Snapshots of Indian life

Snapshots of Indian life

It's now 30 years since I first entered India, arriving overland from Italy. It was an adventurous but extremely interesting journey, for the acquaintances you made and for the wonderful places we passed through, some of them now destroyed by fratricidal wars. I travelled India far and wide, first as a young man with little money in his pocket and then, because of the work I do, as a luxury tourist. I learned, in any case, that India has to be seen in little pieces, in snapshots, because it's impossible to encompass it in a single idea.

In particular I like coming into contact with the people of the villages I pass through. Now I live in the pre-Himalayan state of Himachal Pradesh, which every day gives me glimpses of rural life I had forgotten. For example, on my daily walk, to reach a large meadow where I take my dog to play, I have to cross two or three villages in which life unfolds at a slow, almost medieval rhythm. Walking along I meet people who smile and greet me, but without the falseness of city people accustomed to tourists, whose smile is a lure to sell you something. I meet the slate carrier with his horses, coming down from the mountain towards the town of Dharamsala. The desi-anda-madam (the lady who sells the fresh, tasty eggs from her hens that scratch around freely and with which my dog plays without a care) greets me on every pass.

I meet the shepherd of the gaddhi ethnic group, with the unmistakable little woollen cap, the rough woollen jacket and the gold earring, who practises transhumance with his flock of sheep. I pass in front of beautiful houses and humble huts, those of the Bihari who arrived recently from eastern India in search of work. I meet the children, so many children, who at first would start yelling as soon as they saw that big brute that is my dog emerge, but now, after a few months, have become his friends, and at every step I hear them calling him by name. The dogs, of course, I know them all. With the small detail that in India dogs are aggressive, given that most of them are strays. I also meet the occasional muccha, wandering freely, as all over India. And then there are so many birds. And the gurgling of water.

And you only have to raise your gaze to see the Dhauladar range (4500 m) covered in snow, lit by a winter sun. It isn't hot at all now, but inside me there is the warmth of the present moment, because without being distracted I can live the present reality to the full.

Travelling in this way becomes extremely fascinating. In Ladakh too, located in the far north of the country and of Buddhist culture, I often travel like this. In the morning I take a walk, in the afternoon I arrive at the house where I'm to stay. The welcome is simply warm! Hospitality is honoured with the offer of a cup of hot tea, while the "bedroom" is made ready. I spend the afternoon following the lady as she goes to milk the cow or the dzomo, or, if it's the right season, I follow the villagers into the fields for the harvest. The work, instead of being accompanied by grumbles or signs of dissatisfaction, is marked by songs intoned by the group of workers. You stop, you drink tea, you carry on! The range of colours offered by nature draws your attention away from the ground and naturally you look upwards.

When the sun sets and the cold makes itself felt you go back into the house, around the stove with the owners. You talk about various things, while waiting for dinner; a frugal but excellent and above all hot dinner. Afterwards, still around the stove, you start drinking chang (local beer); someone pulls out a metal jerrycan (like a military petrol can) and, striking it as if it were a drum, produces a rhythmic sound, fantastic for the instrument that it is, and strikes up a Ladakhi song, at which point men and women get up and dance local dances. Within minutes the house is crowded with many other villagers who have come to see the tourist but also to join in the songs and dances. The wonderful thing is the certainty that all this is not a show for tourists, but is the daily life of happy people who live in a harsh but happy environment.

Then everyone to bed, in a warm and clean room, even if very spartan! In the morning you stay a little longer with them, and then set off again towards a new house.

In short, in some areas India can be travelled even without super-luxury facilities, although in some places they are indispensable; you can also move around staying in simple guesthouses — obviously very spartan — on foot instead of in an air-conditioned car, walking from one village to another, without having to undertake a strenuous 'trekking' for that. To conclude, I'd quote a line from Mahatma Gandhi: "The real India is rural India"! It was true then, and for the most part it still is.......

Pizzi Franco and Kristin Blancke Dharamsala 26/01/04