For the two weeks leading up to Pushkar I practiced my Hindi and developed a survey on camel ownership. I hoped to gather quantitative data to support the idea that macroeconomic, environmental, and land ownership changes in Rajasthan were affecting just who was showing up at the Mela and what prices they were asking. By reanalyzing data from similar studies conducted in Pakistan and Sudan, I was able to find about twenty variables on herd condition and owner economics that would confirm the trend away from nomadism that I could describe qualitatively. I carefully designed a survey methodology, practicing with the raikas at the NRCC enough times to feel comfortable with the camel lingo and veterinary inspection. Fulfilling a childhood dream I even had a custom lab coat made so I would stand out from the thousands of western tourists.
And although cries of 'Doctor Sahib' bidding me to attend to this or that camel ailment were certainly a welcome alternative to sales pitches and begging, my introduction as a 'research doctor' invariably rebuilt the cultural wall between me and the camel owners that had been briefly pierced by our mutual concern for the animals. In their eyes, my clipboard and tape measure could mean nothing but rules, taxes, and bribes, no matter my pleading or the number of shared biris. It only took me a few hours to realize my research goals were utterly unattainable.
Which is not to say the scientific end of the visit was a total loss. I got to sit around and drink chai with a lot of camel owners who loved the lab coat so long as I wasn't writing down everything they said. Hanging around the veterinary hospital I saw every sort of camel injury, including a compound fracture from a racing accident (say farewell to Rs.30,000 of prime camel). And, most repulsively, I got to try my hand--literally-- at a pregnancy diagnosis on a purebred Mewari mare (horse).
Here, feeling like a badass having just correctly estimated age by dental erosion:
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