The Blog of John P Morgan Jr

Look at this picture. When I first saw this view from the roof of my hotel in Jodhpur; I was searching for a fort above the line of blue houses, but couldn’t find it. If you don’t see it right away, then look a little less closely. After a few minutes of scanning the horizon of homes, I realized the entire mountain before me was actually the fort. Its size was an exciting surprise. I had been mostly interested to see the blue of the city in Jodhpur, but now I couldn’t wait to see the fort.

I slowly made my way through the winding stone streets, like five foot wide alleyways, lined on both sides by open inches deep gutters that carry raw sewage and often overflow. They are just wide enough for walking, yet still crowded by wagons, rickshaws (three wheeled motorcycle/taxi) and cows. Traffic jams are a minute by minute occurrence. It reminded me of an old Spanish village, but with cows in the streets and the buildings painted blue. The reason for the blue paint is threefold. The first is somewhat cultural, where a certain sect of Hindu’s originally decided to paint all their houses the same color, but now many get in on the action. The other two reasons are that the blue helps keep this desert city cool and that it supposedly repels bugs.

There had been a sand storm the day prior, so this morning many were sweeping their rooftops and the fronts of their homes. Restaurant and hotel owners stopped me to show me their view of the fort and their book filled with comments left by other travelers. One man showed me his collection of currency from around the world, including a crisp US$2 bill. I made a promise to come back and try his lunch and to another woman that I would use her dial up internet service.

At the entrance to the fort, an extra friendly Hindi girl took my ticket. She asked me my name and when I told her she grinned and giggled, looking at her friend. “What’s so funny here?” I said, wondering if she’d never heard the name John before. A Hindi man standing in earshot said “John means heart”. He explained that the word is used like “love”. One could say, I am your heart, or I am your John. So evidently she thought I was flirting with her by telling her that I am her heart. She showed me how to use the digital headset. First she spoke in French, because she thought I was French, not Israeli, which is where most people here seem to think I come from, which is not particularly good, since the Israeli tourists are often looked down on, since many of them come here after military service and pinch their rupees big time. But I’m not French or Israeli, so when I told her, she grinned again and explained in very clear English. When she handed me my receipt for the headset, I saw she had written my name as “Jaan”. I told her it should be spelt “John” and she said “Oh, your name is joe hahn??”
“Um, no. It’s pronounced john, but spelt with an o-h, but you can just leave it with the a-a, it’s ok.” I said, not liking the sound of joe hahn as much as the correct spelling of my name. So really jaan means heart, but as far as the non written Hindi world is concerned, John means heart.

The audio tour was very well written and I took my time listening and looking at the thirty plus stops. There were museum rooms with armor worn by Indian soldiers and royal chariots once carried by men and elephants. Views from the top of the fort were breathtaking. The sea of blue houses was a mesmerizing sight from all sides of the fort.

I sat in a marble floored square at one of the highest levels of the fort and waited in line to have my palm read. The reader there is evidently world renown and, considering palm reading is an important part of culture and Hindu religion, I figured what better place to check it out? I’m on the fence with physical traits having a connection to personalities and I’m pretty much a non-believer when it comes to future telling, but I tried going in with an open mind. He hit a few general traits, like “you start things with a lot of energy, but then it fizzles out”, which is often true and “you like things to go a certain way” (again, also often true). But then he told me I had a first love at 17 (off by one year) and a second love at 22 (off by two years) and that business and money has not gone well for me in the past (it went pretty good). Next he got out his ruler and measured some lines on my palm, marking my hand with a pen. He told me I’d change professions this year, at age 33 and again at age 37 and that I’d retire young and have much financial wealth. Next he pulled out his protractor and measured up my life line. “You will live to be 85. For another $10, you could have the comprehensive reading and I will tell you how you will die.” I laughed, smiled and thanked him. He was good, really good. Way to bait me with the rich long life then charge me for the ending. Since getting interested in magic, I’ve read lots on the subject of deception and whether this guy knows it or not, he’s a pro.

On my way back into the city I stopped to use that woman’s internet and ate at that man’s restaurant. I took my time getting back to the hotel, playing with the neighborhood kids. I chased a few of them around with my hand out yelling “one rupppeee, one ruppeeee, one ruppeeee!” They loved it. I’ve learned from many that it’s bad to give to begging kids, because they become dependent on it. It’s still difficult at times, but if I can make them laugh and smile, I feel like I’ve left them with something.

The second day, myself and two couple’s I’d met went on a tour of the surrounding villages. One guy was a soldier with the British army. We talked at length about the war. He told me how the US military has changed its approach in the past three years. He says they’re more sensitive now. He told me that over 90% of the narcotics that come into the UK come from Afghanastan and that he hopes to go back there to join his army in an operation to burn the fields. He explained the whole operation in depth and I learned there is so much more to war than I ever knew, than most of us will ever know. His girlfriend is physiologist, and lives in her own three bedroom home outside London. The other couple was a Greek girl and English guy who have been traveling for almost two years.

The five of us rode in the back of a capped pickup truck down bumpy dirt roads. We saw a family making pottery, another making beautiful fabric hand-printed with elephants and camels, and a man weaving a carpet. The carpet was that like a magic carpet and the man making it wore a red turban. He showed us his photo album proving Prince Charles and Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins) had stood where we were.

One village was located in a field spotted sporadically with trees. Our guide told us that at one time the city people came there to chop down the trees for lumber. The villagers saw the trees as sacred and attempted to protect them and over 300 of them put their lives on the line for the trees. In a disforestation massacre, they lost. When the king found out what was happening, he ordered the workers to stop and the trees that remain are those that survived.

Driving through the villages, kids would come running out into the street and chasing our truck. I sat at the back, so they looked to me with their shouts. They were dressed in school clothes, carrying notebooks, running and yelling “won peh, won peh” and “wah tah, wah tah”.

“What are they saying?” I asked the girl next to me.

”They’re asking for a pen or water” she said.

I had two pens, so I threw one. It hit the dirt spinning and disappeared into the cloud of dust that followed us. The yelling stopped and they all ran for the pen. I pictured them fighting over it. I wished I hadn’t thrown it and I wished I’d had more. As we rolled on, my view of them faded. So did my thoughts. They fade quicker lately.