With a Salom (Hello) and a tilt of their vibrant dhoppis (Uzbek head-gear), Uzbek hawkers flash their warm, golden-toothed grins to welcome every wide-eyed tourist, mesmerized by the collection of handicrafts, trinkets, Ikat-printed textiles and the juicy watermelons in their stalls-The only richness that surpasses the architectural splendour of the Khanate era, that gazes visitors in their eyes, as they ramble in Tashkent's Khast Imom complex. To wear the hand-woven silk cap purchased with a tenth of a wad of Uzbek Soms, that come in exchange of a meager 40 usd feels like donning a thinking cap, especially after learning about the painstaking procedure behind silk embroidery.
De-gumming the coarse material (seratin/gum) extracted from silk worm cocoons is followed by washing and mordanting, to allow dye to stick permanently to the silk-A long process that drains skilled artisans for the cost of an unfair paycheck. It is even more for intricately sewn designs such as the ones on carpets which involve the use of sharp tools and hours of manual labour. Child labour too, is not uncommon in many family run workshops. Tourists like you and me may be no classical silk-route merchants to offer a fair price. In fact, haggling for a price of 4$ came naturally even to me, with 10$ being the original quote. However, instead of splurging on brands or fancy restaurants in a country that is cheaper than the first world ones, if each tourist buys an article from the under-rated artisans, the benefits directly go to the local community of young Uzbeks who have striven to learn more than just silk embroidery. The effort made to speak in English with foreign buyers and bidding good bye in the most polite manner, irrespective of the outcome of the pitch is deeply moving!
Other impressions, like the one from the Siyob Bazaar in Samarkhand dim the allure of the snazzy air-conditioned rooftop cafes, that offer customers a miserly portion of the grand Uzbek bread. Even at 3-4 times its reasonable price, the taste only remotely matches the authentic bake. But seated on an uncomfortable stool, under a rickety umbrella by the footpath, a sweet local sells the same fluffy golden Nan breads, baked to perfection with a crispy signature depression at the centre. So mouthwatering that they entice from a distance and can be gobbled whole within minutes! Only when your trip in Uzbekistan ends, does an examination of the belly make you miss the fond resemblance purchased off the cart parked under the rickety umbrella, that shields the identity of this boss vendor from tourists who are busy dining on fancy rooftop bars!
The rewards of the long train journeys to prominent silk-road destinations like Khiva, are utterly charming. Chugging at a snail's pace, the classic Soviet style trains usher all classes of people to their destinations that are divided by miles of Uzbek desert scape. .
Tempting as it was to travel in the 1st or 2nd class sleepers that boast a comfortable room on wheels for an overnight journey, I opted to travel in the cheaper, slightly impoverished economy compartment. What a priceless experience though-The time spent with my Uzbek companions, jostling for a seat first, but sharing a piece of nan bread and conversation afterwards!
"Where from?", "Not married?", "You know Babur, Taj Mahal, the Bollywood stars-Raj Kapoor, Hema Malini?" were the curious questions asked. But before bedtime, the elder son in the family offered to take another seat because I had accidentally occupied the wrong one. The mother made my bed and tucked me in because the natural air conditioning which is an open window in a rumbling train is more effective than an AC. Not to forget the young ones that wished this fascinating foreigner the most heartwarming good night! So friendly are the encounters that your worries and you sleep like a baby even when not-so-gently rocked on the top berth. And before you know, it is dawning on you how much goodness fills a country whose internal affairs are worryingly obscure to the world outside. But oh what a joyride it is, to gain some personal insights!
Upon arrival in Khiva, hosts drive you to their traditional home stays. To be holed up in Hotel Shodlik before setting off to explore Khiva that evening, seemed like the best respite from the afternoon heat. Up until little Abdullah, the host's little one, sprang into my arms and defeated the purpose of staying indoors. How he warmed the heart with his ringing laughter and had me perspiring for chasing him around the house to get more cuddles!
In the evening, Khiva transformed into a sunbaked, sleepy oasis-Completely contrasting the atmospheric clamour that must have been infused by the trade of spices, silk, ceramics and predominantly, Persian and Russian slaves!
A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE SLAVE TRADE IN KHIVA
Most that suffered this cruel fate were international traders, unfairly captured by the barbaric Turkmen of the Khanate of Khorezm. The dire consequence of this was the Russian invasion, followed by the conquest of Uzbekistan and its inclusion in Soviet Turkestan. Thus was sealed the fate of the country itself at the hands of one of the major super-powers. It feels like no surprise that when Babur, a direct descendant of the Khanate, who was raised in the Uzbek valley of Ferghana laid the foundation for the Mughul rule in India, it met with a similar fate. How oddly satisfying is this piece of information-Like completing a portion of the jigsaw that is the world map! While in Khiva, I also happened to witness the Independence day celebrated with much zeal for the 28 years of freedom from the Soviets.
Other predominant cities like Samarkhand and Bukhara are great stops to dive into the history of Central Asia, though getting to them from Khiva is an adventure in itself. The popular shared cab service lets you hail any car and go (safely) anywhere in the country. Most are shared by local passengers and a kindly driver heading to destinations along the same route. Others are shared by backpackers about to embark on an excruciating long drive in a vintage taxi, that jerks along the border shared with Turkmenistan. Making stops along the way to grab a bite of the divine Uzbek samsa is all you need to make friends it seems!
Bukhara is a sprawling starry-eyed wonder where centuries old architecture is preserved in the few crumbling reminders and broken tiles, that need an eagle-eyed inspection to be discovered amid the contemporary revamp. (A bit of a bummer to know that most monuments were restored as late as the 19th century). But oh what a jolly good time I had exploring Bukhara's shopping square with my new found friend, Shilpa. The silk road commerce is still palpable under the trade dome of the old Bazaar, where stalls sell miscellaneous goods.
Even lunch was a unique affair. Shilpa and I would have never accepted the strange invitation into the household of a local hawker, had we been on our own. But listening to our host play the Doera while dining to a modest meal of Plov and a platter of fresh fruits in a household, genuinely interested in learning more about the guests from Hindustan filled both the belly and the heart!
In Samarkhand, Amir Timur rests in peace within Gur-e-Amir, the mausoleum dedicated to him. So celebrated is Timur that Uzbekistan aims to recuperate from Soviet occupation solely on the basis of the administrative principles laid out during his regime.
A ride back to Tashkent in the speckless, modern, fast Uzbek trains, the Afrosiyob, sadly breaks you out of the reverie that is this beautiful Arabian Nights dream, but oh what a way to jet set back to the present! : )
PS: Don't forget to eat your fill of meals like the Manti, Shuit Ashi and a plate of the succulent melons, before leaving Ooz-beauti-stan. Rahmat! (Thank you)
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