While our lefty friends are busy doing the immensely satisfying activism of deplatorming Christmas, we are here in India, on the way by a circuitous route to the Taj Mahal in Agra.
Well, actually today we are driving from Gwalior to Agra, and the Taj is scheduled for dawn tomorrow. Did you know, by the way, that the fort in Gwalior features the fine Man Mandir Palace built by the Raj in which to enjoy his eight wives, and on the wall is a row of yellow rubber duckies. Why ducks? Well, the peacock, or swan, or goose is the vehicle of Brahma, the creator god. I guess that the swan is a high-rent duck, or something.
But back to Christmas.
On arrival at our hotel, the Deo Bagh in Gwalior, on Christmas Eve, we were greeted by a Santa with a cotton wool scotch-taped beard, who gave us each a piece of candy. Then we had dinner outside in the Bagh (garden) near a plastic fake Christmas tree that culminated in Santa cutting a Christmas cake. Of course it was cold outside, so the hotel arranged a blazing fire in the middle of the dining area.
(This is India's Big Problem right now, if you ask me. When anyone feels baby it's cold outside they immediately light a wood fire, right there in the street. That is why Google rates nearly all Indian city air quality as "hazardous" every day.)
At the Gwalior Fort on Christmas Day we were greeted at one point by a group of giggling school-aged girls who wished us "Merry Christmas." Later, at the Jai Vilas Palace of the Scindes designed and built and furnished in European style with delicious Indian touches, we took selfies at an installation that included an impossibly thin Santa, a fake Christmas tree, a sleigh, and two cotton-wool reindeer. And a bowl of candy for the kids. They were playing "Jingle Bells" non-stop. We had to explain to our guide the cultural significance of the sleigh and the reindeer.
The Jai Vilas Palace featured two banqueting halls, one for dining sitting on the floor, Indian style, and one for dining at a long table, European style. Actually, in the European section there were three tables, one for veg., one non-veg., and one for drinking. The drinky table featured a model railway with a train carrying the decanters. To stop the train you grabbed a decanter and lifted it off the train. I am not kidding.
And while in the bus we saw some Santa hats for sale at a street-side store. I realized that I had forgotten to pack my Santa hat.
In the afternoon, back at the hotel, we watched an Indian father play cricket with his sons in the Bagh.
Well, now it's Boxing Day, and I don't think the Indians observe, or even notice it. It's a British holiday, and the Indians are in two minds about the Brits.
No comments:
Post a Comment