Gems of India

Leaving the best for last. One piece of advice that I followed religiously. In India I had three places I wanted to see above all: Agra, Varanasi and Khajuraho. These were the gems of India. And now I know why. They are simply heavenly. Each for a different reason, but all are stars in the sky full of dreams.

Varanasi

It doesn't apologize. Enter into you and you violate your senses. Flood yourself with sounds, smells and movements. At first you stay paralyzed. Too much. Here you have all that is life. No excuse, or smoothie. It's raw, violent and aggressive. But also very beautiful.

It was one of the last cities I visited in India. By this time I was accustomed to the movement. When I crossed the street to the train station, I did it in Indian fashion, without pause and with my hand in front to guide the space where I can pass. Doesn't scare me anymore, but it was intense. I felt that India had been compressed to this  "small" space.

More than any other site, Varanasi lays bare what India is negative. The garbage, the hustle-hustle and bumps. But also designs everything that this country has to offer. Sympathy, human diversity, scenic beauty. And you can not choose. Here, all things are delivered in one-face coin. And every part of town has its beauty.

The main streets brings you the movement and dynamism of chaos. Force you to refine the senses and gives you the beauty of looks, clothes or friendly conversations. You can be sure that even with the maximum volume of your iPod you feel and hear the horn of the rickshaw. You did not enter this reality, it is it that enters you.

And from this mess you end up in... another mess. This is made up of narrow streets. Those who guide you into the Ghats. It is a great place to let your imagination go. And among the bodies that are taken to the crematorium, small shops of delicious lassis and dim alleys, you find everything. It has the atmosphere of a good spy movie or of fairy tales.

But Varanasi materializes in the Ghats. For here you have life. It is the most intensive course of humanity. It has an unperfect beauty. It's full of annoyances. But, as in life, is your actitude that determines your experience. You look at the imperfect and negative and Varanasi is a monster that consumes you. You look at the smiles and the colors, and you cannot let you float through a world of dreams and small achievements, marriages and love affairs.

Varanasi is more than a city. It is a humanity that compresses and shakes, touches you and violents you, but never, however you wish, asks for your forgiveness...

Taj Mahal

There is only one thing more difficult than describe a sunset. It is to describe the Taj Mahal. Even with a big imagination, you will end with words that someone has written or pictures that anyone has taken. But in both situations - sunsets and Taj Mahal - they contain a beauty that surpasses all the cliches.

The Taj Mahal is an emotion. It is not beautiful by its symmetry, for its pure white or for its beautiful and sad story. Its beauty comes when you feel it. He touches you. Moves you inside, despite being a set of stones and two bodies. It has a magnetism that consumes everything around it. You touring in its beautiful gardens and your eyes are linked to the Taj. You sit at its border, and even with all the movement that tourists bring, you end up staring at the monument.

I do not know who was the greatest romantic. Who gave the order or who built it. But I know that all people that constructed the Taj are major builders of humanity. They got what any writer struggle unsuccessfully to do: materializing an emotion.

Khajuraho

And Khajuraho was ... different than expected. Since I knew of the temples of Kama Sutra - as they are nicknamed – I was curious to see them. I find it fascinating, and somewhat tragic, as a society after going through a liberal phase has changed so much. Today people don't feel comfortable walking down the street holding hands. I hoped that these monuments were able to convey something to me impossible when it comes to technological developments: a look into the past more advanced than ours.

This small Indian village was intended to end the path of three pearls. But, as I am in India, everything was very different than expected. Starting with the village. Greeting me  were wide boulevards, roundabouts and clean gardens. The hustle-hustle at the temple still reminds us of what country we are talking about, but it was as if I am in halfway between India and Europe.

It was also different because I had the opportunity to see another Khajuraho. Delivered at the hands of Abid (or Michael for tourists) and Hassan. I met Michael in an exchange of words on a scarf. I had just arrived and waited for my room to be ready. After some chitchating Michael took me to meet a nice place to see the sunset. He guided me to a small village and temples. And he showed me a school consisting of volunteering and helping the poorest people of the village. I knew the best places to eat and most of all I had access to the kindness of people and their sympathy that allowed me to participate in a life so often closed to those outside.

It was also with him I met Hassan. An electrician, who owns an electronics repair shop. Most of all a man of generous heart and captivating smile. After a few hours already invited me to lunch the next day at his home. Something that I agreed with all the pleasure.

When I reached the small village 4 km from Khajuraho, the word tourism had been far behind. Here was a place made up of Indians for Indians. I got the bike to his humble and generous home. He insists in apologizing for the small house, barely larger than 15 mt2, something that I don't agree. A house is the size of the heart of the people who inhabit it, and this, with Hassan and his family, was one of the biggest I've ever been. I spent time playing with children, and admiring this house, which reminded me of my grandmother's house. The stucco walls, the smiles at the meal and the smell of food cooked by the fire was very familiar to me. It was a very special moment that I will keep in my heart.

Hassan also leads me to do a little sightseeing, guiding me to a Hindu temple on the hill in his village. It had a beautiful view over the whole region. A wide green plain, intersected by ranges of small mountains. Hence, the towers that rise from the Khajuraho seem a lost city in the jungle.

And afterward, I thought that little remained to do in Khajuraho. Until Michael surprised me with the question: "you've already been to an Indian wedding?" It seemed like he read my thoughts, I left little to do in India and this was one of those things. I had given up. It was a Muslim wedding, something that is impossible to know at first sight. When I arrived at the groom's house – face painted red and hands painted with henna - was the joy and generosity I encountered. Immediately received a packet of sweets and I was introduced to the family.

Everyone greeted me and made sure I attend closely to the delivery of gifts to the groom. Among a host of photographers and onlookers, I saw the family of the bride give the groom the wedding gifts. I went out, and after some time, came the main moment of this part of the marriage: riding the horse that would take the groom to the place of celebration. The horse was with multi-colored ribbons that reminded me of Christmas trees. And although the horse has come temperament, soon the groom - now also covered the same ribbons - was already on the horse and the procession could follow. This meant that the four huge columns in the van could start working. People follow the pace of partying, and an atmosphere that resembled a rave. All possible with a walking generator. It was time to return to the hotel. Missing a few minutes to close the doors and by now felt that the party was not mine.

Ah ... yes ... I almost forgot. I still had time to contemplate the wonderful temples of Khajuraho. The Western Group, are the best known and well preserved. The enclosure is nearly paradise with its extensive gardens lawns. A space to savor every moment and that will raise the question: how did we get here? But by this time they were already a detail in Khajuraho. Thanks to Michael and his friends I met a Khajuraho as only India can create: a non-tourist and tourist place wrapped in the same reality.