Describing Pushkar

As my friend Tiffany and I were traveling last weekend in the small town of Pushkar in the state of Rajasthan, we were talking about the challenge of trying to describe our experience to people back home. How do you describe a place like this – that is so full and so deep and so different from anything we’ve known before – to those who haven’t experienced it themselves? Words seem so inadequate, but as an exercise, I thought it might be fun to try.

Pushkar is small, but not quaint. It bustles with the noises and colors and crowds of India. Walking down the street from our hostel, we pass vendors selling everything from jewelry to pots and pans to beautiful textiles. Shop keepers call out to us from all directions: “Madam, come, best falafel right here!” “Madam, for you, very cheap price!” “Yes, madam, I am here.” A crippled beggar calls up to us from the ground “Please, madam, give something.” Men dressed in white robes and orange turbans sit on a stair chatting quietly in a language I don’t understand. Women in bright pink, yellow, and blue saris sit barefoot on the side of the dusty road selling leafy green vegetables. A healthy looking cow lumbers lazily towards us, chewing cud, seemingly unaware of the chaos of daily life that surrounds it. We dodge a motor bike that whizzes by at incredible speed considering the crowded street. It honks an obnoxious warning as it passes down the narrow path, weaving between vegetable carts and cows and babas (holy men) and tourists. A group of young girls with wide white smiles stare and gesture in our direction. We greet them with a friendly “namaste, ap kaise hai?” and their eyes brighten as they eagerly extend their hands out for a handshake and return the greeting. Namaste!

In the center of the town is a lake. It is said to be one of the holiest sights in India. It was supposedly made from a petal of the lotus flower upon which Lord Brahma, creator of the universe, sat. The lake is a pilgrimage sight for many Hindus. We walk down to the lake, waving off men trying to pass us pujas, flowers to give as an offering, which we’ve been warned is often a tourist scam. We take off our shoes and walk barefoot down the stone stairs to find a quiet spot to sit for a little while. Near the lake, the chaos of the life up on the street seems to disappear. There is something deep and meaningful about this place. We watch people descend the ghats, the series of stairs, to offer pujas, bathe, and recite prayers. Some people are babas, holy men, in traditional dress sitting in meditation. Some are families with children playing and splashing in the water. Some are men dressed in business attire, offering their prayers before heading to work. Others are tourists, sitting with men who make a living off of giving tourists a “spiritual” experience. We chose to simply observe.

Here are a few pictures, if you want to see for yourself.