“On your face!”

As I’ve probably taken a few dozen pictures with a camera on the whole trip, here are a few verbal snapshots of India.

* A teenage boy rubs cloth between his hands in the brown river water then flings it over his head onto a rock. Repeat. Every morning when we open our shades in our hotel room, he is there, surrounded by young men swimming and horsing around in the toxic, holy river Ganges.

* A shoeless fishmonger takes a break from his stall at the New Market, Kolkata and gives a few rupees to the curbside dwellers out his backdoor.

* The smell of turmeric and cumin at a spice stand where potential customers run their hands through the wares- bright red, mustard yellow, sacks of different grains..

* A gaudily-painted, kitschy statue of Kali, the powerful woman goddess, in a small shrine in the middle of the busy street, forcing 2 lanes of traffic down to 1 and then back out to 2 again.

* Samosas sizzling in a huge wok at a street-side vendor, are placed into bags made from newspaper. We eat them in small bites- hot and spicy.

* A mangy looking dog lying on the sidewalk rolls over to eat a bag of chicken feet.

* A black haired, mustachioed man about 30 years old sprawled on the ground, between two parked cars, dead.

* Straw covered huts enclosed except for a diamond shaped hole big enough for a kettle. One by one people open their mouths under the spout for a drink of water.

* A drummer in a marching band costume leads a wedding procession. A sweating groom in an incongruously fancy suit walks through a busy street with a head piece streaming a yellow piece of fabric that his bride holds, following behind. She is flanked by two women with their arms around her shoulders.

* A breathtaking entrance to an archaeological park, a field that is a sea of trash, no piece of ground exposed. A pig family wanders through, foraging, snorting.

* Inside a courtyard stands an intricately carved Hindu temple next to a small dwelling covered in cow pies with a cow tied up beside it.

* An elderly, bearded face decorated with orange across the forehead above a body swathed in white cloth is tied to a bamboo poled stretcher and partially immersed in the river Ganges. Although dead, a long line of men “feed” him water from the river to prepare him for his journey. Burning bodies on funeral pyles above him line the banks of the ghat.

* Out of nowhere a screeching, piercing, “Money! Money!” rings in my ear. A gnarled hand with an iron grip clutches my arm. I jump in surprise and turn my head to see a 4 foot tall woman with long gray hair attached to me.

* Whistles and cheers from the cheap seats below at the Bollywood movie after a particularly emotive piece of dialogue.

* Crossing the street full of incessantly honking motorcycles, cars, bikes, auto rickshaws, trucks, random roaming cows, maybe a goat or a dog, I follow my friend into the moving mass, watching our legs in a quick metal and flesh ballet.

* A man with a day’s growth on his face sits on his haunches curbside next to an open toolbox of metal instruments. An orange sari-clad, scarf-covered woman opens her mouth and in goes a small hammer for the 10 rupee, sidewalk dentist.

* On the roof of the ancient temple, which our guide helped us to scale bypassing the chained entrance, dead silence in the city. Looking into the treetops, thousands of white butterflies flit happily between the leaves. Below, an early morning bird lover pours a bag of seed on top of a raised tomb and receives a quick response from a flock of pigeons.

* At a roundabout, arms reach out to us from clear bottles on low tables handing long q-tips of fragrances- rose, sandalwood.. Only scents known for their cooling powers will be sold this time of year..

* At dusk, the courtyard has no artificial light but you can see enough not to trip over the vendors seated on the ground next to their wares. The place is pungent with the smell of white jasmine, bright marigolds, small purple flowers and white circular shaped ones all hand sewn onto strings to form necklaces for sacrifices to the gods. Women examine the offerings and buy collections. The best smelling 3 minutes of my whole time in India..

* At the end of an alley, a gang of young men linger next to their motorcycles until we approach. They shove envelopes into our hands. Drug dealers? We open a few envelopes, each lined with a different color to see that each represents a different gemstone in the internationally renowned jewelry district. Closer to a Wall Street trader..

* From our air-conditioned train cabin of about 50 passengers a lower cost option rolls by containing about 200 people in the same size cabin. Men hang off the side between two cars and little kids sit on the windowsills with legs dangling outside and arms over top the bars. There is no glass to keep the cool air in- as they swelter in the 110 degree heat.

* A bold green colored room with doors open reveals a bare chested craftsman with a cloth around his waist seated hunched over a lighted table. With fine metal tweezers, he picks up gold pieces the size of the head of a pin to complete a pair of earrings.

* A sinewy, small man wearing a worn white tank top and loose cotton pants rows an ancient rowboat. He stops to chat on his cell phone.

On a walking tour of Jaipur our guide said, “India is..how do you Americans say it? ‘On your face!” A few weeks into our Indian travels, we thought his misquote was more appropriate than the intended ‘In your face!” after all.

– Carter