You meet incredible people in the most unlikely places and when you least expect it -- like when you're trying to catch a ride across town.
Generally speaking, my experience with taxi/rickshaw drivers is one based on money; more specifically, how much they can take from my wallet without expending too much time, or gasoline. I expected the same when I climbed into Shivu's autorickshaw. By the time I climbed out, I wasn't so sure any more. I think of Shivu a lot; he's that little piece of mica that glints and shines no matter how you turn it.
The day we met him was the same day his wife had a baby. A boy, I remember, but according to Hindu custom, they hadn't named him yet. His wife was still in the hospital in his village 30 kilometers away, and he had taken the bus into Mysore that morning, picked up his autorickshaw, and was looking for passengers when he came upon us. And so it went for the next two days, Shivu chatting in little bits and pieces about his life, and about the tourist attractions and shops he was driving us to. He talked about how expensive the local cashews were, and then took us to a cashew tree so that we could see what the leaves and nuts looked like. He was honest about the commission he received by taking us to a certain restaurant, gave us advice on how to get rid of mosquitoes, and divulged which bakery was the best in town. He was warm and genuine, and called me "madam" at first, and then "sister."
Shivu spoke openly about his views, even those unpopular or contrary to what I expected. For instance, after passing a statue of Mahatma Ghandi, Shivu told us of his dislike for him -- not something you hear every day. Like many of his friends, Shivu believes that before India won Independence from the British, the Hindus and Muslims lived in peace with each other; Ghandi drove a wedge between the two and they have been at war ever since. But, he added, he understood why other people respected Ghandi.
He also gave us the real skinny on what was happening in Bandipur National Park -- our destination until we discovered it was closed the day before we arrived in the area. The problem, the National Park Service told us (in a rather vague manner), was that there was a "water shortage" in the park. Unsatisfied with this answer and intrigued by the mysteriousness of it all, we asked Shivu to elucidate. He laughed. No, there wasn't a water shortage, he explained. A man named Veerapan, a sort of modern-day Robin Hood, was hiding out from the police in the nearby jungle. Wanted for smuggling and other acts of general disrespect for authority, the local villagers have protected him under cover of the thick forest in return for his donation of money and goods to the poor. He's been hiding out for ten years, teasing and ultimately eluding the police, over and over. And that's okay, Shivu explained, because he's a friend of the people.
We came to enjoy and anticipate Shivu's ideas and stories while tooling around in his rickshaw. His fresh and delightful outlook, as well as his honesty and sincerity, was enchanting. One day, while climbing up Chamundi Hill to visit a temple, Shivu talked more about his family. He told us that he was Hindu, and his wife was Christian -- a small problem with their parents at first, but they were getting used to the idea. "What counts," he said, "is what's in your heart." He suddenly pulled the rickshaw over to the side of the road overlooking the beautiful valley below, turned around in his seat, and said "I must tell you a story."
"There once was a very rich man born to a Christian mother and Hindu father. As he became older and disenchanted with his life, he decided to follow the path to find God, and then do social work to help his people. His problem was that he did not know which religion to follow: Hinduism, Christianity, or Islam.
First he approached the Hindus, who told him theirs was the correct path to find God. They showed him their fine temples and invited him to study their customs and beliefs for two years, after which he could do social work. Next he approached the Christians, who showed him their magnificent churches and explained that there were many followers of Christianity the world over. "It is a great and powerful religion, and if you study long you will find God, and then you can do social work." Lastly he went to the Muslims, who showed the rich man their beautiful mosques and told him that Islam was the one true religion. In like manner, they invited him to study the Koran, and then do social work.
As he was walking down the road pondering his choices, the rich man came upon a madman, who asked what was troubling him. After hearing about his desire to find God and do social work, and his problem in choosing the correct path to do so, the madman invited the rich man to follow him. "I am poor and destitute and have no temples or statues," the madman said, "but I can teach you what you want to know." The rich man agreed, and over the next while he listened and learned from the madman as they traveled the countryside.
One day, while walking alongside a river, the madman spied a mango tree on the other side. "If only we could get to the other side of the river," the madman said, "we could eat the sweet mangoes." Seizing upon this great opportunity to thank the madman for his teachings, the rich man called together many workers and had them quickly build a magnificent boat of brass. He presented the boat to the madman and told him that they could now cross the river and get to the mango tree. "No, that boat won't do, I don't like brass," the madman said as he quietly sat down beside the river. The rich man immediately had his workers build another boat of pure silver. Upon seeing it the madman said, "it's a very nice boat, but I really don't like silver." The rich man then had his workers build a beautiful boat of pure gold. When the madman again refused the boat, the rich man became frustrated and asked, "Why do you not pick one of these great boats I built for you? You desire to reach the mango tree, and any of these fine boats will serve that purpose."
The madman then explained: "You are exactly right. These boats represent Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity. The vehicle you choose is not important. All will take you to the mango tree, which is your heart. It is only heart that matters."
Shivu then asked us, "do you understand?" and turned around and trundled up the hill.
In Goa we were lucky to have a hotel room right above a parade route. I never did learn what the holiday was all about, but it was fun to watch nonetheless. Beautiful and never-seen-before costumes, colorful turbans and flags, and unique musical instruments marched by in spectacular cavalcade for over three hours. It ended with floats depicting Hindu gods and ideals so enormous that men were posted in front and back with forked poles to lift the electrical wires high enough so the float could pass without harm.
One of the most popular and ebullient festivals is called Holi, which snuck up on us at different times in different towns. We were warned by a travel agent in Mumbai not to leave the hotel room that day; if we did, we would be met by partiers painting us or throwing colors at us. Since we had bus reservations that day, though, we ventured out to see all of the people, as well as the cows and dogs, covered with bright colors. Purple was a favorite, as was bright pink, yellow, white, you name it. It was all over people -- in their hair, covering their clothes, and smeared all over their skin (which looked very different since their skin is so dark). We always managed to escape being clobbered, though sometimes we had to run and watch from behind a tree or from inside a bus. 
