Today was a local’s day. Sitting waiting for our train (which was 2 hours late) we got talking to Komal (who took rather a shine to my companion) and Sunny, her brother.
It was a fascinating insight into the Sikh/Punjabi culture. Komal was heading back to her family town for a wedding, and Sunny was escorting her. Because her parents had decided that she wasn’t to travel alone (due to safety fears)… despite her being 25.
She married last year to a man chosen by her parents (who, from the photos, looked considerably older than her). They met 5 – 10 times to check they could “live together” before the two-day marriage ceremony (which was preceded by a ring ceremony).
Once she has a child, she’ll be free to travel independently. How this makes it more safe wasn’t clear.
His parents are still on the lookout for a suitable bride for Sunny (who’s 24).
They were both cautiously interested to know how my parents had allowed us to travel to India alone if we weren’t married. I’m always cautious when speaking about cultural differences: just because it’s different it doesn’t make it wrong; and you never know how the other party will receive the news that, from the age of 18, we’re legally an adult and our parents have no say. Except, of course, they do because most 18 year-olds will still be dependent on their parents, not least because the extortionate house prices forces them to live at home. They were fascinated and a little wistful about going it alone from 18.
Sunny works as a manager in a hotel and gets a total of 4 days off per month. That he was spending one of them waiting at the train station (their train was 5 hours late due to fog in the north slowing the trains to a crawl), he took with considerable grace. Komal worked in a recruitment agency, and had been the one to choose the train over the bus (which is just as fast and more reliable, but about 4 times more expensive).
In return, we described how the train stations work in London (and that people whinge if a train is just 5 minutes late!), the underground and how Oxford was not in London (although by their standards, it pretty much is – one hour is nothing here!).
They explained how difficult it was to get a visa for “London”, and coffee is 10p a cup.
Komal also kindly offered us a taste of her paranta – a delicious mix of veg, cooked into a pancake shape.
It was a bit of shame to leave them on the platform, but we were very glad to finally see our engine pull into the station:
The train journey was comfortable, but the landscape uninteresting – just lots of fields and fences:
Passing the shanty towns was another stark reminder of “how the other half life” – in the UK, people hanker after the lifestyle of the rich, not realising that they’re pretty darn lucky already:
In Agra, two tuktuk drivers touted for business. I couldn’t understand Manish – the rhythm of the Indian accent is constant, rather than the emphases of English, so you don’t know where one word ends and the next one starts.
At the “rooftop” restaurant (which was, indeed, on a roof, but very close to the noisy road below so it wasn’t a relaxing experience), Ahmad also proposed a tour. He certainly knew his stuff, explaining that there are in fact four tombs in the Taj Mahal – Shah Jahan and his third wife are buried in the ground below and duplicate tombs have been erected immediately above. This ensures nobody steps on/over the tombs, which is disrespectful.
He also explained that the four minarets at the corners of the palace lean slightly outwards so that, in the event of a collapse, they don’t damage the main structure.
Dinner was expensive and bland, but the waiter was still very forthright about a tip (after leaving the notes he said “So this is fine now?” to which I showed him the bill and explained I was expecting change… which came in small denominations) – but it was over four times the cost of our previous meal (and not nearly as tasty).
And, worst of all, it gave us the squits. Despite being a tourist place. Very unimpressed.