“Off you go!” Those words resounding in my head had been symbolically uttered by Simone as I sat there on the horse, slightly confused by all the flashing lights and the attention one receives from being sat on a horse outside of Delhi’s premier tourist attraction. I have previously stated that the hardest part about doing something is just doing it. It was 3pm and this was exactly how I was feeling as Simone made his announcement and I was on the cusp of riding a horse to Beijing for year. But once that initial first half day was over, I slipped into the routine which gave the framework for the coming weeks..

Simone was from the Long Riders Guild, a symbolic gathering of like minded horse riders committed to the life of long distance horseback travel. His friendship, experience and confidence in Delhi helped set up my ride.

The first few days…

My first day was mostly spent getting to grips with riding a horse continuously. I had imagined my first few days to be one of bumps and bruises from being unaccustomed to riding, but thanks to a marvelous saddle from Galaxy Exports in Kanpur my bottom remained bump free for most of my journey through India. My memories of the first day are of primarily just long stretches of open road and the exultation of feeling free whilst riding down the GT road.

Nomads

Have you ever met any nomads? Over the coming days we passed a large contingent of nomads (or Rabaries) who had travelled from Rajesthan with over 1000 cattle. Their migration ground had become too crowded and they’d moved here to escape the crowds and graze their cows.

Nomadic peoples are extremely proud of their way of life and view themselves as independent with a unique lifestyle. They have long histories but thanks largely to the British 150 years ago, many are still seen as a criminal element and there is increasing conflict between nomadic and settled populations. For me their life is how I’d seen India on TV in England. The men: long towels causally drape around their heads above long flowing robes. The women: dressed traditionally with mucky looking kids running amok. This was their life, their existence that I and the two fellows currently filming with me were intruding on. Their fierce looking cattle stared hard at us, ready to bolt or to attack. Their shackled donkeys huddled and looking thoroughly miserable as we arrived. They struggled to get away from Rosie so I had to quickly dismount and walk with her, reassuring them in the meantime. Working equines usually have a hard life but these chaps were just used to carry the nomad’s tents and products to market (e.g. butter and curd). The women spent the day drying the cows dung for fuel and tending to their households that were spaced around a central area. Everything was organised and nothing was wasted. The landowner happily let the nomads use his land since their cattle’s dung fertilises his fields.

The nomads existed as a family. In many ways their life was freer than ours in the West. It was simple as were their problems. Yet it was their children who caused me to pause and wonder. As they played amongst the tents and gleefully posed for photographs, I wondered if their life would be as carefree when they were older. These kids were uneducated and represented a small proportion of the millions of nomadic children in India who have no education. India’s economy is expanding at 6% annually and already a highly educated society exists in India. Those who are not part of it will be exploited and sidelined to the gain of others. This is already happening in NE India where tribals continue to live as tribals while educated persons from the rest of India buy up the land they had owned for a thousand years and dictate the local economy. Yet can an alien education system be made to fit a foreign culture?.

The one way to safeguard the traditions of a local culture is to gradually educate them as they need it. This will enable them to make the transition from their life to that of the modern world as they see the values of their society and that of a modern one. They will maintain and promote their own culture and commercialise in the way that they see fit. It?€?s not possible to suddenly impose a new education on a people who saw no need of one previously. They must first see the value of an education and then slowly develop their own curriculum! The below links make a very good point and it?€?s important to note. Rather than getting a proud independent people to fit to an alien way of thinking, the alien way of thinking should be made to fit the nomads. Maybe the education attainment of the nomads should be limited only to them, but with a short bridge course later. With some peoples, education is so difficult that a completely new approach should be taken rather than variations on the old theme.

Today was the first day that I really felt connected with India. We later passed a farmer threshing his freshly cut wheat against a metal barrel to knock off the seeds. He owned the nearby Dhaba but he and his family worked hard but enjoyed life completely. He proved typical of many people in Haryana whose jolly smiles and waves accompanied me the whole length of my journey.

Hermit's resting place

It’s another credit to the Indian people that later that same day a local Chai (tea) shop owner offered us a night?€?s stay in his house in Murthal village. It was an ancient hamlet, meaning ‘Munis Tal’ or ‘hermit’s resting place.’ A plaque, inscribed inside the central Shiv temple, actually states that the temple was established 50 years after the village was first settled 950 years ago. It was so nice that we actually stayed an extra day in Murthal. The village was an earthy collection of yellow ochre houses populated by humans on the ground and the not worrying, hordes of vicious savage flesh-tearing monkeys amongst the roof tops. Every morning the monkeys would be among the first to rise and re-stake their territory. It was a savage world, where you as the owner of your house are actually the monkey’s guest!.

Bidding farewell to Murthal the long GT road flowed away toward Samalka. It was between these two towns that Rommel and Tiat departed and I was fully on my own for the first time since leaving Delhi. As I neared Samalka, a curious looking man offered to let us spend the night with him. However his idea was to let the horse stay in the street, which in a crowded market place wasn’t the best idea. Finally after some fun and games, a man was respectfully allowed to come forward through the crowd of onlookers. His name was Ravi and he was a bank manager at the local Patiala Bank. Some quick negotiations later and Rosie was put in Ravi’s cow shed, where the cow was kicked out and Rosie put in her place. Again the hospitality of Ravi was a blessing upon the Indian people, as I was respectfully treated and quickly provided with all I needed. They even gave me food for the horse for the next day! They treated me at every level and it was a lovely stay. .

The next morning Ravi invited me to attend a yoga session with him and his father. So at 6am I was sat with 50 other people, barking like dogs, roaring like a lion and laughing just for the hell of it. Ram Ram, our Yogi teacher, travels down each morning and later declared sagely to me that, ?€?if you do Yoga, you will never be ill or have any problem in life.?€? For sure I felt clear headed and everything felt in perspective..

The journey onwards saw ‘dancing’ Himalayan bears… and unfortunately problems with Rosie. Your horse is your best friend. You come to know all her habits, needs and emotions as you spend 24 hours a day at her side. It must be the worst feeling in the world when something goes wrong..

As we departed quickly from the ‘dancing’ bear, I suddenly noticed that Rosie’s was bleeding from her nose. This could be nothing or everything, but what was worst was how little I knew about how to deal with such a situation. Isolated, we slowly walked towards the near town of Panipat ten kms away, where I managed to contact Professor Arun Kumar Sharma (whose help for my entire journey cannot be given enough credit). His contacts in Panipat quickly told me how trivial the problem was since if a horse exercises too much it can often bleed through the nose. We treated the horse with betazoine which stopped the bleeding and she regained composure. However, over the coming weeks I was to have a hard experience caring for Rosie. I find horses to be the most fascinating creatures I have ever encountered and Rosie was no exception. She is even more human than I had first imagined. We knew how the other thought when it counted and it kept us going all the long way from Delhi to Wagah border.

In Panipat we took a days rest. Rosie was obviously tired, and I wanted to do some filming around town. Looking back, my stay there was one of the nicest I’d had. We stayed with Prof. Sharma’s relatives who lived in a shady surburban area of town. With the help of their neigbours we visited one of Panipat’s famous weaving mills, (Bawna Loomtex), where I did some filming for my documentary. The ‘City of the Weaver’ is the biggest producer of hand spun blankets and carpets in the world. I was even lucky enough to have a go… and the result…. Steve is definitely not a master weaver! Later that same night I left Panipat to go and film at a famous temple, locally known as ‘pucca pul,’ 20kms North. The residing chief Sadu was in fact an angregi (foreigner) who had lived in India for over 35 years. A fascinating fellow who I could have talked to for hours, with a pet monkey clinging to his arm called ‘Bijli’ (which means ‘lightning’ in Hindi). However it wasn’t until I returned did I find out that Rosie had been stolen!.

It had happened so quickly. At around 7ish, a young ruffian had whisked away Rosie previously tethered to a tree outside of Garab’s house. Between the co-ordination of Dr. Sharma and the town police and with some skilful maneuvering, all the roads out of Panipat were quickly sealed off. The superintendant of police of Panipat personally helped. Without all this help I would surely have lost Rosie, who was swiftly recovered by the police and the young ruffian himself whisked away! I was never told as Dr. Sharma didn’t want to worry me! Anyhow, the horse was recovered but the thief had run her hard, and ever since that night, she had a slight limp on her front left foot whenever she was tired.

Diwali and a poultry encounter

Diwali was approaching fast. The festival of lights invigorates most streets of India. People don’t just decorate small trees from Norway, they decorate their entire dwellings so that each one looks like Santa’s Grotto. An arial view must be simply spectacular! It is the longest festival in the Hindu calendar and is celebrated much as we celebrated Christmas in the West, (i.e. more of a commercial consumer spree than a sharing of traditional values. Unfortunately Rosie and fireworks don’t go well together! I was faced with this problem as my horse slowly made her way towards Gharaunda. She was going slowly because of her injured foot, and Diwali’s main night of celebrations was about to begin. I was invited by the son of a family to stay with him, and with little choice around, we did. Although his father wasn’t too happy, Rosie was quickly stabled in their courtyard as the muffits gathered outside. Fireworks on Diwali mostly consist of bangers, which Rosie didn’t appreciate. All of India celebrates mercilessly on this night, and all I could do was sit and keep away the maraudering kids who were trying to set off bangers near my horse!

After Diwali was over, I released some newspaper articles and proceeded onto the busy town of Karnal. The articles were so successful that from then on down the GT road, people were greeting me on a first name basis! The only problem was word had somehow got out that my horse was stolen and the bloody papers had published it. Before I knew it, the whole state of Haryana also knew and people soon began driving past shouting hello and pointing to my horse saying, “chorio?”