‘But I thought India was supposed to be, like, a spiritual country and everything.’
‘That’s why I’ve come travelling. I want to find the real India. I’m searching for, kind of, my spiritual motherland.’
‘Like Manali.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And the Rainbow Lodge.’
‘Exactly. This is it, man. Holy caves and all that shit. This is the stuff.’
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘This is amazing.’
We walked along in companionable silence for a while, admiring the view.
‘it’s funny,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘You know how Manali just feels right.’
‘Yeah.’
‘How you travel through all the stress and the money-grubbing, then you arrive here and, like, instantly know that you’ve found the real India and everything.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I mean, it’s odd, because in all the time I’ve been up here, you’re the first Indian I’ve had a conversation with.’
‘So?’
‘I dunno – it’s as if the best bits – the bits that feel most like India – are the places where you don’t have to talk to any Indians.’
‘Too fucking right, man. Too fucking right.’
I ended up trying to explain this theory to Liz in the evening, and she almost burned me at the stake as a heretic. I’d never seen her so angry. For the time being, Jeremy was the royal favourite, and I was an incontinent corgi.
Ranj was the first person I’d met since arriving in India who I actually liked. We got on well from the start, and while Liz drifted off into Bullshit Land with Jeremy, I started spending most of my time with Ranj. I’d never really had any friends from South London before, and it was interesting, because they really do have a different outlook on life.
After a fortnight or so, even Manali got boring, and it was somehow decided that Liz, Jeremy, Ranj and I would all travel to Dharamsala together. Apparently this was where the Dalai Lama and loads of Tibetan monks hung out, so it was bound to be a cool place. If you were really lucky, you’d even spot Richard Gere.
Manali had become a kind of security blanket, and the thought of leaving it behind made all my old fears creep back to the surface. I felt, though, that travelling in a big group would act as a form of insulation, and given that we had to move on at some point, this seemed like the best way to do it. Also, Dharamsala was meant to be quite like Manali, so the trip would be a gentle reintroduction to the rigours of proper travel.
As it turned out, none of us really liked Dharamsala, largely because we all ate something our first night that made us ill. I spent most of the night crapping, and Jeremy ended up vomiting out of his window. I knew it had been a mistake to order paella, but the Woodstock restaurant looked reasonably hygienic, and it just seemed like a fun change at the time.
Jeremy also kept on complaining that the place had become commercialized since he was last there, and that the Tibetans were cashing in on what was originally a place for spiritual reflection. He was really complaining about the fact that his once unique embroidered day-pack was now hanging up for sale outside every shop on the high street.
Just to piss him off, I bought one for myself.
We decided to rest up for a few days, then make a move from the mountains down to Rajasthan.
In order to get there, we had to take a bus all the way back to Delhi, followed by a train westwards to Jaipur. The whole thing took ages and was generally hot, smelly, dirty and uncomfortable. Also, not long into the journey Ranj started getting on well with Jeremy, which pissed me off.
Whenever the train or bus stopped, instead of getting frustrated by how long everything took, Ranj and Jeremy just got out, strolled and chatted with whoever was around, bought whatever food or tea was available, and consumed as much of it as they could before the train/bus spoilt their fun by moving off again. As soon as I started copying this technique, I began to enjoy myself.
The secret was to think of travel in a completely new way. If you took it as a way of getting from A to B, you were done for. You ended up eating your toes with frustration. You had to think of a journey as a state of being. It was an activity in its own right – a social ritual revolving around nourishment and conversation, fleetingly interrupted by pauses for motion. Basically, each trip was a little party.
For the first time, I ended up chatting to Indians, and even though none of them spoke decent enough English to say anything very interesting, most of the time they were amazingly friendly and ended up paying for my tea. I didn’t even want them to pay, but often they insisted. This was quite a confusing experience, since up until then I’d been working on the never-trust-an-Indian-they’re-a-bunch-of-criminals-who-believe-it’s-their-moral-right-to-rip-you-off-because-you’re-too-rich-for-your-own-good-and-you-still-have-the-blood-of-Empire-on-your-hands-so-even-if-they ‘re - being- friendly - watch - out - they - want - something theory. A cup of tea only set them back about two pence, but I couldn’t see what they were getting out of paying. It wasn’t as if they all wanted me to help sponsor visa applications. Unless it was part of a long-term plan to befriend me for unspecified future use. Whatever the reason, it was nice to be treated in such a hospitable way.
Everywhere else, crowds of Indians wanted me in their shop, restaurant, hotel or rickshaw – the only people who talked to me wanted my money – but on a train, I was in a hassle-free zone. People either left me alone or chatted to me because, apparently, they just wanted a chat. After I’d been bought several teas by people who subsequently vanished without even asking for my address, I began to suspect that this might actually be genuine friendliness. It was all very strange.
I had assumed that travelling was the crap bit you had to tolerate in order to get to the places you wanted to see, but it occurred to me that maybe the places were the shit bits that you had to tolerate in order to do the travelling.
This whole thing was getting interesting. I could feel my ‘Nnnn’ turning into an ‘Mmmm’.
Jeremy knew of a maaahvellous hotel, and as soon as we got to Jaipur, he insisted that we all go and take a look. It turned out to be pretty nice, so we all dumped our bags, washed and spent the rest of the day lolling around.
Liz and I were alone together in our room, mid loll, when I asked her if she fancied Jeremy.
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘It’s not stupid.’
‘Of course I don’t fancy him! He’s got a beard.’
‘You swear?’
‘Anyway, what if I did?’
‘What if you did what?’
‘What if I did fancy him?’
‘I don’t know…’
‘You haven’t got the right to stop me fancying people, you know.’
‘I just thought that with me and you…’
‘Me and you what?’
‘You know – now that we’re…’
‘We’re what?’
‘You know. Now that we’re having a, kind of, sexual relationship.’
‘We are having a sexual relationship, Dave.’
‘Aren’t we?’
‘Of course we’re not. Look – we’re going to have to stop doing anything, now. I simply can’t get through to you, can I?’
‘But… we’ve been…’
‘I have told you again and again that I love James. How many times do we have to go over this for you to get the message into your thick skull? It’s not going to happen.’
‘But it already has been happening.’
‘What we’ve been doing doesn’t mean anything. I thought that was clear. You said it yourself – we’re just friends, and it’s just a bit of fun. But you keep running away with these insane fantasies that we’re in love, or something. I mean, it’s going to have to stop. As of now. It’s obvious that you simply can’t handle it.’