@DeepInThought4U

The air was nippy due to the crisp December weather.  We were put up at the Ranathambore Regency Hotel where a bonfire was lit to warm the air, and Rajasthani folk dance was arranged to entertain the hotel's largely foreign clientele.  

There is only one thing that everyone wants to do when they visit this place: go on the safari.  Forget about visiting the local fort or the Raj Bagh ruins.  The large government canters - open-air trucks with seats - arrived at each of the hotels lining the Ranathambore Road promptly in the morning to take us on our pre-booked safari.  

And while on the safari, there is only one animal that everyone longs to see: the tiger.  

You are reminded about being in the tiger's dominion in the hotel itself where you are greeted with pictures of the superstar in various poses and moods, lining all the walls of the lobby and corridors.  

We were all bundled into a canter, which the hotel staff had cleverly set apart for their Indian guests.  The foreigners hung around, waiting for their own canters to arrive: a neat little arrangement of segregation borne out of years of experience, perhaps.

True to its Indian nature, our canter ran into some starting troubles when it stopped in one too many hotels along the way to the forest.  Soon, it was filled to the rafters - in a manner of speaking, as it was roofless! - and the last two tourists were left without a seat.  The prospect of going on a jungle safari while standing in the canter was a bit too daunting, and they all ended up having a right royal argument.  

The couple was insisting on having seats, the conductor was begging those with kids to put them on their laps, and those with kids were refusing to do so as they had paid for the kids' seats too!

Finally, after a few magnanimous seat adjustments, we were on the way.  There was no time to lose; we rode away at a...well...canter! 

To make up for the unsavoury starting trouble, the conductor, after some coaxing, agreed to take us to the zone where a tiger was last spotted.  This had everyone perked up.  Especially one of the tourists who said he had been all the way to Corbett National Park and came back disappointed as he did not see the one thing he had gone there to see: the tiger.

We hung onto our mufflers, sweaters, cameras, railings and each other, as the canter rattled along the path, deeper into the jungle.  

We came across a big lake; the watering hole where the great animals of the jungle had congregated to quench their thirst and just hang about.  Nilgais and sambars grazed about with a decoration of weeds on their antlers, while open-mouthed crocodiles lazed about in the still waters.  

After a few pictures, we moved on...

Suddenly an air of expectation!  Many canters and jeeps had assembled at the same spot near another lake.  Heads were cocked and cameras turned in one single direction.  We nearly fell over each other trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that had their rapt attention.  And there it was!  A single gigantic tiger, having its afternoon siesta in the grass, after a royal repast.  

There is something wildly exciting about spotting a magnificent beast in its natural habitat, unchained and free.  There was no difference between children and their adults at that moment, as everyone was so excited at having fulfilled their life's one pending wish: to spot a tiger in the wild.  And they were so close to it!  The conductor had a tough time trying to hush them up.  After all, he didn't want the beast to wake up and then decide it was time for another repast!  

The Corbett man, understandably, was chuffed; Ranathambore had given him what Corbett hadn't!  

And we were lucky enough to have encountered the National Animal in our very first outing to any of the national parks!  Our day was made! 

Having kept his promise, the conductor then went about collecting extra tips from each of the touring parties as the canter dropped them off at their hotels!  

We discovered that the extra tip went a long way in these quarters.  It could take you right into the zone where the tiger is.  The officials, it was said, could monitor the animals' movements though CCTV.  This information would then be passed on to the canter conductors once the extra tip is in hand!  

Even jeep booking, which ensures you go on the safari with your own family, can be arranged unofficially with the help of this tip.  

A word about the Ranathambore Regency Hotel.  It is an excellent place of stay.  We were garlanded on our arrival and given welcome drinks.  The manager personally took us around to show the place.  

When our tour operator bungled, the hotel staff kindly booked the safari on our behalf while we were yet to arrive at the hotel.  The staff went out of their way to make us comfortable, the facilities were excellent and the food wholesome. 

Speaking of food, there was only one thing on everyone's lips at the buffet dinner that night: 'I saw the tiger today!'  

Overall, a great travel experience!

Banditry is rife in our pilgrimage places.

Let me share a couple of recent experiences so that you know what I mean.

During our recent trip to Rajasthan, we made it a point to visit those twin places of spiritual oneness - Pushkar and Ajmer.  One, considered to the holiest of Hindu pilgrimages, and the other, the resting place of the founder of the Chisti order of Sufism.  Doesn't get any holier than these in both the cases, does it?

However, our experience in both the place, I am sad to report, was anything but divine or spiritual.

First of all Pushkar:

Sadly known more these days for its annual camel fair than the place with the only Brahma temple in the world, Pushkar is a tiny desert place full of temples belonging to all deities and sects .  As soon as we arrived there, we were accosted by a host of guides telling us that they could take us through the entire place, and provide us with a full explanation about its significance.  One of them was particularly persistent, and said that his charge was only Rs 100 for the entire tour.  We agreed, and he first took us to the holy Pushkar lake where he related the story of Brahma and His consorts.  

Soon, he introduced us to a priest on the ghats of the lake, who he said would lead us into a prayer.  The monetary offering was optional, he said.  We relented.  The priest arrived and went about reciting the mantras and conducting the jodi ritual - oblations performed by a couple.  During the process, we repeated the mantras that he asked us to repeat.

One of the things that was subtly introduced was that we would make a sankalpa to contribute 1, 3, 7 or 21 days' daan for the maintenance of the ghat and the lake, and for feeding the pilgrims.  He never said how much it was for each day.  Naively I agreed to pay for 7 days.  When he escorted us to the billing counter, we realised our folly.  The amount per day was Rs 2100!  I had just made a sankalpa to cough up Rs 14,700!!!  When I protested, he said that one cannot break the sankalpa.  Somehow we bargained and got the contribution down to 1 day's worth (Rs 2100).  

The bill was made in the name of Shri Tirthguru Pushkar Purohit Sangh, and the transaction looked authentic.  So hopefully the money will be utilized for the right purposes.  I have no problems in making a daan, but I object to the manner in which the money was extracted from us.  Daan should be entirely voluntary.  The daani should have full knowledge of what he or she is giving away, and for what purpose.  While the latter was told to us, the amount was cleverly hidden away.  This, to me, is unacceptable.  

Cut to Ajmer.  Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti's holy dargah!  The Saint who brought Sufism to India!

Naturally, we were filled with excitement and spiritual fervour as the taxi neared the otherwise obscure desert town, only a short drive away from Pushkar.


As soon as we arrived in the tiny parking space that the taxi drivers regularly wait at, we were surrounded by touts who took it upon themselves to conduct us through the tiny, winding roads.  One of them got into a tiff with our driver as he heard him advising us to stay away from touts.  'What kind of a driver are you?  You are taking away my giraak,' he thundered!

We let the two bicker with each other and started walking up the 1 km long road that leads to the main entrance of the dargah.  Actually, crawling would be more appropriate, because there was hardly any space to manoeuvre.  The road was teeming with animals, people, vehicles and objects of all shapes and sizes.  Touts and beggars accosted us from all angles.  Handkerchief sellers stuck their wares under our noses, exhorting us to cover our heads before we entered the dargah.  We had to comply with their exhortations.

One of the shopkeepers generously asked us to leave our slippers in his shop.  When we proceeded to do so, he burst out saying that his shop was not meant only to leave slippers in; one also had to buy the chaddar.  Out came our slippers.  We somehow managed to leave them in the communal area just outside the entrance to the dargah.  One of the beggars who did not receive alms from us suddenly started gesticulating and demanding her share.  Another, desperate for attention, was seen rolling away on the road.  In one of the by-lanes, a group of children were staring at a large pig with a mixed feeling of awe and disgust.

We were happy to make it into the dargah in one piece.  Finally, time for some peace and quiet, we thought.  We thought too soon.  For no sooner had we entered, than there were further demands for money from the maulvis.  One of them was brandishing a peacock feathered broom in one hand and a bowl in another hand.  As I was about to enter the sanctum where the mazaar is situated, he whacked me with the broom and asked for money.  When I kept walking, he kept hitting me with the broom!  I wasn't sure if he was blessing me with the feathered broom, or assaulting me with his weapon.

Inside the mazaar, another maulvi hung out from the railings and asked for more money.  There were attention seekers everywhere.  It was close to impossible to even look at the mazaar peacefully, let alone stop and offer our prayers.  In the end we beat a hasty retreat.

We exited with feelings of despair, disgust and a sense of relief - at having survived the ordeal without any serious damage to life and limb!  It is ironic that the Khwaja is called garib nawaz, but the streets leading up to his resting place are filled by just them: garib.

Such is the state of affairs in our so-called holy places.  Over-crowded, filthy, chaotic, commercial and filled with money demanding opportunists.

It is high time the authorities of both the places looked into the matter.



Image sources:
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f3/Bathing_Ghats_on_Pushkar_Lake,_Rajasthan.jpg
http://www.oneindia.com/img/2015/09/21-1442843637-ajmer-sharif.jpg