by Aline Dobbie
Sunset over a Jain Temple – Ranthambhore
Our group were so eager to see a tiger when suddenly we saw a group of vehicles and realised that there must be tiger in the vicinity and I urged them all to be totally silent. The monkeys were calling an alarm call, I thought, yes, it is going to happen again – but it did not. Certainly there was a tiger or tigers close by but they just kept out of sight. Eventually, the people in the other five canters started behaving rather badly, making a noise, gesticulating and almost demanding to see a tiger; well it did not happen and we were all disappointed. I felt bad for the others but they seemed to care less than I did though they would be leaving the next day.
We arrived back so late that we had to rush to our appointment with G V Reddy, the Field Director of Ranthambhore. It was good of him to see us and I explained my motivation, which he accepted, and promised to keep in touch by email. Graham and I were both depressed by the conditions in which his administration worked. To us Europeans with our smart sleek offices, this looked shabby and inefficient, but this is India and our western perceptions are constantly challenged. So much assaults the eye and the senses. I despair as to how anything operates in this huge country but it bumbles along tied up with string. One wonders if the great lumbering elephant that is India could be galvanised into a trot by the biting of millions of ants – the people. I don’t know. Indians are very good at talking and complaining and blaming the corruption of their political leaders, ‘from the top down’ is the expression in constant use. I know it to be so but only they the people will be able to change it and not in my lifetime.
We departed by train for Bharatpur. There was some mix up or oversight in our reservations and though I had paid for first class air conditioned seats there were none for us and we had to go to three tiers 2nd class and oust someone from our seats. Graham put on an effective ‘strop’ which provided an interesting spectacle for other passengers, who then cautiously started to talk to us. We explained what had happened and they agreed that Indians are also ‘ripped off’. Fortunately, the journey was only two and a half hours long, but the difference between first class and anything else is quite substantial. Apparently, Indian Railways is attempting to do away with first class travel, which I think is a shame, but, realistically, the average Indian probably finds 2nd class adequate and less of a drain on his modest income. I resolved to bring it up with the agents that had booked this particular part of our journey. What particularly annoyed me was that we had paid extra in that we had been compelled to pay for the seats from Surat on the West Coast of India, where the train had started. As a jovial Indian said ‘A scam!’
The drive from Bharatpur’s very nice railway station was pleasant in the afternoon sunshine. It was actually my birthday and Chandra Mahal, where we would be staying one night, is a pleasant place with good food. It was five years since I had visited and, though it is still good and clean, I felt that the usual Indian inertia had been allowed to creep in and the owner was not sufficiently motivated. She blamed a lot on 9/11, but then we consider that that outrage should encourage one to try harder. Knowing what wonderful textiles are available in Rajasthan I felt that with careful additions the place could look sumptuous and the Haveli’s central courtyard should have a tinkling fountain and lots of lush plants to create an atmosphere of tranquillity and welcome. None of this would be expensive, but if one is going to run a guest house or small hotel there is the need to remain constantly alert to new ideas and renovation and have a ‘can do’ philosophy’. Now why should I demand that when in little old Peeblesshire one constantly encounters an ‘aye been’ attitude, i.e., always was that way! Scottish Tourism is full of horrors and people who seem to glower at guests and snarl ‘no you can’t have something to eat; it is five past two...’ I had it happen to me the other day at a local hotel in Peebles, which is privately owned and a member of the Best Western Group. The disease must be catching because normally in restaurants in India people fall over themselves to oblige, whereas the local ‘Indian’ in Peebles, which serves good food is now running its business round its snarling waiters and losing customers daily.
The chef at Chandra Mahal was still cooking good food and we sat out on the lawn under the stars and they brought me a sort of birthday cake, which was so thoughtful and greatly appreciated. Earlier, we had gone and visited the little shop across from the Haveli with the idea of telephoning my mother and telling her all about the tigers. This was so efficient and easy and cheap. All over India one finds these tiny shops, some of them look like a hole in the wall. One dials and speaks, clear as a bell, and is presented with a modest bill that comes out of the machine like a normal cash receipt. Mummy was enchanted to hear of our tiger experiences and considered us very fortunate. Then we tarried and looked at some of the charming water colour paintings of birds that were for sale. These local artists produce wonderful work and when one has just encountered all this exotica first hand the enthusiasm to buy is large. We had bought a small painting of a tiger in Ranthambhore and now we bought one of kingfishers and a second of a kingfisher painted on to a very old government receipt, so that the stamp of Rajputana was evident – the paper would be about a hundred years old. Finally, we indulged ourselves and bought a large one of entwined peacocks and another large one of cockatoos. These now hang in one of our spare bedrooms which is decorated in Anokhi soft furnishings. Anokhi originated in Jaipur and now has shops in Delhi, Mumbai, probably Kolkata and Chennai, and one in London. The block work is all hand done in beautiful colours. I chose from their new design Indigo, which, as the name suggests, is largely blue. I love a blue and white theme and the other guest room is in yellow and white. Indigo has a special meaning for me because my French great grandparents had huge indigo estates in Eastern India and tragically died together with their youngest child when my grandmother Aline and her sisters were still children. It seemed appropriate to chose Indigo in memory of them. Anokhi sells such charming designs and for us the prices are very modest, so one is able to refurbish a room every four years or so if the sun fades the designs. My dear friend Mala Sen, the author of The Bandit Queen and Death by Fire, periodically brings me things from the Mumbai shop, she too finds Clapham can be greatly cheered by additions of vibrant colour from Rajasthan.
Chandra Mahal is very well situated for a visit to Keoladeo Ghana Bird Sanctuary, which is commonly referred to as ‘Bharatpur’ like Ranthambhore or Kanha or Corbett. We had been there on a previous visit and we did not have time to make another visit on this occasion, but, oh, how I wish we had!. In 1733, the Maharaja of Bharatpur dammed several small rivers to create a marshland breeding ground for birds. A stone tablet in the reserve details the enormous number of ducks the royal guests then blasted from the sky – sometimes up to 4,500 in one day. The 29 sq. km area, of which about half is marshland, became a national park in 1983, having being declared a protected area in 1956. Now home to around 360 different species, Bharatpur is, without doubt, one of the finest bird sanctuaries in the world and has a thriving animal population. It is a tranquil beautiful place and totally absorbing even for visitors who are not addicted to bird watching. One must rise very very early and get out into the park by sunrise and watch everything coming to life, with the mist lifting off the water. The lakes and marshes provide a whole range of birds, ducks and geese, moorhens and jacanas, cormorants and darters, herons, storks and cranes. A speckled pond heron floats in perfect camouflage on a muddy pool, while just above, a kingfisher flashes turquoise through the dappled shade, a mated pair of grey and scarlet Saras cranes stick close together as they feed, and if you look overhead there are trees bulging with the nests of painted storks. India as a whole is home to some 1,200 species of bird, of which at least 400 are found in and around Rajasthan and about 360 species are in the bird sanctuary alone with annual visitors in the winter months, when the annual migratory species from as far a field as the Russian Steppes and Central Asia fly in to spend the winter. I love the little owls that are o
ften only a couple of feet above one’s head – they just look gravely at you and open and close one eye as if to say ‘OK matey, I am real, now you have seen me, push off’.
The bird sanctuary does not allow motor vehicles within its boundaries, except on official business so one cycles around or is driven in a cycle rickshaw. This is a splendid gentle way to get around and adds to the tranquillity. That could never be a practical form of transport in a massive wildlife park with big carnivores but, here, in gentle little Keoladeo, it is superb. One can stay inside the park at the official hotel, but that is a personal choice. In my last book, India: The Peacock’s Call, I recounted the amusing encounter with the owner of a cycle rickshaw who was so helpful to us – I wish Devi Singh, as I write, all blessings for his Diwali. He is a super alert young man whom I would love to meet again. May the goddess Lakshmi enter his home this year with good fortune.
There are good possibilities to see chital, nilgai and sambhar along the paths, plus otters, jackals and Indian black buck. The latter are so graceful and so well drawn in Rajput miniature paintings; they are often depicted with Lord Krishna and are considered sacred and protected. We saw a large number near Jodhpur when visiting the Bishnoi People. People do talk of seeing tiger in rare instances within the park. This presents a quandary really because then there is a potential threat to bird watchers who are cycling around in their innocence. I think I might very well fall off a bike into the water were I to be confronted by a full grown tiger or tigress on the path. However, this family has already had such an encounter. Mother, when my parents were still in the Indian Army with access to shooting blocks of forest, used to accompany my father and go out nearly every weekend to shoot fowl and buck for the pot. It is not something that I would now care to do but shikar was a normal accepted sport or pursuit in the late 1940s. I was taken on an elephant at the age of six weeks for a weekend shoot. On this particular occasion Mummy was walking along a jungle path and suddenly came face to face with a tiger. It must fairly concentrate the mind. She told me this story from infancy and it was probably the first influence on me as a child to revere and treasure tigers. On this occasion, the king of the jungle just looked, twitched his tail and turned off the path. Going behind a tree takes on a whole new meaning when there are those sorts of voyeurs about, don’t you think?
I strongly urge a two or three day visit to the area which can combine a visit to Deeg, of which I wrote in the first book, and Fatehpur Sikri plus the Taj Mahal at Agra. Jaipur is not too far away and both Jaipur and Agra have good air connections to Delhi and Mumbai. In fact, a holiday starting in Delhi, staying at Tikli Bottom, then flying down to Agra, visiting the Taj Mahal over two days, plus the Red Fort and Sikandra’s Tomb, etc. could then continue by car to Fatehpur Sikri which requires an afternoon, and two nights at Chandra Mahal. Two mornings in the sanctuary with a midday visit to Deeg could then be followed by a train trip down to Ranthambhore for the wonderful experience of that special place and then return to Bharatpur by train and go by car to Jaipur. From Jaipur, after as many days as one likes, fly back to Delhi, or on to Mumbai, or Jodhpur. It all depends on how much time a traveller has at his or her disposal. Two weeks would be a perfect amount to do this justice. When I see Golden Triangle tours advertised for nine days I know it will be disappointing, and as for anything less, well that is almost an insult and back to the old idea of travelling ‘this is Tuesday, so it must be France .....’
On this occasion, we had to rise at four in the morning to leave at 0530 hours for a car journey to Agra to catch the Shatabdhi Express to Gwalior. That was a challenge, given the way we were feeling, but we started some antibiotic therapy which soon saw off the potential chest infections. The driver arrived from Agra and was another excellent fellow and nice to chat to about everything and anything. We were anxious not to miss our train but there was no danger of that and he arrived in Agra in good time and I said let us go and have breakfast at The Taj View hotel. The roads were full of army vehicles all streaming back from the north and the border with Pakistan. The Indian Army had been stood down after the threat of war receded, but their attempts to get everyone home for Diwali were not realistic and mile upon mile of military vehicles filled with troops were on this main road. Moving half a million men in a short time must be quite a logistical exercise and, while we waited for our train, the station platform was awash with soldiers and officers all waiting for their respective trains to go home and be reunited with their families.
This was the 9th November and the morrow would be Remembrance Day on the Sunday in Britain. I thought of what that means for so many people, and, now, writing after the second war in Iraq, there will be a special poignancy for so many again this year. Will it never end?
This was my second experience on The Shatabdhi Express, but Graham’s first. It is comfortable and pleasant and reasonably efficient with good service. The speed eats into the long distances and it really was quite a relief to know that soon we would be staying in Gwalior for two nights in four/five star accommodation. It gives one a chance to recharge the batteries which were a bit low at this stage because of cold and antibiotic.
We arrived at Gwalior and were met by car and a travel agent and swiftly driven to the Usha Kiran Palace Hotel, which is now owned by the Taj Group. Until very recently, it had been owned by the Welcomgroup, but now the Taj Group have huge ambitions to remake it into a five-star luxury resort. The building is not that old and had been a palace belonging to the Maharajah of Gwalior. We were warmly greeted and shown to their best suite which was bliss, pure unadulterated bliss. I asked the bearer for tea and if someone would press some clothes and quickly do some dhobi, i.e., laundry. The bathroom was palatial with marble and first class plumbing and the Dobbie couple were in heaven, and promptly fell sound asleep. Five mornings in a row, we had risen at 0500 or earlier and with all the action and travel and cold this had taken its toll. However, a couple of hours later we were up and raring to go. I sent an apology to the guide who had been patiently waiting for us, and explained the reason for having kept him waiting. Now lunch was calling, but first I went and had a talk with the hotel’s new management team. The Taj Group are one of India’s most prestigious chains with hotels throughout Asia and one in London, along with some serviced apartments and two very elegant restaurants in London’s West End. The management were charming and I am sure when the renovations are complete this will become a very good city break destination for Indians and others like ourselves who had come to see the various historic sights.
Vakil, our guide, was excellent and very good company and with a nice driver in an ancient Ambassador car we were able to see a great deal of Gwalior’s attractions. It has to be said that at the moment it is an appallingly dirty city, but it has so much of interest to the visitor. The powers that be have designated it a ‘Counter Magnet’ city, and, thus, apparently, effort, initiative and money is going to be invested in transforming it. Now I understood why The Taj Group are prepared to spend seven crore of rupees on renovating Usha Kiran. Gwalior is famous for its annual music festival (which is similar to the annual Edinburgh Festival and what it generates as income for Edinburgh) and it has an annual trade fair at which one receives huge rebates for items purchased. There is a large military cantonment and it is a centre for textiles. Its pottery was famous at one time and it is a manufacturing centre for vehicle tyres. Coupled with all that is the fact that it is a hugely historical place and the current Prime Minister, Mr Vajpayee, hails from this city and is himself a noted poet.
Notwithstanding all those positives, travellers from Europe will not make a detour to come here unless it is substantially transformed. If however that is achieved with vision and determination, it will become a splendid destination for anyone and is a superb base for visiting Jhansi, Khajuraho, Sonagiri, Datia, Orchha, Shivpuri and Panna, the lovely game reserve which is very close to Khajuraho.
CHAPTER
SIX
Historic Gwalior
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nbsp; Vakil was good company as a guide. We have not yet encountered a bad or indifferent guide, but there is no doubt that one warms to particular personalities. Vakil was knowledgeable and had his own positive views about life in Gwalior: where India is going in terms of modernising, upkeep of her historical treasures and so forth. Our first destination, again in warm afternoon sunlight, was the Jai Vilas Palace. This is still the residence of the Scindia family who for over two centuries have been the ruling house of Gwalior. Maharajahs of Gwalior have played a significant part in Indian history for the last two hundred years, and have been taking an active part in politics in the last few decades. Tragically, the 10th Maharajah (though these titles are meant to be extinct now), Madhavrao III Scindia, was killed in a plane crash in 2001. This is, however, a wealthy family who still can and do wield considerable influence.
The Scindia Museum within the palace comprises some 35 rooms all laid out as if the residents had just left the room. Jai Vilas is an Italianate structure which combines the Tuscan and Corinthian architecture of the 19th century. I think there is an opportunity to renovate it sympathetically and improve on its presentation, as older and much more impressive buildings in Rajasthan are superbly presented. It could be that, because Gwalior is not on the major tourist trail yet, the Scindia family or their property management have not bothered to make the effort, which is a shame because they have a great deal that is worthy of interest and inspection. In the UK, where finance is a consideration in private ownership and folk are robbing Peter to pay Paul to maintain a historic property, one sympathises, but Gwalior could seriously improve its presentation, and probably not incur a huge expense. Good management with close attention to detail under the eye of a good estate manager would achieve what is necessary.
