13th October 2014 – Pushkar, India
A carnal craving I’ve created for myself. Its sacrilegious here, I am told.Where Brahma dropped a holy lotus, now stand posters in Hebrew.With monkeys, cattle, and camels passing all around me, the fact remainsthat I can only see them, smell them, touch them. They are not to chew.
Pushkar reminds me a lot of Hampi, sans the rocks. There are huge rocks on the way from Ajmer to here on the Nag Pahar (Snake mountain), but they do not paint as poetic a picture, as Hampi did.
Pushkar is a very sacred place for Hindus for a particular reason. The only Brahma temple in the world stands here. Brahma, the creator in the Hindu trinity of Brahma-Vishnu-Shiva, was cursed by his consort Saraswati that he would not be worshipped as a god. True to that curse, nowhere else would you find a Brahma temple. The temple is open for tourists, however cameras are not allowed inside the temple.
This religious angle has made Pushkar a curious place, in a couple of different ways. One, is the unexplained Israeli connection. If the Russians ruled the roost in Goa, Israelis have adopted Pushkar to be their own. So much that there are Hebrew signboards and posters everywhere. I talked to a couple of Israeli backpackers, and they have absolutely no idea why so many people from Israel come here. They cited word-of-mouth publicity back home, as a plausible reason.
Another, is the strict vegetarianism of the town. Meat of any kind is strictly forbidden here, and I have found myself in the company of herbivores for the last 2 days. So much that today morning’s incident had me roaring in laughter.
So I was seated in a street side coffee shop, enjoying my morning breakfast of Khachoris, which is an Indian snack with potatoes and other spicy stuff, shown in the picture above. A well-dressed young man, with a hand covered with amulets, came and sat next to me, and looked around for a while. After ensuring that no one was listening, he lowered his voice, and asked me in a tone as sombre as Marlon Brando in Godfather. “You want something?”
I waited to see what he was offering. It had to be either weed, or hash, or the mixture of both which they commonly call Ganga-Jamuna in India. He looked around again, making sure once more that nobody was listening, and then whispered into my ears again.
“I have eggs!”