Story in English - Country affected by humans

Country affected by humans

Noise, dirt and smell in India reached staggering proportions. It is quite possible that this country is the superpower of noise, dirt and smell. This combination goes beyond the imagination of those who come here for the first time and I believe that many intestinal difficulties of inexperienced travelers comes from the consternation that quite astounding and hampering their ability to defend themselves against this aggressive environment.Already the first walk through the streets is unexpected onslaught of good manners. Just when you notice how men relieve themselves before all others at the open urinals. When standing on a railway station up to your ankles in the garbage, you can not be struck by the contradiction between the statement on a plate in each pole announcing "Indian Railways - pride of the entire nation" and the fact that every now and then someone jumps into trackage to leave his smelling opinion on that pride.

I've never seen anyone that would take care of garbage collection from the streets, but I've seen more times absurd attempt to wash the floor in the hotel. Mostly they end up sort of strange that the man spread the dirt by the strange wet broom, which itself is just another source of dirt.Another breath-taking look is when you stood in Varanasi on the banks of the sacred river Gangha and see as people wash their teeth in its muddy waters. Nearby are floating bloated carcasses of a dead sacred cows. According the tradition bodies of dead children, Brahmin and those who died of leprosy also threw in the same water. And nobody cares also threw in the same water.

In the New Delhi for the first time in my life I've really seen a smog. This experience graduated up to Varanasi when we went by taxi from Varanasi to the place where Buddha first preached (and where we finally saw a cleaner countryside). We were five. I sat in the back seat in the middle of the Indian colleagues and for the first time in my life (and I hope the last), I experienced the onslaught of uncontrollable panic. From the open windows of a taxi pushed us such a wisp of smog, dust and smell that I had an immediate urge to jump and escape. I have mastered not to just by rational conclusion that if I will jump out of the cab I will end in the midst of all this and perish forever become overwhelmed by the mass of dirt. Rather, I prefer to steam in a taxi behind closed window.Despite all this optimism does not pass me. On the way from Varanasi to Delhi we should go by train from the morning throughout the day. I believed that it will pay for everything by the previous suffering.

"The country can not be ugly. No country is ugly, or dirty an smelly.” I reassured myself and a colleague. Then the train moved, and I was speechless for three hundred kilometers long.Indeed, no country is ugly, or dirty and smelly when someone is watching it from behind a window, going by fast train. But in no other country they have a habit of shocking the local morning toilet. In India, villagers enjoy to see each train, which passes. They do not want to miss either their morning toilet to relieve the pressing current needs. The shocking solution is that they go to a nearest knoll and watch the passing train without being interrupted from their morning dispensation. And to see a three hundred kilometers of shiting natives will knock out each admirer of exotic countries. I do not know how an Indian village looks like from a train in the morning. And neither do not recommend anyone to know ...

Story in English from India - Finding the Right Way

Finding the Right Way
Indian Story

Traveling you may find different local attractions. However, the real historic labyrinth you’ll find only in an Indian city Lucknow. It is really an extraordinary building. One would expect it is underground, but in fact it’s on the first floor of the mausoleum in large palace. Moreover, this labyrinth is seemingly very simple and transparent, laid out in straight lines. Its passages lead around the circumference of the palace’s main hall and offer scenic views into the hall and to the outside. The only confusing elements are the changing levels in the passages. From time to time you had to walk up a few stairs and then back down. The local guide didn’t forget to start this part of our journey with a painful joke about his predecessor getting lost here once. It underestimated our intelligence more than I could tolerate, so at the next crossover I left the group with guide on lead and turned to the nearest corridor. Alone, I felt triumphant elevation for a moment. I could hear the screaming voice of the guide dissipating into the hidden corners of the labyrinth. Finally, I could walk freely, looking into the little scenic views, try out some passages, think about my world – and got lost.

  When I realized that I lost my way, I wasn’t too upset. I assumed that the labyrinth was so small that I could simply walk until I will reach an exit. But the more I walked the more I ascertained that the only way out was the way we had came in. And that had completely disappear from my mental map. I could only find the stairs up. I went on them and found an empty terrace on the top of palace. As the sun was going down, I was intrigued by the ordinary view down to the dirty yard behind the palace. In the place that wasn’t designed to impress tourists was a shantytown and mounds of garbage all around. In front of the one shabby hut stood a woman in black and around her, amid the rubbish, children played. The woman stood quietly, watching the children with the fatal look of resolve that one can find where poverty is so near, so real, and that any vision of a dignified life is obscured. The children shrieked loudly, carefree, like children all over the world do, but their game had some strange pattern. Although they seemed at first glance irresponsible, mischievous, buoyant, they were careful not to step across an imaginary circle as they jumped and ran about. Full of energy, hope and unknown self-confidence they intertwined through a network of passages without any exit like me in my labyrinth. I felt surprisingly near to them, physically intimate, as if I was one of them. I was helped by the fact that I was above them on a terrace, barefooted, just like them. You cannot enter the labyrinth with shoes on. I left my shoes and socks in front of the palace and now, up to my ankles in dust, I felt uncertain and unpleasantly naked. I was sure though that there couldn’t be another groups of tourists visiting the place at this very late evening. And our guide could hardly remember me and recognize that I am not with the group. We were such a big group of scientists of different nationalities that we didn’t know each other. I realized, unwillingly, that within the next twelve hours no one was going to miss me. For a moment I froze, feeling that for some absurd reason I would never be able to leave the Lucknow labyrinth – except when I would descend to join the woman and the children below and stay forever in the labyrinth of their poverty without any hope of escape.

I could not look for a long time down on human beings among the rubbish. They didn’t choose to enter their labyrinth as I had chosen to enter mine, for a casual adventure. Luckily, I could still get out of mine. Then, with a new resolve to find my way out, I went quickly down the stairs. Soon I heard the familiar, carefree voices and the stentorian voice of our guide and saw my group at the end of a long passage as they descended the main stairs in front of the palace. I joyously added myself to their ranks…


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