Meandering in Orchha – Another Great Place in Ruins

March 20007

Our door was on the right, about half way down...

Ah, Orchha!  What a place!  Having gotten here via Jalgaon by train and Jansi by an unbelievably decrepit bus, we settled ourselves in a wonderful little hotel with a lovely flower-filled courtyard, one end of which looked out and over a boulder-strewn river (with lots of water in it, for once), and the ruins of two old majestic palaces.  Best of all, the hotel had 24-hour HOT RUNNING water (not buckets!).  This was a first for us, and we took full advantage, with showers twice a day, and several hot water clothes washings.

 

Boiled sweet makers - almost always men

Orchha is a very small village, just a little bigger than Hampi, but less “touristy,” in terms of the numbers of foreign tourists here.  Many Indian pilgrims and tourists do come to visit the temples, so there are lots of “temple trinket” stalls near the temple, selling flower garlands (real and plastic), incense, crystalline sugar (for the gods), super sweet boiled milk cookies, and brightly coloured goo-gaas (gold trimmed miniature dresses, shawls and crowns for the gods, bangles, toys (gods like toys), candles, etc.).  

 

But the place has a distinctly Indian feel.  The foreign tourists that do come to Orchha usually come on one-day excursions, ensconced in huge shiny new air-con buses with equally huge side mirrors that stick out like ear-antennae on either side of the front cab.  They can just barely navigate through the narrow main street of town, what with the shop displays that spill out onto the street, the sandwich board signs, and the motorcycles, bicycles, hand-carts, people, cows and dogs that are also constantly – and chaotically - making their way through the street.  

 

The police, who were constantly stationed at the crossroads of the main street and the temple avenue, would have to stop traffic to help ease the buses through, like great Goliaths among the Lilliputians.  One evening the police were also called upon to stop traffic, including all pedestrian traffic, when a couple of bulls decided to have it out right on the street.  

As they charged at one another, heedless of their surroundings, which included several little curio shops, it was easy to see where the expression “like a bull in a china shop” might have originated.  Fortunately nothing was damaged and no one was hurt before the two of them lost interest and wandered off to look for more cardboard to eat.

 

Our favourite shop keeper for staples - tea and toilet paper

In addition to roaming around and in the many ruined temples and the fort at Orchha, we spent lots of time wandering the town.  Small towns are often our favourite places.  Because there are usually fewer foreign tourists, the people tend to be friendlier and more open.  They are genuinely interested in who we are and what we are doing there.  And generally willing to show us what they are doing, share their stories, and pose for photos.  We became friends with our hotel owners, a couple of shop and café owners and staff, and the many kids who followed us around looking for hand-outs. 

This proud grandma was happy to pose for a pic

 

I’m shy about taking pictures of people, but love to snap pics of interesting, beautiful, eye-catching, funny or weird things we come across.  And there are lots of all of those in India.

 

Shiva Festival Singing

 

On one of the days we were in Orchha we passed by a group of about a dozen sari-clad women and several young children, sitting in a loose circle singing and clapping.  They were sitting beside a small road-side Shiva shrine that was garlanded with fresh flowers and recently anointed with ghee (clarified butter).  There were several small offerings of rice and coloured sweets on the ground in front of the shrine which had not yet been eaten by goats, cows or dogs.  As on so many previous occasions, we could not bring ourselves to stop and watch or photograph these women, as it seems so crass to make an object of their lives, and particularly of their religious ceremonies.  

 

But when we were returning from out walk, and they were still there, singing and clapping, I stopped for just a moment to listen and appreciate.  Several of the children immediately came over and gestured for me to sit down and join the group.  I hesitated, but at that moment the woman who was leading the songs looked over, smiled, and also motioned for me to sit.  So I did.  By that time there were two men in the women’s circle, one playing a harmonium, and one playing a drum.  Doug stood respectfully at the edge of the circle.  We didn’t want to disturb the women, who we knew might feel uncomfortable in the presence of a foreign man (or any man unknown to them).  

The women sang two more lively songs, and then started getting up to leave.  We immediately got up and signalled our intention to leave, thinking that we had in fact disturbed their circle.  But the lead woman reassured us, using body language and hand signals, that the women were anyway finished, and it was now the men’s turn to sing.  

 

 

Before she left, the lead woman came over with a bag of vermillion kum-kum powder which she applied, very liberally, to my forehead, cheeks and chin.  She then gave Doug a good dusting and everyone had a good, and good-natured, laugh at the funny purple-faced ‘ferenghis’ (foreigners).

 

Over the next few minutes, several more men and boys began to arrive.  By this time night was falling.  The men played and sang by the dim light of a nearby street light, and the several candles within the little Shiva shrine.  The harmonium player lead the first few songs.  Everyone knew the songs, and everyone sang.  Their eyes were shining, and they smiled and laughed and looked like they were thoroughly enjoying themselves.  The tambourine man was especially flamboyant, banging the instrument against the edge of his hand and then quickly and theatrically raising his hand and arm up in the air before lowering it and banging it again.  He was mesmerizing to watch, with his glittering eyes and his great broken and rotted-tooth smile.  He fairly melted my heart.  Oh, India!