Bikaner to Jaisalmer: Shaadi Crashers

Indians get right to the point. Asking a woman her age, if she is married and if not, what’s the problem is standard conversational procedure here. My mother told me it wasn’t polite to stare, but here, folks unabashedly ogle strangers and when you return the look, they smile and say “hello” which is hard to get used to, but refreshing. Also, let’s face it, there are billions of Indians here, and a white chick with blond hair that says “Hey ya’ll” instead of “Namaste” is the freak. I totally appreciate this bluntness and directness. After all, we want to immerse ourselves in this fantastic culture, so let’s not waste time complementing each others’ outfits and talking about the weather. Occasionally a line is crossed. Taking pictures of strangers’ rear ends is frowned upon in the states and, in some cases, illegal. Like when some little punk shot a few pictures of mine and Erin’s asses as we went up some steps or someone cops a feel when taking a picture, but this is not the norm, and mostly we are greeted with top-notch politeness. Speaking of cultural differences, we committed our first faux pas today with Phool Singh (driver/tour guide/new BFF) by asking him to chip in when he ate lunch with us. He was visibly irritated, and after some awkwardness and door slamming, Kristen engaged him in a discussion starting with, “Um, are you mad at us?” Apparently at expensive places, he eats for free, but at cheaper places, it is customary for us to pick up the tab for our guide; after our little Indian protocol 101 lesson, we made up quickly.

Today started out with a tour of the impressive fort, Junaghar, a large Mughal fort, with a moat, multiple courtyards, gardens, a substantial collection of elephant saddles, and even a World War 2 plane, given to emperor Akbar by the British as a thank you for India’s contribution to the War. We got separated from our tour group, or rather they effectively ditched us as they ran through the corridors as we pondered what the guide had just said and took pictures of the painted ceilings and elaborate bedrooms.

We took a long car ride to Jaisalmer, which so far has been our favorite city. Phool suggested we go have a beer, code for “you wound-up Lonely Planet reading, camera happy, question-asking chicks need to relax”. So that’s what we did after checking into the bright, cheerful Royal Hotel. We dodged cows, dogs, racing scooters and wild pigs (good for cleaning up the trash, who knew?), and found Saffron, a picturesque restaurant set on top of an old haveli carved out of sandstone. We were into our second beer when we got hit. The fireworks started off in the distance, exploding up into the night, red, gold and red. They moved closer and our waiter announced that it was a wedding (shaadi) and the display was following the bride as she made her way toward the reception. Firework laws in India are a redneck’s dream comes true as you can shoot any size firework absolutely anywhere. When the procession got next to our restaurant, the fireworks came over the roof and hit us like little asteroids, flaming out as they hit our hair and table. We shouted a few expletives, put out the small hair fires, got our tab and, what else, joined the party.

The bride was nowhere to be found, but who needed her when you had a DJ spinning tunes off the back of a buggy, a groom on a horse with a beaded costume, and a hundred or so party-goers shaking their booties to everything from bad 90’s American music to local dance hits. We were invited to join the parade by cousins and friends of the groom. I got a dance lesson from young ladies dressed in gorgeous saris (I wasn’t shaking my hips properly), Erin got her boob grabbed, and Kristen befriended a pretty three year old and her even prettier mama. We were escorted through a tent lined with lights and fresh flowers and into an open-air reception hall, with painted walls and more food than Costco. Kristen was challenged to an eat-off by a bossy, female cousin of the bride. We mixed, mingled and took an outrageous number of pictures. We had such fun we plan to do it again. Move over Owen and Vince, we have a shaadi to crash.