Text by Patty Simon

Pushkar, India

The first camel I saw was standing by a public bus – it was ironic as both are used for transport. Little did I understand what was coming. The Pushkar Camel (and horse and goat and cattle) Fair started in the early 1900s. It is part polo pony selling, part cattle and camel trading, camel contests for best decorated camel and best camel dancer, and it has an amusement park complete with Ferris wheel.
I am first boarded on a camel “cart” with my friends to ride to the fair. We then stop in the middle of thousands of camels – babies, with light and dark hair stick close to their mothers. They are hobbled but even that does not stop them from stampeding so you have to be careful. Some are given punk haircut designs and are combed out by their barbers. Some have anklet bells, brocade saddle blankets, beaded netting and just like the bangle bracelets worn by women, the camels are adorned with rows and rows of necklaces of bright colors.
But up close and personal, the camel gives off such an air of dignity! They hold their heads high as they cart our heavy weight around or when hundreds of obsessed photographers are shooting them from every possible angle trying to achieve that one National Geographic shot.

Text by Patty Simon

Pushkar, India

We were excited to go to the Pushkar Camel Fair. We were staying in a tent camp but was curious about the quality. Well, my wish for fancy flipped.
We arrive at a beautiful camp in a fruit orchard, decorated in the Martha Stewart goes Indian style. The arrival was welcoming and gracious. You could tell it was very fancy. But as we check in and they don’t find our name we knew we were at the wrong camp. The poor kid that was our baggage handler had to slog our bags through the desert sand back to the car. He got a big tip! Now where?
We arrive at a much simpler destination. A few painted walls, a few plants in the dining room, and the setting was on agricultural land growing spinach. The tent was good enough and did have hot water.
So the lesson is – “Don’t judge a book by its cover!”
By the second night, we were dancing hand in hand with the local dance troupe. I had one of my best vegetarian meals of all the trip. The staff was warm and friendly but not overdone looking for tips. It felt like home.
I will take real over fancy anytime!

Text by Patty Simon

Pushkar, India

On our fourth trip to India I see the progress in development. But, I also am amazed that time still stands still. Evidence is seen in the road work. I see all the big rollers and paving machines found in the States, along with women in saris sweeping the debris with straw brooms. Driving from Pushkar to Jodhpur, I notice endless hand painted black and white striped curbs. All I can imagine is a man sitting cross legged with a turban on his head painting first black and than white forever.
I guess it is a new form of meditation!

Text by Patty Simon

Pushkar, India

Dick has taught me that one of the most beautiful moments on a trip is the serendipitous bumping into and connecting with one stranger.
The little boy in the yellow shirt came up to us like any other hawker at the camel fair – a fair that lures hundreds of foreigners to come see more camels than you will ever see in any one place in your life.
He was selling jeweled writing pens in a package. Now, all of these young entrepreneurs are clever and persistent but this little guy was different. Not only was he a math wiz with all the negotiating (our group all graduated from Harvard Business School) but he learned to sell in 5 languages. He parroted his sales pitch in all five. He was all of ten years old.
He followed us all over so we made a deal with him. We gave him a tip and made him our guide under one condition – he could not sell us anything. He liked us and we liked him so we spent the day with him.
He had that extra smart intuition – knowing when to push and when not to… when to be a salesman and when to be a friendly kid.
We all fell in love with him. Oh, how I wish we could send him to school to become the successful businessman he had the potential to be, if not the next prime minister.
Instead, I bought him dinner, gave him my love card and, of course, bought the pens. We saw him the next day and was so sad to leave him.

Text by Patty Simon

Haridwar, India

Ok, this is my secret confession.
I have a very hard time with all the garbage I see everywhere.
I never want to talk about it because all I want to do is honor and respect the culture. Who am I to judge or question why this happens?
But on this visit, it was confusing. I see the trash as always but when I look closer I see children with huge bags looking for plastic (usually all the water bottles we tourists use!) that they can sell and recycle. I see young men each morning in the market cleaning out gutters under the stalls. I see sweepers around the shrines sweeping to where, I don’t know. I see signs telling the locals that an ordinance is going to be passed forbidding the use of plastic bags. And I even see an occasional garbage truck pass by – though too small to do much good and I question who uses it. My confusion gives way to the idea that to change a whole culture’s psyche about where to put trash takes time and I am seeing the beginning. Prime Minister Modi has put a priority on starting a huge initiative cleaning up the sacred Ganges River – a very smart idea as it affects every person in this country.
I keep thinking about the “No Littering” campaign in the US and how skeptical I was that it would work. It worked and because of this my confusion has changed to celebration. Maybe the next trip to India will be a cleaner one!

Text by Patty Simon

Haridwar, India

‘ve written about the very moving experience of visiting an ashram watching over a 1000 sadhus being served a free meal with gifts included. This happens every night. I was standing on the balcony watching each Sadhu eat the same food in different ways. One would tear up their bread in tiny pieces. One would eat the bread whole dipping it in the Dahl. One would refuse the bread and only have rice. One would only have yogurt. I mentioned this to Sanjeev, not thinking too much about it. He laughed and said, “Oh, that is all about the condition of their teeth! Nothing else!”
My lesson – “Never take anything you see for granted while traveling!”

Text by Patty Simon

Haridwar, India

“Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink” – does hold true for for me on the Ganges River, but…
“Color, color everywhere but not a drop to paint” is what I want to write about now.
I keep broadly thinking about the top ten unique aspects of this incredible country, for me, as an artist, the top is color!
Bright colors adorn every woman and every shrine in this country. Add bangles and beads and brocades and gold leaf and jewels and you get the picture. There is not one dull color in all the country. Color has no price tag and transcends all social classes. It is one big celebration and unifier.
I asked what the underlying meaning was for all the bright yellows, neon oranges, shocking pinks, rich blues and lime greens.
Happiness… Celebration… Vibrant energy!
New York City and Boston, are you listening?

Text by Patty Simon

Haridwar, India

Hinduism is complex, colorful and chock full of long complicated tales. For me, the names are unpronounceable… the meanings overwhelming.
So, one day, I simply asked our guide, “How many gods and goddesses are there?”
33 million! What? Did I hear correctly? “Can you actually name them all?”
Our guide laughed and answered, “You see, everything and anything can be a god!”
He went on to say that anyone can put special godlike meaning into a person, place or thing. He tells a story where a family made a shrine on the side of the road to celebrate a moment of good fortune. Another family walked by and saw the shrine. They did not know the original purpose but knew it meant something so they decided to make an offering hoping to double their own good luck. And so it goes on and on!

Text by Patty Simon

Haridwar, India

One day I found myself standing on a bridge in Haridwar, looking down at little vignette scenes only found in India.
One scene showed men sitting cross legged on a platform writing in long thin ledger books – 500 pages thick – recording and updating genealogical histories of families. This practice (only found in Haridwar) is handed down from family to family and no one knows when it started – could be thousands of years. This info includes those who immigrate abroad.
Another scene showed a husband with marigold garland performing a puja with incense burning just before taking a red bundle of ashes and bones and slowly releasing his loved one back into the sacred Ganges river. He then performed an act of charity by giving the deceased clothes to the poor.
My favorite scene was quite a show. At first it looked like any pilgrim gathering at the Ganges… grandparents, aunts and uncles and little children all dressed up and enjoying themselves. Looking closer, I see two little boys in the laps of loved ones crying while having their hair shaved off by local barbers with straight razors. I held my breath hoping I would not see blood. What was this all about? Our friend Sanjeev explained this is a tradition with all boys before the age of 5 to bring good luck in carrying on their ancestry. Looking even closer, I see a transvestite dressed in a deep pink sari (our guide calls a eunuch), giving their blessing over the child’s bald head. It was explained that people born with both the masculine and feminine have an even higher energy that is respected and sought after. He did say, though this is true, they still have very hard lives.
We walk away thinking – this is just another typical day on the Ganges.

Text by Patty Simon

Haridwar, India

Dick and I were very excited to have dinner with Lily, our sons friend, who is now working in Delhi. We asked her how she was settling in. She said she could only afford an apartment that was unfurnished and had no kitchen appliances. She said, so far, she only has a bed because it was an all day affair. She had to go across town to the market and  find a bed builder who custom made her a simple bed. Arranging delivery must have been a sight to behold. Having been to the market myself in all the crazy traffic, I imagined Lily’s bed tied precariously on a bicycle rickshaws dodging in and out between people dogs, the sacred cow, cars, motorcycles and potholes. I wondered how many people were knocked over to get Lily a place to sleep.
Fast forward to a tribal village named Gujarat outside Haridwar, where we visited once nomadic families raising cattle, who are now given land within the national park. The only furniture they possess in their stucco homes is a bed woven in beautiful designs.
Fast forward again in the city where you will find the bed outside merchant stalls for reclining and makeshift tents of the poor.
I came to realize that home is where the “bed” is! One needs nothing else.