Jaipur Chapter 3: From Lee Enfield with Love (revised)
It should be noted that the occurrences here in recorded happened some time ago. So there I was on the corner, by the for-mentioned smoke and chew stand, hanging on to a bag from a book shop containing my latest doses of literary insanity medication when a young gent on a Suzuki street bike materialized in front of me and gave a me look that I have come to understand as that of an Indian man about to make conversation.* The discourse that ensued was not brief but could be summarized as a sort of "hi? Where you from? My names...? I like Australia." I answered his questions, made my own observations on Australia and made no attempt to flee. The one sure thing about being a foreigner in India and many other, possibly all other places is that when engaged in a conversation with a local the subject of your opinion of the place comes up. Ali, (as I would later learn his name to be) was not one to force exceptions to such rules.
Ali. How long you been in India?
CJM. Almost two months
A. How do you like India
C. I like it fine.
A. How do you like Jaipur
C. What I’ve seen I’ve liked, It's very clean and flat. Nice buildings, good air.
A So you like Jaipur?
C. Yeah
A. I am from here. You must like Jaipur.
C. Yeah
A. What you have seen in Jaipur?
C. The train station...
A. I will show you what you like to see, what you like to see?
C. A cup of coffee.
A. Yes I know a place.
C. Oh good!
A It is good that you like talking with me, other foreigners they can be very rude.
C. Yeah, well, I like bikes.
A. I would be honored if you would like to ride my bike.
C. Cheers. I don’t know how to work the gears.
A. I will take you.
C. To the gears?
A. Yes, around Jaipur.
C. To that cup of coffee?
A. Yes the parliament.
C..."*"
A. You come now, we'll take you on the real tour.
C. Cool.
And thus I saw Jaipur. Under the wash of spilled streetlight it breezed passed me in a blue blur of elegant decay. My new friend was keen to discuss all manner of issues regarding Jaipur, driving in Jaipur, and living in Jaipur, also motorbikes. I was particularly interested in this topic at that moment. Specifically with the issue pertaining to that of a man riding on the back seat of one, and whether or not he was supposed to have a smoking shoe. It turned out that I had been using the exhaust pipe as a foot rest, and the situation was soon remedied. We raced a few other bikes down the main ceremonial drag in front Jaipurs rather impressive parliament, we met up with some other friends and rode over to a wildlife reserve, which was oddly placed in the centre of a residential development. The deer inside looked confused but well fed they formed a sort of defensive circle round their young when we pulled up to the fence but most of them seemed to fall asleep within the minute. We stopped off at the doors of several apartments where Ali apparently had business. The 5 minutes of hushed conversation at the door kind of business. He may have been breaking up with his girlfriends I have seen it done this way in Canada. The real question was if this was in fact the situation, should I be worried. I broached the subject and Ali told me with a hearty laugh that all three of his girl friends were well ensconced and he had no notions of giving any of the loves of his life the toss this evening. We discussed traffic laws, and how there weren’t any. Ali went through the list of other nation's common traffic violations that he claimed did not exist in India, he punctuated his argument with demonstrations where possible. Some 40 minutes into our evening blitz we swooshed back around the bend where Ali had picked me up and as if in conclusion to the tour, he announced that we should go find a place to sit down and grab a tea. Now tea is not coffee but in India, tea is usually the best your gonna do so I simply welcomed the idea of a hot bevies with caffeine and thankfully submitted to the suggestion. That's when the cops showed up. I say cops, cause that's what they were but it is worth stating that cops in India would be described by an ignorant Canadian as soldiers. They wear olive drab green uniforms, generally stand guard rather than intervene and carry one or two of several rather military looking weapons from their well advertised arsenal.** Now I have a wee bit of a flair for guns in terms of research and popular intrigue and aesthetic taste more than in practice. That is to say I can name with some accuracy a bally few more guns on sight than perhaps the next gentleman of my political statistic group. Of course Canada may be one of the more boring nations for your average amateur gun watcher. India is by comparison a visual smorgasbord of military machinery with the odd sporting antiquity thrown in for good measure, but frankly I have been frustrated by many of the weird and ancient looking items strapped on to some of these guy's belts a few of which are dead ringers for the old blasters from Star Wars. These two particular rozzers, on the big bike, directly behind Ali and myself, waving their arms and yelling...were carrying a familiar implement which I recognized all too well as a .303 Lee Enfield rifle.
What I know about this gun is truthfully limited. I know how to load and eject a round*** I know that it was the primary infantry weapon of the British Empire for like a hundred years. I also know that it was the weapon employed at the Massacre of Amritsar. A tragic and shameful slaughter of peaceful citizens by the soldiers of General Reginald Dyre pictured in the film Gandhi just before the intermission. Enough to know that someone wearing one is a good judge of whether you should pull over or not. Ali, of course felt the same way.
Swerving quickly into an ally way he addressed the two cops politely who responded with a surprising gentleness. We stood or sat, or rather straddled the bike momentarily while the cop with the Enfield (the other had an HK MP5****) seemed to be informing Ali of something that through my reading of his unintelligible Hindi seemed to have a sort of "after you eat your vegetables and finish your chores" kind of tone. Ali apologized...to me.
C. What? (yelling)
A. Sorry
C. Oh don’t be sorry, it's just the cops, they pull us over in Canada too. Are they giving us a fine? Do you need some cash?
A. Put your feet up.
C. Sure. I thought there was no speed limit in....
To say that we sped up would be an understatement to the point of becoming a total falsehood. We took off, we gunned it, we broke records. I was still in mid sentence with my innocent inquiry into why we got pulled over when I realized that the two gun toting cops and the ally containing them were a good quarter kilometer behind us. It was about that time that I realized we were not only running through on-coming traffic (not a rare occurrence in Indian driving) but we were actually on a raised median down the middle of the highway and were some inches off what should have been the road. Ali swerved through a bushel of rickshaws and into another ally, a real one this time. Long dark, filthy, cinematic to the core. We buzzed families on their doorsteps, knifed between parked cars and hopped rubble in such a way that made me realize no matter how I told this story later it would never be satisfactorily believed. It was on as I said, maybe the seventh turn that we were suddenly faced with what looked to be a bit of doom. It might have been a wall as it was definitely black and in the way. Up until this point I had really had very little compunction about any of the evening. It had been fun, Ali was an artist with his Suzuki, the roads had been clear and quiet... no prob. But this looked like a fast lesson in flight and long stint in traction waiting very impatiently to happen. As it turned out it was a black cow and Ali negotiated it with all the skill required. Four or five alleys later Ali was content that we had lost our pursuers and informed me again that he was sorry but they would have taken his bike cause his head light was out. The irony of that fact struck me as we had just blown through maybe 25 pitch black back alleys at not so black back ally speeds as a result of this perfectly cogent legal observation. A headlight would have been a good idea in there, but the rest of the evening had been very well lit. Suffice to say we found the coffee shop that served only tea, passed the rest of the evening with laughter and filled the brandy glass and Ozzie went on stage and did a great show. We (the crew) left Jaipur the next day. I had a bad run in with a bottle of fresh mango juice and German tourist of questionable moral fiber. The bus ride out was as bad or worse than the bus ride in thanks to the combined efforts of the dessert sun, the buses shocks and two samosas I ate for breakfast. As our chariot of sand and pain rattled and clanked into virtual paralysis in the Delhi traffic I chewed, spat and wrapped my last piece of patients and chucked it out the window.(littering is not in any way discouraged, especially emotional littering) Jaipur in short is a place of magic and crazy dreams I loved every cobra bobbing minute of it but I do not despair the fact that I will never go again. Unless I do go again, in which case I'll get back to y'all.
Chris
*The kind of conversation one might expect a brave but decent bar fly to attempt on a prospective shag after his/her(lets be fair) fifth Sleemans...Except in India they don’t have Sleemans.
** 'The standard issued SMGs are the 9mm Sterling and 9mm STEN Mk.2/5. The Police Commandos use the 9mm MP5 for their daily duties. The .45 M3A1 and Thompson-M1 are also in service, but in very small quantities. The .303 Bren and 7.62mm Bren L4 are the standard issued machine guns. The standard-issued rifles are the 0.410 Muskets of which 90,000 are in service, the 0.303 SMLE No.1 Mk III and No.4 of which 500,000 are in service, the 7.62mm 1A1 SLR of which 100,000+ are in service and the 7.62mm 2A/2A1 with bolt action of which 400,000 were manufactured, but not all of them may be in service. The 7.62mm AKM variants are issued to some police commando units. The 0.30-06 Garand M1 is also in service, but in very small quantities. The police also uses 2 inch and some 51mm mortars.' {Information Courtesy of Dr. Sanjay Badri-Maharaj}
***In the late spring of 2004 I had a short engagement as an actor playing a Canadian infantryman in German territory during the early allied push of 1945. My primary prop was one deactivated (sans firing pin) .303 Lee Enfield. Basic operations of the weapon were a key factor of my role. I also happened to be in an engagement (non matrimonial) as a sweetie-pie with a young lass from Enfield, Middlesex. Incidentally that is where the gun was made...but those are both another story.
****A very very very popular little German sub-machine gun, generally agreed to be the most vogue SMG for years now. A rather modern iconic weapon in contrast to the .303 which is a rather ancient iconic weapon. Rather different in just about every way, with the exception of their mutual keenness for putting sharp mettle things very far a away very quickly. for more information please see any of the Rainbow Six Computer Game titles available from RedStorm Entertainment.
PPS
Please dont be scared of me, i'm really very peaceful. I promise I dont have a mullet.
Ali. How long you been in India?
CJM. Almost two months
A. How do you like India
C. I like it fine.
A. How do you like Jaipur
C. What I’ve seen I’ve liked, It's very clean and flat. Nice buildings, good air.
A So you like Jaipur?
C. Yeah
A. I am from here. You must like Jaipur.
C. Yeah
A. What you have seen in Jaipur?
C. The train station...
A. I will show you what you like to see, what you like to see?
C. A cup of coffee.
A. Yes I know a place.
C. Oh good!
A It is good that you like talking with me, other foreigners they can be very rude.
C. Yeah, well, I like bikes.
A. I would be honored if you would like to ride my bike.
C. Cheers. I don’t know how to work the gears.
A. I will take you.
C. To the gears?
A. Yes, around Jaipur.
C. To that cup of coffee?
A. Yes the parliament.
C..."*"
A. You come now, we'll take you on the real tour.
C. Cool.
And thus I saw Jaipur. Under the wash of spilled streetlight it breezed passed me in a blue blur of elegant decay. My new friend was keen to discuss all manner of issues regarding Jaipur, driving in Jaipur, and living in Jaipur, also motorbikes. I was particularly interested in this topic at that moment. Specifically with the issue pertaining to that of a man riding on the back seat of one, and whether or not he was supposed to have a smoking shoe. It turned out that I had been using the exhaust pipe as a foot rest, and the situation was soon remedied. We raced a few other bikes down the main ceremonial drag in front Jaipurs rather impressive parliament, we met up with some other friends and rode over to a wildlife reserve, which was oddly placed in the centre of a residential development. The deer inside looked confused but well fed they formed a sort of defensive circle round their young when we pulled up to the fence but most of them seemed to fall asleep within the minute. We stopped off at the doors of several apartments where Ali apparently had business. The 5 minutes of hushed conversation at the door kind of business. He may have been breaking up with his girlfriends I have seen it done this way in Canada. The real question was if this was in fact the situation, should I be worried. I broached the subject and Ali told me with a hearty laugh that all three of his girl friends were well ensconced and he had no notions of giving any of the loves of his life the toss this evening. We discussed traffic laws, and how there weren’t any. Ali went through the list of other nation's common traffic violations that he claimed did not exist in India, he punctuated his argument with demonstrations where possible. Some 40 minutes into our evening blitz we swooshed back around the bend where Ali had picked me up and as if in conclusion to the tour, he announced that we should go find a place to sit down and grab a tea. Now tea is not coffee but in India, tea is usually the best your gonna do so I simply welcomed the idea of a hot bevies with caffeine and thankfully submitted to the suggestion. That's when the cops showed up. I say cops, cause that's what they were but it is worth stating that cops in India would be described by an ignorant Canadian as soldiers. They wear olive drab green uniforms, generally stand guard rather than intervene and carry one or two of several rather military looking weapons from their well advertised arsenal.** Now I have a wee bit of a flair for guns in terms of research and popular intrigue and aesthetic taste more than in practice. That is to say I can name with some accuracy a bally few more guns on sight than perhaps the next gentleman of my political statistic group. Of course Canada may be one of the more boring nations for your average amateur gun watcher. India is by comparison a visual smorgasbord of military machinery with the odd sporting antiquity thrown in for good measure, but frankly I have been frustrated by many of the weird and ancient looking items strapped on to some of these guy's belts a few of which are dead ringers for the old blasters from Star Wars. These two particular rozzers, on the big bike, directly behind Ali and myself, waving their arms and yelling...were carrying a familiar implement which I recognized all too well as a .303 Lee Enfield rifle.
What I know about this gun is truthfully limited. I know how to load and eject a round*** I know that it was the primary infantry weapon of the British Empire for like a hundred years. I also know that it was the weapon employed at the Massacre of Amritsar. A tragic and shameful slaughter of peaceful citizens by the soldiers of General Reginald Dyre pictured in the film Gandhi just before the intermission. Enough to know that someone wearing one is a good judge of whether you should pull over or not. Ali, of course felt the same way.
Swerving quickly into an ally way he addressed the two cops politely who responded with a surprising gentleness. We stood or sat, or rather straddled the bike momentarily while the cop with the Enfield (the other had an HK MP5****) seemed to be informing Ali of something that through my reading of his unintelligible Hindi seemed to have a sort of "after you eat your vegetables and finish your chores" kind of tone. Ali apologized...to me.
C. What? (yelling)
A. Sorry
C. Oh don’t be sorry, it's just the cops, they pull us over in Canada too. Are they giving us a fine? Do you need some cash?
A. Put your feet up.
C. Sure. I thought there was no speed limit in....
To say that we sped up would be an understatement to the point of becoming a total falsehood. We took off, we gunned it, we broke records. I was still in mid sentence with my innocent inquiry into why we got pulled over when I realized that the two gun toting cops and the ally containing them were a good quarter kilometer behind us. It was about that time that I realized we were not only running through on-coming traffic (not a rare occurrence in Indian driving) but we were actually on a raised median down the middle of the highway and were some inches off what should have been the road. Ali swerved through a bushel of rickshaws and into another ally, a real one this time. Long dark, filthy, cinematic to the core. We buzzed families on their doorsteps, knifed between parked cars and hopped rubble in such a way that made me realize no matter how I told this story later it would never be satisfactorily believed. It was on as I said, maybe the seventh turn that we were suddenly faced with what looked to be a bit of doom. It might have been a wall as it was definitely black and in the way. Up until this point I had really had very little compunction about any of the evening. It had been fun, Ali was an artist with his Suzuki, the roads had been clear and quiet... no prob. But this looked like a fast lesson in flight and long stint in traction waiting very impatiently to happen. As it turned out it was a black cow and Ali negotiated it with all the skill required. Four or five alleys later Ali was content that we had lost our pursuers and informed me again that he was sorry but they would have taken his bike cause his head light was out. The irony of that fact struck me as we had just blown through maybe 25 pitch black back alleys at not so black back ally speeds as a result of this perfectly cogent legal observation. A headlight would have been a good idea in there, but the rest of the evening had been very well lit. Suffice to say we found the coffee shop that served only tea, passed the rest of the evening with laughter and filled the brandy glass and Ozzie went on stage and did a great show. We (the crew) left Jaipur the next day. I had a bad run in with a bottle of fresh mango juice and German tourist of questionable moral fiber. The bus ride out was as bad or worse than the bus ride in thanks to the combined efforts of the dessert sun, the buses shocks and two samosas I ate for breakfast. As our chariot of sand and pain rattled and clanked into virtual paralysis in the Delhi traffic I chewed, spat and wrapped my last piece of patients and chucked it out the window.(littering is not in any way discouraged, especially emotional littering) Jaipur in short is a place of magic and crazy dreams I loved every cobra bobbing minute of it but I do not despair the fact that I will never go again. Unless I do go again, in which case I'll get back to y'all.
Chris
*The kind of conversation one might expect a brave but decent bar fly to attempt on a prospective shag after his/her(lets be fair) fifth Sleemans...Except in India they don’t have Sleemans.
** 'The standard issued SMGs are the 9mm Sterling and 9mm STEN Mk.2/5. The Police Commandos use the 9mm MP5 for their daily duties. The .45 M3A1 and Thompson-M1 are also in service, but in very small quantities. The .303 Bren and 7.62mm Bren L4 are the standard issued machine guns. The standard-issued rifles are the 0.410 Muskets of which 90,000 are in service, the 0.303 SMLE No.1 Mk III and No.4 of which 500,000 are in service, the 7.62mm 1A1 SLR of which 100,000+ are in service and the 7.62mm 2A/2A1 with bolt action of which 400,000 were manufactured, but not all of them may be in service. The 7.62mm AKM variants are issued to some police commando units. The 0.30-06 Garand M1 is also in service, but in very small quantities. The police also uses 2 inch and some 51mm mortars.' {Information Courtesy of Dr. Sanjay Badri-Maharaj}
***In the late spring of 2004 I had a short engagement as an actor playing a Canadian infantryman in German territory during the early allied push of 1945. My primary prop was one deactivated (sans firing pin) .303 Lee Enfield. Basic operations of the weapon were a key factor of my role. I also happened to be in an engagement (non matrimonial) as a sweetie-pie with a young lass from Enfield, Middlesex. Incidentally that is where the gun was made...but those are both another story.
****A very very very popular little German sub-machine gun, generally agreed to be the most vogue SMG for years now. A rather modern iconic weapon in contrast to the .303 which is a rather ancient iconic weapon. Rather different in just about every way, with the exception of their mutual keenness for putting sharp mettle things very far a away very quickly. for more information please see any of the Rainbow Six Computer Game titles available from RedStorm Entertainment.
PPS
Please dont be scared of me, i'm really very peaceful. I promise I dont have a mullet.
posted by Chris and Nilu at 4:35 AM
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