Asia 2006: Random Bozo goes to Maharashtra

I spent the morning wresting with Indian Railways website again - this time their server crapped out. The cybercafé owner told me that this is a regular occurence. ABout 11.30, I gave up again and decided to go to the station later (it's about 11km from the town) and book my ticket there. So I got as smart as I could and headed into the nuptials.

I found out later this was the 4th day of the wedding - the previous 3 days being mostly prayer for a good wedding and a happy marriage. This part was an unusual (to me) event - about 200 guests, all dressed in sumptuous but unique variants on sarees, shalwar kameezes, lunghis and 'Indian male uniform', people wondering onto the stage, apparently at random, as a piece of cloth was held between the fiance(e)s and happy(?) songs were played and prayers(?) were spoken. At several times during the proceedings, the guests threw coloured dry rice at the couple (this had been handed around earlier) but because there were so many guests, hardly any actually hit them. In all, it was a lovely, spontaneous/casually-formal occasion and I enjoyed it very much, even though I felt rather out of place because I wasn't part of either family, nor a friend of either the bride or groom and because I didn't really understand what was happening.

I was also invited to eat - in another part of the hall, people sat where the liked or could find a space at one of three long trestle tables while waiters walked up and down, offering two types of rice, pakora, curries, puris, other vegetables, fruit-custard deserts, soft drinks and water. I was sat next to a man who described all the food to me and reassured me it was vegetarian and asked me about UK wedding customs.

By 3pm, it seemed to be winding down, so after speaking again to Vaishakh and Latika, I collected my clobber and headed for the bus station to try to get out to the train station. Yet again, Indian folk were wonderful, showing me to the right bus and ensuring that someone would point out the station from the right bus-stop. The only snag was at the station where I was told that all sleepers to Goa the following night were booked and that I should simply turn up the next night, buy my ticket then and live with it.

I also met Marc, a French painter, who was getting similar unhelpfulness - although I think his way of speaking English may have come over as a bit curt (I don't for a moment believe he intended this) and his accent may also have been an impediment. He'd just arrived from Pune and was on his way to Kolhapur but had had enough travelling for one day. (If he'd been travelling third-class then I can see why.) We shared a rickshaw back to town and I showed him the hotels I'd seen: he ended up staying at mine but got one of the now vacant, not-en-suite partition-rooms for Rs80 (I'd paid Rs275 for mine). I also took him to a restaurant that I'd been eating at where something totally unique occurred - two Indian women started conversations with us. It turned out that they were an English teacher and her pupil and so wanted a bit of practice and to hear about Europe but even so, it was pleasant to talk with women and not feel rejected by half of Indian society. (Again, I know 'logically' this is a 'cultural' difference but it still feels very strange to me!) By a further amazing coincidence, the teacher is a good friend of Wahid, a great bloke I met in Mahabaleshwar.

After dinner, Marc and I walked through Satara. He keenly felt the pollution and longed to see the mountains around the town. He'd had a rough time in Pune because the pollution was worse there. Even so, he kept an essential-oil enhanced Vicks nasal doo-dah up his nostrils and a cloth over his mouth. We found a brand new Ganesh mandir which was absolutely beuatiful but nothing else of note and repaired to the hotel. I didn't sleep well: insects, traffic noise and random Random Bozo-paranoias kept me tossing and turning until at least 3am.