In a desert in a middle Rajastan there are three lakes. Brahma – the god who always creates the world after Shiva destroys it – is to blame. He dropped a lotus flower to kill a demon. Where the petals fell water miraculously apperead. Brahma then called together entire Hindu pantheon and some 900 000 celestial beings gathered around the biggest lake.
Today there is town around the lake. Pushkar. On of the holiest Indian towns. Strictly vegetarian. No meat. No eggs. No alcohol. No drugs. Appart from everpresent bhang which is legal here. (And the drug dealers who can get you probably anything.)
The lake is flanked by 52 ghats (steps leading in water). Cows wander around, amplions blare music all day long. From vaguely religious tunes over Bollywood soundtracks to Jingle Bells in very Indian orchestration. At the entrances priests hang out. You let your guard slip for a while and suddenly there is a flower in your hand and you are being led to the lake. There you repeat prayers after the priests and just like Brahma throw the flower into the water. When it is done priest ties a red thread round your wrist. Asks for donation. Most of them are crooks. They will tell you: „How much you give is up to you. It doesnt' have to be much. Five or ten or twenty dollars is fine. But lot of foreigners give much more.“ Indians pay 21 or 31 rupees. I gave 51 and the priest was very unhappy. When it comes to „paying respects“ in India it is about „paying“ what is important. Not „respect“. But I got that red thread. Which was why I did it in a first place. The flower gang doesn't harass me anymore.
Indians bath in the lake too. Often naked. At the beach they would not strip to even swimming suit.
Action around the lake used to be much more interesting, though. Man eating crocodiles lived in it. And since Brahmins are strict vegetarians and hold every life sacred they could do much about it. So crocodiles were eating pilgrims. Undisturbed. In the end British decided to step in, fished out the crocodiles and move them to a reservoir somewhere. Suprisingly they did not shoot the all. Which would be very colonial British. They probably feared uprising in Pushkar.
In the main bazaar there used to be only few shops selling religious paraphernalia ten fifteen years ago. Today it is uninterrupted kilometre long row of shops selling „India“ and „Rajastan“ t-shirts, camel bone and fake silver jewelry, elephants carved of wood and camels moulded of clay, postcards, drums, flutes, herbal ayurvedic medicines. Streetside cafés churn out banana pancakes, falafels and bhang lassis. But the shops selling religious stuff are still there and streets are full of Indians, foreign faces being in a minority. And if you walk to a less popular ghat or in a backstreets you timetravel those ten or fifteen years back.
The biggest Pushkars' attractions are its annual camel fair and Kartik Purnima Festival
Few pictures
Ghats.
Drying saris after bath.
Che Guevara a Hindu gods.
