapers I imagined local billionaires
toasting their successes in a cocktail bar overlooking the sprawling slums at their feet. In contrast to the sleek high-rises we drove past colonial buildings that were both decadent and shabby at the same time, offering a taste of faded glamour to this manic city. My head was spinning at the stark reminders of inequality everywhere, from children squatting in the street and defecating in the gutters to amputee beggars with nasty open sores that had been cast away alongside piles of rubbish.

Eventually we reached the Gateway of India, the iconic landmark of this chaotic city, a tall concrete arch plonked right on the edge of the busy waterways. Nihal effortlessly herded us from the minibus onto an old, small ferry. I think everyone was suffering from the exhaustion of that epic train journey, as well as just being in Mumbai, so we followed him without a word. Nihal’s plan of moving on from his break-up with Ameera seemed to be working, meaning I could gratefully take a back seat as he revelled in being centre stage and explaining Mumbai’s history. This was the guy I’d hired; he really was passionate about his job. At least one thing had gone right with me being here in that he’d forgotten about his ex.

As the city faded out behind us and we slowly made our way across the bobbing brown waves to get to the mysterious Elephanta Island, I noticed that Flic had gone a very pale shade of green as she gripped the edges of the red, shiny bench seats we were sat on.

‘You OK?’ I asked quietly as she squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Are we there yet?’ she gasped between deep breaths she was forcing herself to gulp down.

‘Erm, I can see something in the distance. We must not be far,’ I replied spotting a long stone pier jutting out from the deep green, hilly island where we were headed. ‘Are you not very good on boats?’

Flic shook her dreadlocks; her knuckles had turned white she was gripping on so tightly. I half wanted to laugh; here was this apparently fearless world traveller freaking out over a leisurely boat trip. We were probably only going around five miles an hour. But instead of taking the piss I gently rubbed her clammy, slim arm making her collection of bangles jangle.

‘Just try and concentrate on something else. Why don’t you tell me about your family?’ I suggested, hoping to take her mind off the journey.

She swallowed and nodded but continued to keep her focus on a crushed water bottle lolling by her feet. ‘My mum is a psychologist and my dad is a surgeon.’ She blew out her pursed lips slowly. ‘I am the youngest daughter in a family of three girls. My older sisters both work in the “City”: Harriet is an investor and Mimi is a trader.’

‘Wow. You’ve got some clever genes in your family!’ I smiled.

Flic scrunched up her face. ‘Yeah, although my parents would say that my sisters took all of those genes and I picked up the scraps of what was left over.’

Oh. ‘I’m sure they don’t think that,’ I said rubbing her back gently.

She turned to face me, her eyes red and watery and silver nose piercing shiny with snot. ‘Louise, you don’t know my parents. I’m just a huge disappointment to them. No matter what I do I’ll never be as good as my sisters.’

‘I’m sure they love you all the same. What did they say about you being out here? Pretty adventurous huh?’

‘Adventure isn’t something they understand. My mum thinks I’m going through a phase and Daddy couldn’t care less. No matter how far across the world I go or the cool places I see, they never seem to notice I’ve even gone.’

A thought came to me; it wasn’t just British politics she had become disillusioned with but rather family politics.
I was about to say something comforting when a large cargo ship went past, causing our vessel to sway dangerously. Flic grabbed her stomach and lurched over the side to throw up into the sludgy waters.

As we chugged closer I spotted a smartly dressed man waiting for us on the pier, waving at our boat. Peering at the welcoming guy I suddenly had this strange feeling in my belly, like when you take the stairs too quickly and miss the bottom step. Your stomach does this little funny flip at almost dying, and it was happening right now. We inched closer and closer to the rundown pier and I realised why I felt this foreboding sense of déjà vu. I’d met this guy before.

Aficionado (n.) A person who likes, knows about and appreciates a usually fervently pursued interest or activity; devotee

Our boat chugged closer and the smiling man came into full view. He was grinning broadly as if meeting his family in the airport arrivals hall. I realised where I had seen that thick, black head of hair and those dazzling olive-green eyes before. He was the flash, know-it-all man at the Indian visa office in Manchester, Raj or Rahul or something. What the hell was he doing here and why was he waving at our boat? I glanced around trying to find Nihal to ask him but he was deep in conversation with some of the men working on board. I told myself to stop being stupid; even if we were meeting this guy it was unlikely he would remember and recognise me. But the thought that he knew my real name and could blow my cover darted into my mind, making my body break into more of a sweat than the suffocating heat had caused.

I reluctantly followed the others and traipsed off the boat, hoping to stay shielded behind Ollie’s broad back. Flic almost kissed the dusty ground with joy and Chris once again had his camera phone out.

I kept my eyes to the ground hoping to make it look like I was concentrating really, really hard on watching my
footing as I got off the deck onto the crumbling pier. The others were all chattering away about how stunning this place was.

I was so busy keeping my gaze fixed at my feet I didn’t realise that I’d nearly walked slap bang into someone. Someone who wasn’t looking where they were going either. Someone who grabbed my arms to stop me from tripping backwards into the murky waves lapping the rocks. My heart jumped into my throat and I let out a strange sounding yelp. I gripped on to this stranger’s muscular arm to save myself from plummeting to my death. Well OK, plummeting into the dirty water and making a fool of myself.

‘I’ve got you,’ a deep male voice with a heavy Manchester accent said, tightening his grip and pulling me forward.

Of course it had to be him who saved me. I looked up feeling the eyes of the group staring at me with open mouths as I still had a tight hold on my knight. I mumbled an apology and jumped out of his firm but protective grip. I brushed myself down, thinking how slimy my arms must have felt with the smeared-on sun cream and sweat. Nice.

‘Thanks,’ I mumbled.

‘Georgia?’

He remembered me.

I acted bashful, contorting my flaming face into a confused expression. The rest of the tour group were still staring at me and this admittedly very attractive, smiling stranger who put his hand out for me to shake as if we were long-lost friends.

‘It’s Georgia, isn’t it?’ he asked again. ‘Rahul.’

‘Sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else,’ I muttered and ignored his palm, desperately hoping
that my cheeks wouldn’t give the game away and return to their normal blotchy pink colour.

‘We met back in Manchester remember? At the visa office?’ he said, although a little less confidently than before.

I shook my head. ‘Nope, sorry, it wasn’t me.’ I then let out this stupid little shrill of a laugh that sounded like it hadn’t even come from my dry mouth.

Rahul nodded slowly. ‘Oh, right, sorry.’ He shook his thick grabbable hair and smiled crookedly. ‘You just really look like this woman I met.’

Eventually Nihal stepped forward, breaking up the awkwardness. ‘This here is my friend Rahul.’ He slapped smug-visa-man on the back and turned to face the group. ‘We met a few years ago and he agreed to give you all a tour of this island, his childhood home. We’re lucky he is here visiting as he knows all the nooks and crannies.’

Rahul gave me one last strange look and then turned and grinned at the group. ‘I moved to England when I was a teenager, hence my accent, but I split my time working in Manchester and visiting my family here, helping out when I can to give tours to wonderful people like yourselves and sharing this island with you. So, we all here?’ Rahul called out, avoiding looking at me again. I panicked that the group would think it was strange he had been so adamant that he knew me but everyone seemed too concerned with the hunky Indian man to notice. Liz was nodding her head manically, practically melting into a pool of lust at his feet. I felt Ollie bristle beside me. ‘Great, well let’s go.’

We followed Rahul as he strode off purposefully past rows of small stalls lining the pier walls. They were selling carved figurines made out of rock and bright, colourful saris.

‘The temples were thought to have been created between
AD
450 and 750; it is called Elephanta Island not because elephants live here but because the Portuguese discovered an elephant-shaped stone near the shore that collapsed as they were trying to move it,’ he explained as we strolled on.

‘What, no elephants? Well that’s a bit of a con.’ Bex crossed her arms and huffed.

‘The name may be a little deceiving but trust me, this place is about more than mammals with trunks.’

Suddenly the canopy of trees above our heads swayed with movement. Small brown monkeys scampered through the branches, their long curly tails almost taking Ollie’s eye out.

‘I forgot to tell you that although we don’t have elephants here we do have a lot of monkeys,’ Rahul added, smiling.

‘Aww, look at them in their natural habitat,’ Flic said staring at the furry creatures. The colour had come back to her cheeks and I couldn’t help but wonder if our current tasty tour guide had something to do with it.

‘They may look innocent but please don’t give them any food as they already live like kings,’ Rahul warned. ‘Oh, and be careful as they are the thieves of the island.’

‘Oi!’ Chris called out. He had one hand on his bare head and the other arm outstretched, trying to reach a monkey who had taken a shine to his hat. The monkey seemed to laugh at him and flew off with the hat in his teeth. ‘Hey! I need that back!’ Chris shouted.

Rahul tried to laugh. ‘I think it’s long gone, my friend.’ He slapped Chris on the back. ‘Don’t worry you can buy another.’

Monkeys were sitting on iron railings, drinking out of cans of Coke they’d stolen from tourists, and looking as if they were smirking at us because they found the whole
thing hilarious. Chris gave them a dirty look and stomped off, shaking his fist. We carried on past mango and tamarind trees, hearing Chris muttering to himself as his eyes darted around looking out for his hat thief. Eventually we reached the entrance that was carved out like some James Bondstyle lair deep in the rocky hill. Four stone columns were equally spaced out as if holding up the entire island.

‘Whoa. This is mint,’ Ollie breathed, looking up at the hollowed-out mountain.

I took a step back drinking it in, feeling overwhelmed by the size of it. Rahul looked justifiably proud. The damp and cool temple was a relief to walk into, a small refuge from the scorching sunshine. Inside the dimly lit cave were colossal three-dimensional statues carved from stone looming out over the room, watching over us as we traipsed through.

‘They are like bodyguards, keeping an eye on things for Lord Shiva.’ Rahul nodded at them, before explaining the history behind the island and the rock art dating from the fifth century as we wandered down excavated tunnels chiselled out of rock. We walked into another cave that was much larger than the others with scenes from Indian mythology etched on every wall. I noticed Rahul had suddenly gone silent as he and Nihal bowed their heads in respect.

Just feet away from us and taped off by a single red rope was the largest carving I’d seen. A three-headed man’s face emerged out from the high slate wall, his eyes closed and a sort of Mona Lisa smile dancing on his large plump lips. The attention to detail was insane.

‘You can imagine just how many man hours it took to carefully tease the rock and stone into the intricate designs and patterns you see before you,’ Rahul said, pointing to the light grey concrete.

‘Wow, this is so serene. Look how his eyes are closed as if deep in some prayer or meditation,’ Liz mused, tapping a slender finger to her lips.

‘Wait, I know where we are and who this is!’ Flic said excitedly. Everyone turned to face her. I spotted both Ollie and Bex roll their eyes that
of course she would know.
‘This is Shiva, one of the Hindu gods.’

Rahul’s face lit up. ‘Ah, you know.’

Flic looked proud and faux bashful. ‘He is the patron god of yoga; we always bow to him before every class. I swear it totally works as I can nail the downward-facing dog.’

‘Hmm, not quite, I don’t think you truly understand the power of Shiva.’ Rahul cleared his throat and leant forward as if he was about to bestow a great secret upon us all. I’d lost some of that panic that he was going to reveal who I really was to the group and instead found myself entranced by how passionate and knowledgeable he was. He also smelt really bloody good. ‘Shiva is seen as limitless and transcendent but he is also one to fear.’ He moved closer to the velvet rope and stretched his arm up.

‘Look here; can you see the third eye right bang in the centre of his forehead?’ We nodded. ‘This is to show he is always watching. Also you will notice that his hair is not like yours or mine, instead the holy river Ganges flows from his scalp.’

‘Bet that’s a bugger to keep clean.’ Bex laughed but stopped suddenly when Rahul threw her a look.

‘Wrapped around his neck is the snake Vasuki, showing he is beyond the power of death and poison. He is thought by some to be a god of yogis due to his self-control and how he’s often depicted as posing.’ He glanced at Flic who was sulking that he’d dismissed her earlier. ‘But he is more than this; Shiva is seen as the destroyer of the world.’

Liz let out a loud gasp.

‘What? So you pray to some river-haired dude to destroy the world?’ Ollie shook his head, confused.

‘No,’ Rahul said softly. ‘You misunderstand. Shiva is seen as the destroyer as he has the power for change, to allow us to shed old habits and attachments that are no longer serving us.’ He looked around the group slowly. ‘He is also an excellent listener in matters of the heart, you know, old and toxic relationships that you need to kill before you can move on.’

‘So that’s why you’ve brought us here? So we can rid ourselves of the negative energy from our failed, broken relationships?’ Bex said slowly.

Rahul nodded. ‘Exactly. Destroy those ties and move on.’ He cleared his throat. ‘All that has a beginning also has an end. This is not something to be feared but instead something to savour. If you only have a short time then make the most of every second. Don’t spend that precious time and energy reminiscing or beating yourself up over the past.’

Whoa. He was good. I noticed that during this passionate speech Nihal had wandered off, ignoring what Rahul was telling us.

Rahul saw me looking. ‘Don’t worry, for some it’s hard to hear these truths. But they will get there.’ He cleared his throat and stared right at me. ‘Now it doesn’t have to just mean relationships. This could also be applied to work situations; maybe you have a stressful job that overwhelms you, for example. Well Shiva will help you see your reality much more clearly than you can right now. You know the saying that sometimes you can’t see the wood for the trees?’ I nodded without realising; I had moments like that all the time. ‘Well Shiva will be your forest guide.’ Rahul laughed. ‘Shiva stands for letting go of everything the world forms.’

‘So you want us to talk to some dude made of rock?’ Bex asked sceptically.

Rahul laughed. ‘If you put it like that it does sound a bit crazy.’

‘I think it’s a wonderful idea,’ Flic enthused.

‘You bloody would.’ Bex rolled her eyes. ‘This is right up your street with all your flower-power, hippy bullshit.’

‘At least I believe in things, use my voice and don’t just waddle along with the flock of sheep,’ Flic replied sharply before making sheep noises under her breath.

‘OK, ladies, please remember where we are.’ Rahul stepped between them with his arms outstretched, apologising to the other visitors in this temple. ‘Let’s take a time-out on this and head outside. I’ve organised a treat for you all.’

Flic grumbled that some people were too scared to think for themselves and try new things but quickly shut up when Bex almost growled at her. She would snap her like a twig if there was an actual fight, that non-dairy diet making her bones soft.

We stumbled our way down a crumbling path ahead, which led us back outside, making us squint in the bright sunlight. Rahul was leading the way through thick undergrowth, warning us to watch our step before we came to a stop. We were now faced with an enormous temple covered in complex latticework. Sat on the thick long steps were three half-naked old men staring at us.

‘OK, guys, come gather round.’ Rahul beckoned us all over. ‘You may have noticed we are not alone.’ He flicked his head to the three men who were sat cross-legged with flimsy pieces of saffron-coloured cloth protecting their modesty. Greying, long hair lay matted on their shoulders and vacant expressions were etched on their wrinkled, weather-beaten faces.

‘These holy men are called sadhus. They have chosen to live away from the normal forms of society to focus on their spiritual journey, removed from the life we know with technology, McDonald’s and iPhones. They live in caves, in forests and in temples like this all over India.’

‘My friend Giles visited India on his gap yah; he worked in a leper home and everything,’ Flic said brushing her hair from her face. ‘Anyway he spent some time with a sadhu wanting to really understand this way of life but it’s all a load of bullshit as these holy hermits just smoke weed and sleep all the time.’

‘Thought you’d love a fella like that, smelling of eau de hash,’ Bex teased Flic who stuck her tongue out.

Rahul winced slightly. ‘I think they can sometimes be misunderstood. Sadhus are like clouds, forever moving.’

‘Like wandering nomads.’ Chris nodded slowly.

I glanced up at the men who were lost in some repetitive chant I couldn’t work out the words to.

‘They’re saying their mantras. Everyone should have one,’ Rahul explained. ‘In fact now we are here I want each of us to think of a mantra for the person next to you.’