Jon and I both woke up at the same time, in the same way. It was
10:00 and we were surprised and a little unsure where we were. Rony's
little brother was sleeping calmly in between us in the middle of the
bed. The other guys were out on the floor. We got up eager to take care
of business and get on the road back to Delhi, but we knew we had to do
it politely. Our spontaneous hosts had a whole day planned for us. They
wanted to show us all over town and help them meet girls. It took some
time to just settle on a breakfast and a quick visit with Nanu's father
who had recently suffered from a mean stroke.
We wanted to be out of Chandigarh by noon, but it was difficult to neglect such genuine hospitality.
Golden
Macenzie was fixed and road worthy, and there we stood, out in front of
Rony's appartment as the clock leaned on 1:00. The fellas just couldn't
bare to say goodbye, so they got on their bikes and rode with us to the
edge of town where we shook hands and patted backs while in motion on
the highway. Then Jon n' I punched it outta there like Fonda n' Hopper.
I
don't remember when we entered Delhi and found our way back to Tony's
bike shop, but there was time to walk to the liquor store for a cold
Kingfisher before Tony showed up. While waiting in line there I had a
few words with a drunk old boy who asked me if I liked whiskey. "It's
practically my last name." I said. I'm sure he didn't understand me, but
nonetheless he spun around and ordered a small bottle of single malt
something-or-other and then placed it in my hands and kissed them. The
only words I could muster in my surprise were "Donde-baht Bai", Thank
you brother, in bad Hindi language. I know he understood that though,
and he smiled and stumbled off down the dark, busy street.
We
finally got to meet the face of Tony's bike shop and sit in his air
conditioned office to discuss our journey and haggle over prices for
minor repairs while we sipped on our Kingfishers. At one point he
excused himself and left the office, so I used his phone to call Rimpy,
one of the guy's we'd met in Khir Ganga. He was stoked to hear from us
and quickly made arrangements to pick us up at the last sky-train
station on the edge of the city. We had a lot riding on the hope that we
could stay with these guys for at least a night or two. It would help
our limited budget out severely. After getting our deposit back from
Tony, we had 20,000 rupees ($427.26) each to carry us for the remaining 5
days in India and 15 days in Nepal (30 days for Jon). A bit tricky,
considering this crew that we were on our way to meet. They were around
the same age as us, and it was evident that they wanted to show us a
good time. We would have to do our best to hold back. I felt bad at
first because I couldn't remember any of their names except for Rimpy
and Bundy, who were the most talkative. The funniest one in the group
was short and pudgy with the mannerisms of John Belushi. We learned his
name was Pawan when they picked us up at the station. With him was Rimpy
and their friend they called 'Priest.' They called him that because he
was a spiritual cat who liked to lecture.
The first place we went
was Rimpy's appartment where the boys informed us that we needed to
take a shower before we proceeded to their village. It hadn't occurred
to me how haggard we were after that last long day of riding. It was
pretty great to be clean again, but the hot shower made me tired, so we
smoked the last of our charas to wake up for an evening without
expectations. Little did we know then that one evening would turn into 5
days and 5 nights, living like long lost brothers with this tight-knit
gang of Jat Indians in their unforgettable village of Karala. Sometimes
life really does save the best for last. This was it right here. This
lesser known village and it's next generation of leaders, taking us in
as one of their own. It was all very natural at the time, but looking
back on it now it feels surreal and I wonder why?
That first
night in Karala we met up with the entire gang, including the guys we'd
met in Khir Ganga and more. They had their own club house of sorts,
which was called "the office." And it was technically the business
quarters of Pawan's own cable company. We were still pretty faded and
now into the whiskey. We felt comfortable enough to express how funny we
thought it was that Pawan owned a cable company and we were all sitting
around getting ripped at his office, which contained two squeaky
couches, a warped wooden table and a kitchen in the back that looked
like it had once been on fire. Like a sandlot team, the Karala boys took
pride in introducing each other to us and describing what everyone did
for work. They had a man for almost every occasion:
Priest was a
teacher, Kala was studying to be a doctor, Rimpy was studying to be a
journalist, Bunty was into some sort of business law, Mo was a cop, and
the rest of them were players in Pawan's business, which we slowly
learned was much more than a cable company.
Over the course of
our days there we were taken to every household and introduced to the
family of every guy in the core of the group. It was a humbling
experience in which all of the elders touched our heads and blessed us.
Then we were required to eat a meal. It didn't matter if we were hungry
or not. It was customary. And so we left every house feeling bloated and
ready for a thanksgiving nap. We slept and ate and drank more in those
last days in Karala than we did during our entire journey through India.
Those hospitable brothers would not let us pay for anything. At one
point I foolishly asked why, to which Rimpy replied "We were taught to
treat guests like gods." Amen to that boys.
At night we would
always reconvene with everyone at the office for drinks and entertaining
exchanges of questions and cultural differences. Jon n' I learned a lot
of dirty Hindi words there and educated them in our own dialect as
well. Indeed, I truly felt like I was in the Byron town of India.
We
slept almost every night at Pawans's house, in the room that he had
spent the sacred first night with his wife in. There were still
decorations taped on the walls.
Pawan's house was the place to be
because it was located in the center of the village. We found out that
Pawan, the loveable John Belushi type was the next in line to be the
village leader. His grandparents had been the founders of Karala. There
was a shrine for them in a small yard where the family's yak was kept.
Because of his inheritance Pawan had his hands in the majority of the
business that flowed through the village. Some it was illegal of course,
but from what I could tell he did his best to keep it real and clean.
It was generally drug free but there was a small gun trade which they
joked about openly. In fact, during one of our visits to a family
household there was an unloaded 9mm being played with. As I said
earlier, it all seemed natural. It may sound hard to believe but I felt
comfortable and connected with this crew. They were on the rise of
running the whole village from that office and part of me wanted to stay
there and be a part of it.
On our last day the boys took us out
for lunch and a game of 8-ball on the most haggard pool table I've ever
played on. Then it was a long goodbye at at the station. I realized how
much we'd bonded by how we departed. There were even some tears shed,
but I won't mention any names. And I won't forget their names either.
They are my Indian brothers for life and I can not thank them enough or
imagine a better way to finish our time in India.
Mere bhai theek ho!
Read Day 47 
