An Indian Summer: from Delhi to Nepal by Mark Davidson
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In the Sixties, thousands of hippies travelled through South East Asia, journeying through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and India, before reaching their destination, Nepal. Why did they do it? Perhaps it was the romance of the road, the attraction of drugs, the need to break the monotonous grind of daily life, the search for direct experience, or a curiosity of foreign, exotic cultures.
It was for similar reasons (drugs excepted) that I recently travelled from Delhi to Nepal – the final part of the infamous hippie trail. My 18-day journey took in India’s capital, Delhi; the Taj Mahal in Agra, India’s holiest city, Varanasi, before moving on to Nepal and Kathmandu.
I’d heard that India had little tolerance towards disability and in my week there I saw plenty of physically disabled people living in abject poverty, who were considered to be at the bottom of the pecking order. This had a lot to do with the Indian caste system, which regards those with disabilities as “untouchables” – the lowest of the low who aren’t even allowed to sit in the same train carriage as the general public.
The strange thing was that it was considered fine for me to travel when and how I liked – there are different rules for Westerners, I guess. This was highlighted en route to Agra from Jaipur when an old lady, minding her own business, was removed from our train compartment because she was poorly dressed. The conductor told me she was causing distress among other passengers. I was forced to ask whether if I had been Indian, my disability (Cerebral Palsy) would have led me to the same fate.
Built in the 17th-century, the Taj Mahal is one of the unspoilt wonders of the world. Constructed by the Mogul emperor Shahan Jahan, it is the resting place of his favourite wife Mumtaz, who is buried in the centre of the building, the emperor at her side. With many staircases around the complex, wheelchair-using tourists will find it a challenge to explore, but there are plenty of guides and local people willing to lend a hand – for a few rupees.
The next three days were spent sailing down the holy river Ganges. This was a particular highlight – peaceful and enlightening, giving us views of rural life from a new perspective. Women washed clothes, kids played with abandon and cows drank. Each night we camped on the sandy banks of the riverside.
Our Ganges trip ended in Varanasi, India’s holiest city. Here, once again, I was confronted with disability. Around the city were people with a range of impairments. Some were barely able to walk (although there was not a wheelchair in sight). They were hoping that the holy rivers of the Ganges would help cure them.
We left hectic India and headed north east to Nepal, and its capital, Kathmandu. It is a vibrant centre for travellers from all walks of life and many older Britons who first visited in the hazy Sixties are still resident there. The most popular location is Freak Street, a wild jumble of cheap hotels, stores and restaurants, named after the freaky travellers that arrived there decades ago.
The best thing about taking pictures in India and Nepal was seeing the look on the faces of local people, especially the children. In western society, where kids must have the latest gadgets, it was refreshing to see children in Asia deriving pleasure from simply having their photograph taken.