Grim-faced, sweaty, tired, downtrodden in the worst possible way, they squatted in a row at the entrance, mumbling to themselves and shuffling around in a vain attempt at comfort. Through sunken eyes, they looked at the world around them, a world that no longer held any surprises, any traces of joy or beauty. I wondered why anyone would willingly choose to bear the burden they did, hour after hour, day after day. For they, in the most literal sense, bore the burden of humanity. A humanity that first failed them, and then mocked at their misery in the crudest fashion, by forcing them to bend under the weight of their fellow humans for a living. Making them scurry around like rats, at the beck and call of their more privileged kin who they ferried on their shoulders on makeshift palanquins.
More often than not, the occupiers of these cushioned seats on bamboo sticks were the stereotypical 'behenjis' and 'auntyjis', mildly obese, clad in flashy sarees & munching on snacks, who would rather force their ponderous weight on the underprivileged than make an effort to walk a few hundred meters and climb a few gentle steps.
What a paradox it must be for these people, to be forced into such perpetual drudgery at a place that symbolized eternal beauty!
And that was only the half of it. These palanquin bearers and their occupants were a small part of the multitude that thronged the premises, wearing gaudy clothes, chattering away a dime a dozen, making loud noises and behaving like for all they cared, the place was theirs to do with as they pleased...beauty and serenity be damned!
Where was I witnessing all this? Only at a UNESCO world heritage site. At one of the most beautiful monuments that India can boast of, a place that people frequently go into raptures about. I was at Ajanta caves.
As I looked back, I realized how keen I had been to visit the caves. Whenever I'd mentioned to anyone that I loved traveling, one of the questions that invariably popped up were "Have you visited Ajanta/Ellora?" And when I replied in the negative, they'd look at me in wonder and break into the aforementioned raptures.
I wasn't kidding myself earlier. I knew I intensely disliked touristy places, and I knew, too, that this place would be touristy. But somehow, with all the rave reviews I received, I figured I'd enjoy the place in spite of it.
I was wrong. The dislike started to creep in earlier in the day, when I rode to the embarking point with my travel companions Rahul & Veena. We had hardly gotten off our bikes when we were mobbed by shopkeepers, all of whom simultaneously launched into their marketing pitches in their broken, memorized English. We braved our way through the mob, past the crowded shopping mall and the persistent hawkers to the bus bay for the mandatory 4km bus ride to the caves. At which point the government really excelled itself with the thoughtless transport arrangements. Rahul started to bicker while pointing out the various flaws, and I felt my heart sink further...it continued that way throughout the bus ride where I actually felt ashamed that I was besmirching the beauty of a ride with this touristy jaunt.
Even so, I was disappointed at my own lack of interest at the caves. I don’t claim to be an art or history connoisseur, but I can appreciate beauty when I see it. And to call the viharas, stupas, paintings and sculptures merely beautiful would be to insult them. Who was I to judge the tireless work of centuries worth of artisans and sculptors of various dynasties? So when Rahul (who, being an architect and something of a history aficionado, has a much greater appreciation of the caves) kept asking me why I was so obviously disinterested, I didn't really have an answer. I knew it was something to do with the tourists but couldn't put my finger on it.
And then, as we visited Pithalkora caves the next day, it became fairly apparent. Pithalkora caves are situated in pristine, virgin settings. The surrounding hills were lush green and a little waterfall and bunches of flowers added to the beauty. And, in stark
contrast to their more famous counterpart, the caves are located away from the well-trodden path and as yet are virtually untouched by tourism.
As I wandered around the caves at leisure, my mind was telling me that it was only a fraction of the beauty of Ajanta. Much older and less well maintained, the paintings were darkened and nearly invisible, the few sculptures around were exposed to the elements and were in a state of disrepair.
Yet, somehow, I loved them. As I entered a residential chamber and ran my hand across a stone bed, I could close my eyes and transport myself back in time. I sat on the bed and imagined the monks of yesteryear moving around the place. As I looked at the sculptures of guards at the gate, I could visualize monarchs entering through those same gates thousands of years ago...I could see sculptors tapping away at the rocks to fashion these creations.
I guess that's where the answer lay. It wasn't just enough for me to see these paintings and appreciate them with my mind. I had to feel them; I had to be a part of them. Like most things artistic, they had to touch my soul.
And I'm sure you'll agree, its kind of hard to do any soul-touching when you're gazing at a statue of Buddha and there's this fellow behind you clapping for all he's worth so he can listen to the echo. When there's ushers nagging you to accept their guide services...at a fraction of the cost of the official guides who just finished nagging you a few minutes ago.
As I walked out of caves 1 and 2 of Ajanta, I was witness to another common sight of Indian society. Our love for white skins. A foreign couple was going about their sightseeing quietly, when a stout marwadi-type businessman asked them loudly "So you are enjaaying??" No reply. Then, louder "You are enjaaying this place or not??" A forced yes from the foreigners, and the businessman went away with a satisfied smile. As Rahul remarked, it’s hard not to say yes when you're asked a question at knifepoint!
So anyways, my point is, I wonder why it is that humans are so intent on being the worst parasites on this planet? Why everything that the public touches ends up ruined. I know there's no easy solution when the place runs on the economy offered by tourism, but is it really so hard to maintain some discretion, a little bit of respect and a little bit of dignity? To at least try not to make a fool of yourself at a public place?
Why is it that, when you're looking at the most outstanding specimens of art that glorify generations of Man, you're constantly forced to ponder about the current decadence of humanity?
More often than not, the occupiers of these cushioned seats on bamboo sticks were the stereotypical 'behenjis' and 'auntyjis', mildly obese, clad in flashy sarees & munching on snacks, who would rather force their ponderous weight on the underprivileged than make an effort to walk a few hundred meters and climb a few gentle steps.
What a paradox it must be for these people, to be forced into such perpetual drudgery at a place that symbolized eternal beauty!
And that was only the half of it. These palanquin bearers and their occupants were a small part of the multitude that thronged the premises, wearing gaudy clothes, chattering away a dime a dozen, making loud noises and behaving like for all they cared, the place was theirs to do with as they pleased...beauty and serenity be damned!
Where was I witnessing all this? Only at a UNESCO world heritage site. At one of the most beautiful monuments that India can boast of, a place that people frequently go into raptures about. I was at Ajanta caves.
As I looked back, I realized how keen I had been to visit the caves. Whenever I'd mentioned to anyone that I loved traveling, one of the questions that invariably popped up were "Have you visited Ajanta/Ellora?" And when I replied in the negative, they'd look at me in wonder and break into the aforementioned raptures.
I wasn't kidding myself earlier. I knew I intensely disliked touristy places, and I knew, too, that this place would be touristy. But somehow, with all the rave reviews I received, I figured I'd enjoy the place in spite of it.
I was wrong. The dislike started to creep in earlier in the day, when I rode to the embarking point with my travel companions Rahul & Veena. We had hardly gotten off our bikes when we were mobbed by shopkeepers, all of whom simultaneously launched into their marketing pitches in their broken, memorized English. We braved our way through the mob, past the crowded shopping mall and the persistent hawkers to the bus bay for the mandatory 4km bus ride to the caves. At which point the government really excelled itself with the thoughtless transport arrangements. Rahul started to bicker while pointing out the various flaws, and I felt my heart sink further...it continued that way throughout the bus ride where I actually felt ashamed that I was besmirching the beauty of a ride with this touristy jaunt.
Even so, I was disappointed at my own lack of interest at the caves. I don’t claim to be an art or history connoisseur, but I can appreciate beauty when I see it. And to call the viharas, stupas, paintings and sculptures merely beautiful would be to insult them. Who was I to judge the tireless work of centuries worth of artisans and sculptors of various dynasties? So when Rahul (who, being an architect and something of a history aficionado, has a much greater appreciation of the caves) kept asking me why I was so obviously disinterested, I didn't really have an answer. I knew it was something to do with the tourists but couldn't put my finger on it.
And then, as we visited Pithalkora caves the next day, it became fairly apparent. Pithalkora caves are situated in pristine, virgin settings. The surrounding hills were lush green and a little waterfall and bunches of flowers added to the beauty. And, in stark
contrast to their more famous counterpart, the caves are located away from the well-trodden path and as yet are virtually untouched by tourism.
As I wandered around the caves at leisure, my mind was telling me that it was only a fraction of the beauty of Ajanta. Much older and less well maintained, the paintings were darkened and nearly invisible, the few sculptures around were exposed to the elements and were in a state of disrepair.
Yet, somehow, I loved them. As I entered a residential chamber and ran my hand across a stone bed, I could close my eyes and transport myself back in time. I sat on the bed and imagined the monks of yesteryear moving around the place. As I looked at the sculptures of guards at the gate, I could visualize monarchs entering through those same gates thousands of years ago...I could see sculptors tapping away at the rocks to fashion these creations.
I guess that's where the answer lay. It wasn't just enough for me to see these paintings and appreciate them with my mind. I had to feel them; I had to be a part of them. Like most things artistic, they had to touch my soul.
And I'm sure you'll agree, its kind of hard to do any soul-touching when you're gazing at a statue of Buddha and there's this fellow behind you clapping for all he's worth so he can listen to the echo. When there's ushers nagging you to accept their guide services...at a fraction of the cost of the official guides who just finished nagging you a few minutes ago.
As I walked out of caves 1 and 2 of Ajanta, I was witness to another common sight of Indian society. Our love for white skins. A foreign couple was going about their sightseeing quietly, when a stout marwadi-type businessman asked them loudly "So you are enjaaying??" No reply. Then, louder "You are enjaaying this place or not??" A forced yes from the foreigners, and the businessman went away with a satisfied smile. As Rahul remarked, it’s hard not to say yes when you're asked a question at knifepoint!
So anyways, my point is, I wonder why it is that humans are so intent on being the worst parasites on this planet? Why everything that the public touches ends up ruined. I know there's no easy solution when the place runs on the economy offered by tourism, but is it really so hard to maintain some discretion, a little bit of respect and a little bit of dignity? To at least try not to make a fool of yourself at a public place?
Why is it that, when you're looking at the most outstanding specimens of art that glorify generations of Man, you're constantly forced to ponder about the current decadence of humanity?
Comments
Your reference to the guy who asks the foreigners if they are having a good time stirred a different reaction in me. We may be uncouth, but we are friendly and warm. While it is not good manners to disturb someone who come from such far off places, spending so much money to enjoy a different culture, it is also not a sin to be friendly (well...ok...a little over friendly may be). This is lot better than the recent experience I had in the US when I was completely lost and 6-7 pedestrians I approached to help me figure out how to reach a particular place looked at me as if I was begging for money. So no culture is better than the other. All of us have our quirks and good things. My approach is to be neutral and not get affected by it.