People say never to judge a place by first impressions, and if ever a point of interest needed that phrase - Bhita was it. We arrive to find a small paddock, with a few piles of bricks descending in size. From a rusty signpost, we learn that this small patch of grass once housed an ancient city from the Gupta period (300 AD), but that some of the other relics found at this site have dated back to 300 BC.
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Photo courtesy of: nishitad. Source: flickr |
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The inside of the house is quite small, with all 8 members of the family sharing just one room. It is immaculately clean, though unmistakeably bare. There are several sleeping mats in the corner of the room, handmade furniture and an assortment of pots and pans. They rejoice though, at their recent addition of a fan. In this kind of weather, who can blame them? Amidst circulated air, I share their smiles and join them in looking upward in triumph every so often.
A bombardment of chai and sweets later, they ask me if I'd like anything else to eat. I'd have to be mad to pass up the opportunity for a home cooked Indian meal! The amount of food piled on my plate is something special, more than I could ever hope to eat in a full day. I munch on, valiantly, but succumb about halfway through - much to the disappointment of the boy's mother. Her look of anguish, and cries of disappointment that were anything but subtle, continue to haunt me. It seems strange to be the only one eating, especially since I'm in a crowded room, with more than thirty people spilling out of the doors and into the courtyard. These curious locals watch me take each bite, before discussing it thoroughly in Hindi. The 'bite' that gets the most thorough discussion though, is when I choke on a piece of dried mango. My madras-eye (conjunctivitis) is highlighted heavily by the spluttering, not to mention my bright red face.
I'm touched by their kindness, bowled over by their generosity and amused at their curiosity. There was no elaborate dance number (spare the 'mango breakdance'), no wide-eyed spectacle - just the simple act of eating curry and rice. Yet they treated the whole thing as some sort of bizarre incident, nobody even blinked! No utensils were provided, but this is the norm in India and not something done simply to amplify the entertainment factor. The food was magnificent, whipped up in no time at all.
On the way back to Allahabad, we stop by the side of the river so I can take some pictures of the impressive 'Yamuna Bridge,' on the outskirts of the holy city (see pic).While I cross the road, both negotiating and navigating my way through chickens, cows and cars, groups of street children appear on either side. As if they appeared out of thin air, but really from behind shrubs, they grab both my hands and tug at my clothes, clearly shocked to see a foreigner. They do all this amidst traffic that slows down for nobody, it's a death defying experience and the children shriek with joy as I make a break for it and run for the taxi.
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