Not long after Sam left me at the train station, the train to take me to Bangalore Cantonment arrived. It was only about a 5 minute journey. That train station was crammed full of people! It was hard to navigate through the platforms, but I finally managed to find some space and just sat on the floor. I had to wait a couple of hours before my train finally showed up. It had gone midnight by this point and I was very tired.
I found my carriage OK and also my reserved seat/bed. I couldn't manage to sleep though despite feeling tired. I started reading a book I had purchased in Katpadi - Lolita, hoping that perhaps reading would make me drift off. It did a little, but I kept waking up. Time had soon flown and half asleep, I had consciously known that this stop would be the last stop - Mysore. At half 4 in the morning.
Out of all the days and time I had been in India, eating a variety of food from a variety of places, now I get a dodgy stomach. It was very dark and Mysore station was practically desolate (most people were probably asleep in a comfortable bed - the lucky enviable sods!), and I could not find a toilet. I decided to venture out of the station and luckily found a pay and use toilet just up the road. God knows what the money they obtain go towards, but it certainly doesn't go towards maintenance or cleanliness. Yep, I just found myself a dirty, horrid, shittiest of all shitters. But man I needed to go! I don't think I have mentioned Indian toilets before; it's a very different experience than using western toilets. Ha! And some Japanese friends of mine think UK toilets are primitive! In India, the toilet is practically a hole in the floor so you have to squat to go and once you're done, you don't wipe with a tissue, instead you have a tap and a jug; just think of a bidet, but replace a jet of water with your left hand. I can sense some faces grimacing with disgust. What was also revolting was that I couldn't help but think many a sex-depraved man had masturbated in there, due to the crude, nude and badly drawn depictations of women on the walls complete with writings, "Fuck my pussy" and, creepily "I love you, fuck me", with some numbers to dial. At least my stomach felt better after though!
After that horrid ordeal, I headed back to the station as it was still very dark and still very early. I bought myself a cup of coffee and just sat on a chair, bored, tired and just wanting time to hurry up. Once it got light outside, I ventured out in to the unknown with no idea to where I was going. I walked down a long a main road and saw Mysore Palace directed on a sign and thought I would try and follow the signs to it. The signs soon stopped but luckliy a traffic officer pointed me in the right direction, and I had to walk down a long, wide and desolate road (still early). Eventually I saw the palace on the horizon, and from then it was easy to get to. Of course, once I was at the gates, it was closed. Well, it was about half 7am. I asked a man if he knew what time it opened and he told me half 10. Great. More waiting around.
There is a small park right next to that entrance though, and so I went there to kill some time by drawing. And thinking of big warm beds. My perception of time was dragging, so after a couple of hours I decided to go for a walk and exlpore the vicinity. After walking around for some time, I headed back to the gate only to be told by a rickshaw driver that I was at the wrong gate. He offered to take me to the right side for 20rs. Wearily, I asked what the catch was ready to shout profanities at him. No catch he said, just 20rs and he will take me there. Huh? I thought. An actual reasonable auto driver stood right before me. Perhaps a pig flew somewhere. True to his word, he took me to the right gate for the price stated. He did offer to take me on a sightseeing tour of Mysore but I declined and he was fine with that. He gave me advice to be aware of people who will try and sell me things and rip me off, and told me a hindu word (I've forgotten it now), which is the English equivalent of telling someone to sod off.
I had to pay the tourist fee of 200rs to get in (locals pay, I think it is 70rs). I was quite blown away by the grand architecture of the place and walked around it to take some snaps. Eventually, I walked up to the shoe counter as people have to remove their footware when entering and proceeded to enter. There was some security measures upon entrance and one particular security officer was a corrupt one; you see, I had put my camera in my bag knowing that I'm not allowed to take snaps inside the palace, and the security officer had known the camera was in my bag so tried to intimidate me in to paying a bribe of 100rs for "allowing" me to go in with it. Angrily, I told him no. There was a bit of an argument between us and I soon rudely told him that I've already paid so I'm going in. As I walked off, he said, "No sir, no sir," but I ignored him. He didn't pursue me luckily.
This minor conflict really dampered my already grouchy mood, so I didn't take my time to marvel at the intricately detailed decor and furniture of which I wasn't allowed to take snaps off; what's with India and its photography prohibitions anyway? This place also made me think of the unfairness of wealth distribution; not even a kilometer up the road from this grand palace are some derelict buildings in which the poor reside in. Lovely isn't it? A palace nicely juxtapositioned with slum areas to rub it in the faces of the poor.
So I didn't get my moneys worth of the and soon rushed to pick up my shoes. Yet again, I get asked for more money, this time from the shoe counter guy. I think I was rude to him as well. Street beggars I can understand asking for money, people employed, however, I can't. I'm not their employer and I do not owe them a living. As far as I'm concerned, people who do the bare minimum of what is required of their job role - which they already get paid for, do not deserve a tip (Yeah yeah, i'm a tight arsehole. But i'm an unemployed tight arsehole). I don't mind giving a tip to employees who unexpectedly go the extra mile and does something really helpful and kind, but this guy just gave me my shoes. That's it. It hardly warrants me giving him money for it, does it? Bah, he caught me in a bad mood!
Anyway, I took a long trek back to the train station, stopping for lunch on the way. Once again, I had to wait around a while for my train to come. I was relieved when it did to find that the carriage was practically empty, so I had a nice and peaceful journey back to Bangalore where Sam came and met me again.
He drove me to get dinner and gave me back my stuff he looked after. After eating, he took me back to Central Lodging where I stayed in the same room again. It was nice to finally lay in bed.
I found my carriage OK and also my reserved seat/bed. I couldn't manage to sleep though despite feeling tired. I started reading a book I had purchased in Katpadi - Lolita, hoping that perhaps reading would make me drift off. It did a little, but I kept waking up. Time had soon flown and half asleep, I had consciously known that this stop would be the last stop - Mysore. At half 4 in the morning.
Out of all the days and time I had been in India, eating a variety of food from a variety of places, now I get a dodgy stomach. It was very dark and Mysore station was practically desolate (most people were probably asleep in a comfortable bed - the lucky enviable sods!), and I could not find a toilet. I decided to venture out of the station and luckily found a pay and use toilet just up the road. God knows what the money they obtain go towards, but it certainly doesn't go towards maintenance or cleanliness. Yep, I just found myself a dirty, horrid, shittiest of all shitters. But man I needed to go! I don't think I have mentioned Indian toilets before; it's a very different experience than using western toilets. Ha! And some Japanese friends of mine think UK toilets are primitive! In India, the toilet is practically a hole in the floor so you have to squat to go and once you're done, you don't wipe with a tissue, instead you have a tap and a jug; just think of a bidet, but replace a jet of water with your left hand. I can sense some faces grimacing with disgust. What was also revolting was that I couldn't help but think many a sex-depraved man had masturbated in there, due to the crude, nude and badly drawn depictations of women on the walls complete with writings, "Fuck my pussy" and, creepily "I love you, fuck me", with some numbers to dial. At least my stomach felt better after though!
After that horrid ordeal, I headed back to the station as it was still very dark and still very early. I bought myself a cup of coffee and just sat on a chair, bored, tired and just wanting time to hurry up. Once it got light outside, I ventured out in to the unknown with no idea to where I was going. I walked down a long a main road and saw Mysore Palace directed on a sign and thought I would try and follow the signs to it. The signs soon stopped but luckliy a traffic officer pointed me in the right direction, and I had to walk down a long, wide and desolate road (still early). Eventually I saw the palace on the horizon, and from then it was easy to get to. Of course, once I was at the gates, it was closed. Well, it was about half 7am. I asked a man if he knew what time it opened and he told me half 10. Great. More waiting around.
There is a small park right next to that entrance though, and so I went there to kill some time by drawing. And thinking of big warm beds. My perception of time was dragging, so after a couple of hours I decided to go for a walk and exlpore the vicinity. After walking around for some time, I headed back to the gate only to be told by a rickshaw driver that I was at the wrong gate. He offered to take me to the right side for 20rs. Wearily, I asked what the catch was ready to shout profanities at him. No catch he said, just 20rs and he will take me there. Huh? I thought. An actual reasonable auto driver stood right before me. Perhaps a pig flew somewhere. True to his word, he took me to the right gate for the price stated. He did offer to take me on a sightseeing tour of Mysore but I declined and he was fine with that. He gave me advice to be aware of people who will try and sell me things and rip me off, and told me a hindu word (I've forgotten it now), which is the English equivalent of telling someone to sod off.
I had to pay the tourist fee of 200rs to get in (locals pay, I think it is 70rs). I was quite blown away by the grand architecture of the place and walked around it to take some snaps. Eventually, I walked up to the shoe counter as people have to remove their footware when entering and proceeded to enter. There was some security measures upon entrance and one particular security officer was a corrupt one; you see, I had put my camera in my bag knowing that I'm not allowed to take snaps inside the palace, and the security officer had known the camera was in my bag so tried to intimidate me in to paying a bribe of 100rs for "allowing" me to go in with it. Angrily, I told him no. There was a bit of an argument between us and I soon rudely told him that I've already paid so I'm going in. As I walked off, he said, "No sir, no sir," but I ignored him. He didn't pursue me luckily.
This minor conflict really dampered my already grouchy mood, so I didn't take my time to marvel at the intricately detailed decor and furniture of which I wasn't allowed to take snaps off; what's with India and its photography prohibitions anyway? This place also made me think of the unfairness of wealth distribution; not even a kilometer up the road from this grand palace are some derelict buildings in which the poor reside in. Lovely isn't it? A palace nicely juxtapositioned with slum areas to rub it in the faces of the poor.
So I didn't get my moneys worth of the and soon rushed to pick up my shoes. Yet again, I get asked for more money, this time from the shoe counter guy. I think I was rude to him as well. Street beggars I can understand asking for money, people employed, however, I can't. I'm not their employer and I do not owe them a living. As far as I'm concerned, people who do the bare minimum of what is required of their job role - which they already get paid for, do not deserve a tip (Yeah yeah, i'm a tight arsehole. But i'm an unemployed tight arsehole). I don't mind giving a tip to employees who unexpectedly go the extra mile and does something really helpful and kind, but this guy just gave me my shoes. That's it. It hardly warrants me giving him money for it, does it? Bah, he caught me in a bad mood!
Anyway, I took a long trek back to the train station, stopping for lunch on the way. Once again, I had to wait around a while for my train to come. I was relieved when it did to find that the carriage was practically empty, so I had a nice and peaceful journey back to Bangalore where Sam came and met me again.
He drove me to get dinner and gave me back my stuff he looked after. After eating, he took me back to Central Lodging where I stayed in the same room again. It was nice to finally lay in bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment