And so it begins...

24 January, 2007

Day 1 in India. Delhi

After inexplicable feelings of anxiety, and anxiousness in response to that in the first place, before leaving NY, I arrived in India without incident. Much of the time before leaving SF and in the liminal pre-travel travel space I felt really detached and even somewhat in denial about this trip. Strange, not anything I’d felt before. Once in a while I’d get a little thrill of the new reality sinking in: when I got my visa at the Indian consulate, when I checked in for my flight, when I saw the Hindi food menu on the flight, when I got my passport stamped. Before we got off the flight a little boy asked his mother why the roads are different from the US. She said “Because it’s India,” and that felt like a great thrill and introduction for this experience.

The 14 hour flight from Newark was actually not bad at all, I slept for a good portion and I can think of other flights that felt a lot longer and worse than this one. I watched part of a kitschy Bollywood movie and caught several Western extras, giving me hope for my pending big break on the Hindi silver screen.

I’m not sure what I was expecting when I got here, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that the Delhi airport is very modern and clean. One of the first advertisements I saw was a woman in silver spandex doing yoga poses with the tagline “Incredible India”- except to me it seemed more like a standard ad for some San Francisco trendy yoga studio. Perhaps India is indulging western perceptions of it for its own benefits? Like a self-imposed Orientalism? And then there I was, using a squat toilet for the first time since Sri Lanka. I’m getting early hints that India is both exactly what I’m expecting and nothing of what I’m expecting. The both/and—and so the duality begins.

After getting through customs I settled in to the waiting area to wait for Daniel’s flight from Bombay. Soon I had a fanclub of about 6 20something boys from Delhi, all wanting to take pictures with me and ask me questions about what I think of India and how they can win American girls. I told them, first they need to go to America. And to the shyest one, I told him first he would have to talk, too. It was fun, and strange – being a novelty is a new experience. Finally Daniel came and we took a prepaid taxi across Delhi to his house in the small residential neighborhood Jangpura. It’s vaguely similar to Kfar Saba. Well, maybe just because there is a well manicured park in the center, with concrete buildings around and small cars.

The apartment is really nice, even by American standards – 3 bedrooms each with their own bathroom, even a shower and toilet paper and some sort of built in bidet device I’d rather just avoid altogether. The stone floor and hard mattresses remind me a bit of Israel also. Really, the more I think about it, America is the only place like America. What I’ve seen of Europe, Israel, Sri Lanka, and one day in India have much more in common with each other than with the States. The switches, the roadside café stands, the traffic, the instant coffee, the ability to buy cigarettes one at a time, the squeegees, the pace of life.

An expat friend of Dan’s came over around noon and hung out for a bit, a graphic designer from Shelburne Falls in Western Mass who lives here with his Indian wife. Both he and Daniel seem so acclimated to living here, unphased by their whiteness in contrast to the locals. A young boy, probably about 12, came by with two monkeys on leashes and a little drum which he played to make them dance and do tricks. I hate to admit how entertaining it was considering how inhumane it seemed to the animals. But then the bigger question is, how inhumane is a system where little boys go out with dancing monkeys to make 20 rupees instead of going to school?

It seemed that we were all going to lunch in town, but then it was just me. I went to Qitb Minnar and took it in, walking around, appreciating the varying artistic and architectural influences on the mosque and its grounds. After 20 minutes or so, that was enough. I tried to make friends with a Dutch couple but they weren’t taking. They told me Red Fort was closed for the pre- Republic Day preparations, but to go anyway to see it from the outside. So I hopped in a tuk-tuk.

Driving in Delhi seems like a combination of frogger and tetris where each driver tries to find a little space that is only big enough to fit himself. Cycle rickshaws, tuk-tuks, cars, busses, motorcyclists and bikers all vie for these little spaces, and beep incessantly- beep to say move over, go, stop, wait, yield, or just, “I Exist.” Lots of beeping! And lots of smog- I’ve never seen smog like this- even today, a beautiful clear sunny not too cool day, there was this general smoginess over the city. Yuck. I definitely had some sooty boogers at the end of the day.

Luckily, my time in Sri Lanka was a great preparation for this. Without that background, this place surely would have blown my mind right out of my skull. I felt much more prepared for the traffic, range of modern and ‘backwards’, traditional clothing, stray animals, aggressiveness of drivers, piercing stares from passers-by. It’s like when they were building the city and developing it for modern times, they just stopped without totally finishing it. So the road is in fine shape, but there isn’t a paved sidewalk, just a dusty lane. Or there’s electricity, but the wiring is dangerously low to the ground. Traffic lights seem more of a suggestion than a followed guideline (let alone law). At one point on the ride to Red Fort we passed two elephants decked out in some ceremonial gear- perhaps for Republic Day celebrations, which closed several roads for the morning, or maybe for a wedding. Later on I also saw horses all decked out in these red fan hat thingies that I’m told are for weddings. I also passed monkeys leaping around, and goats and cows slowly wandering.

So- I got to Red Fort and took it in for a moment- it’s a large edifice like the Old City walls in Jerusalem. Also built by Shah Jahan- he was a prolific builder during his reign. Since it was closed I decided to venture into the market nearby, but I was confronted with a slew of rickshaw drivers who wanted to pick me up. I tried to avoid them and just walk away, but the crowded street made it difficult to make an escape. One particularly persuasive and determined driver won me over, especially with his admonitions about being a single white female in the marketplace, so I agreed to hire him for a tour of the area on his cycle rickshaw.

Perched on the back of the rickshaw seat, I felt like a queen visiting my brown peon subjects- really really weird. Being literally above the pedestrians made me more unsure of whether they were looking at me out of curiosity, or novelty, or distrust, or resentment, or what. In Sri Lanka that made me feel alienated and I withdrew. This time I stared right back and tried to size them up too (The other day, I met a bear, out in the woods, oh way out there. He looked at me, I looked at him, he sized up me, I sized up him).

Rajiv, my guide, kept on pointing signs out in English, as if I wasn’t already identifying them. “Look madam, old house, British time. Look madam, papers shop. Look madam, India National Bank. Look madam, famous American restaurant, McDonald’s.” We got off the bike and ventured into the spice market, an endless row of identical stalls. He led me up back staircases into the staging area where the sacks of spices are brought in, sorted, dried, etc. According to him, this marketplace used to be a harem during the Rajah’s rule, with 350 rooms. Hot damn. From the spices area we went up another floor for a better view of the greater Old Delhi area- it felt like we were crossing through someone’s private back yard- somewhat illicit, but also, ultimately, innocuous. On the top roof there were a bunch of boys flying kites, which explained the seemingly suspended string I had seen from below. A young one gave me the string to fly the kits (very Kiterunner, very Khaled Hosseini). An even younger one came over pleading “chocolates, please, miss, please chocolates.” He was the first beggar I encountered so actively, but he seemed like a pretty normal and standard little kid, not actually an impoverished gypsy beggar or whatever, so I could more easily brush him off. We went back to the rickshaw to journey forth, but only after I paid the squatting man on the curb for “parking.” I checked in about this with someone else (white) later and he confirmed that that’s legit… but it seemed pretty ridiculous to me. Who knows.

From the spice market we went on to the saree market- same thing, tons of identical stalls all tightly packed in. The wedding alley was most impressive, with really sparkly fancy clothes, flower garlands, jewelry, etc. I also saw a Jain temple, which actually seemed kinda gaudy and kitschy- jeweled cartoons for the wall murals (in which the main character (Buddha?) was white and naked, as opposed to the clothed brown companions) and shiny idols that looked like plastic dolls. Rajiv continued pointing things out: “Look madam, cardamom seed. Look madam, dried ginger. Look madam, wedding saree. Look madam, electrical wires. Electric city, electric city.” He seemed very pleased with this status as an electric city, but they were the biggest jambles and tangles of wires precariously perched as I’ve ever seen. So tenuous! Also notable were urinal stalls on the side of the road, and the absence of any equivalent whatsoever for women.

There were more alleys of paper shops, opticals (sun goggles, spectacles, contact lenses), electronics, jewelry, and pashminas- that’s just all I saw, it’s entirely feasible that there was an even more developed back web of alleys and lanes that I never approached. In one crowded area, a toddler’s arm and leg were run over by a cycle rickshaw- that caused quite a scene with the parents screaming and the driver screaming and the baby screaming most of all. Later on Rajiv told me that someone walking alongside him commented the fault was on the parents for recklessness, not the driver. Looks like in India, everyone has an opinion (I’m familiar with that!).

Finally we went to Jamma Masjid, the biggest mosque in India and allegedly all of Asia (it’s big, but I find that hard to believe). Strangely, just like the Piazzo San Marco in Venice, the courtyard is full of birds. The sound of even just a portion of them taking off sounds rather similar to the drum line of a large marching band, in fact. The mosque’s architecture is beautiful, with intense calligraphy and carvings, and the place is massive—it fits 25,000 worshippers on Fridays (I knew that Jamma/Jumma meant Friday b/c of the Muslim Student Association programs at Brandeis. Yeah for me figuring out a piece of the language puzzle!). The large staircase up to the entrance reminded me of the Southern Steps at the Temple in Jerusalem. Coming down the street from the mosque, one enters the fireworks lane- incidentally, across the street from the fire station. Later on I saw a sign that said “no crackers please” and I wasn’t sure if that meant food or whites, but apparently it means firecrackers after all.

Also like Jerusalem, the city is divided by faith and ethnicity (maybe I’m just obsessed with comparing new things I see to things I already know?). The line is this mosque, and on the other side there are far more women in veils, less in sarees and more in salwar kameez (the long tunic and leggings or pants with a scarf across the shoulders). Men for the most part look the same regardless, although I suppose there were a few more with beards and the Islamic hats. Instead of small Hindu shrines on the Muslim side, there were framed posters with Arabic calligraphy and prayer rugs. Very interesting contrasts in such a small space. I had to keep from laughing out loud when we passed a lone white cow and Rajiv said, “look, madam, holy cow.” His intonation in saying holy cow is the same as if I would say white cow or brown horse or little girl- it’s a modified noun, not an exclamation here.

Another harrowing but increasingly comfortable tuk-tuk ride back to Daniel’s place, whereupon we promptly turned back around and hustled to the New Delhi train station so he could buy some tickets. New Delhi is fully developed and modern with big business buildings and lighted shops, nicer cars, nicer dressed people- seems like a ‘normal’ modern city, as opposed to the historic throw-backs of Old Delhi. The train station, unsurprisingly, is very crowded and complicated, with a separate ticket office for tourists (apparently all trains reserve a quota of seats just for tourists). Lots of people were just squatting, sitting, or full out laying down on the main floor, turning it into a de facto waiting area. Perhaps that was the intention, but it certainly was difficult to get through. I’m glad I’m flying to Bombay, not taking the train- it would be way too difficult with all my stuff. At one point as we were hustling to the office before it closed, I bumped into a man probably around 30 and he exclaimed “oh my god!” with great embarrassment. Aww.

Mission accomplished, we went on to dinner at a cafeteria run by the state of Andhra Pradesh (in the south). For something like 100 rupees, you sit down for all you can eat service- they bring out a thali tray with different compartments for various items, and come around to refill whatever you need. Some of the waiters couldn’t have been more than 13, and they carry a 4 cylinder metal pot with the curry selections. Other waiters go around with the roti or papadums, others with the rice, others with the water. We ate with our hands, pulling the curries from the little compartments into the main rice area. I’m still not sure what it was, but there was a light colored ground spice that Daniel recommended sprinkling over the rice, then pouring over ghee and mixing. It tasted vaguely like butter popcorn, but that’s probably just because of the ghee. One particularly good curry option was a dry okra/peanut/small dark chickpea combo. New to me, very tasty.

After the meal Daniel gave me a pan leaf and instructed me to put the whole thing in my mouth and chew, that it would help my digestion. It changed flavor a bit, like an everlasting gobstopper, but I didn’t like any of them. It went from something soapy to anise to mint to I don’t even know what, but my mouth went numb and kinda tingly, like if you use chloraseptic. As I was eating it Dan mentioned that it contains a narcotic. Well, who knows, but a few minutes later I did feel a little woozy… could have just been a bout of jet lag coming on? We stopped for tea at a roadside stand and walked past roped off fields with hundreds and hundred of folding chairs set up for the Republic Day celebrations this Friday. Apparently there’s a huge military parade with everything from elephant and camel brigades to heavy weaponry, perhaps even nuclear warheads. Vladimir Putin is the honored guest, and it’s a great big nationalistic spree. I’m sure it would be an interesting sociological study to observe, but I’m gonna pass this time- I need to ease my way into that degree of nationalism, let alone that many hundreds of thousands of Indians crammed into that small of a space- that just seems too much at this point, but we’ll see what Bombay is like.

Shortly after returning home, Dan’s friend Adam came over to crash for the night before flying out on Wednesday evening. He’s a PhD student in political science at MIT studying state party systems here, and has just finished up nearly a year of traveling research. Interesting stuff- just listening to their conversation I learned a lot. Turns out he’s from Cleveland also and we both did Speech and Debate in our high school dorky days, and likely competed directly against one another. Small, small world. Wacky. And so concluded my first day in India. Onto more tomorrow!

24 January , 23:54

Delhi

Day 2

After not getting to sleep until close to 2am, I was completely awake this morning at 7:15 so I just got up and started writing. Adam joined me and eventually we got out of the apartment to sightsee for the day. We started at Lodi Gardens, a really nice park in the city with ruins of a mosque and various tombs or somesuch of assorted muslim leaders. It was nice to see that in the midst of the mess of Delhi, there is a true green space with planned gardens and lots of different types of birds, including neon green parrots that closely resemble the parrots of Telegraph Hill, actually (or maybe all green parrots just look the same to me because I’m some sort of a parrot racist). Inside the dome of the mosque the sunlight came in through small windows like sharp spotlights, creating a very dramatic and striking effect. Outside on the lawns there was a group of probably 100 school children, probably between 6-8 years old in adorable boxy navy blazers and pleated khaki skirts or pants. Several of the boys were already wearing the hair net contraption that Sikh men wear under their turbans. Lots of Sikhs around, all over the place, and so readily identifiable. Other people cannot be distinguished between Hindu or Muslim on first glance much of the time, but Sikhs, always. Anyhoo, Adam had come to this park on his first day in India almost a year ago, so we had a nice full circle visit.

He said that once before he’d been approached by a hasji (?- a eunuch/transvestite/hermaphrodite). Apparently there are many of them, but it’s unclear whether they are born hermaphrodite/transsexual, or if they choose to be transgendered, etc- but they are default sex workers, and essentially outcasts, literally, as in, bundled in with what used to be known as the untouchables, and now is known more as the Dalits or Scheduled Caste (S.C.). We passed two walking around- they had clearly male features, but were wearing makeup and women’s clothes. I’m curious to figure out more about this social segment. In Deepa Mehta’s film “Water,” a eunuch is a main character, acting as the courier/pimp of the women. Also, clearly a man, but in makeup and women’s clothing. Interesting.

After Lodi Gardens we walked to Khan Market, a newer strip mall sort of thing in New Delhi. I bought my ticket to Bombay at an internet café, and we called my friend Jassa from college to meet up for lunch. Other than the dustiness of the road and the trash piles, the walk from one strip mall-ish thing to the other felt pretty familiar to western standards—clearly New Delhi is a different animal than Old Delhi. Evidently Jassa’s pick for lunch spot was a hot site for tourists today, and the food was very good, a menu of Indian and Chinese foods, which seems pretty common here. I had malai kofta pretty different from any I’d had in the States. I didn’t like it as much as what I’ve had in Waltham, for example, but maybe this is right and that was a poor imitation? It was much more tomato-ey and the cream was more curdled, kinda like a lean cuisine microwave lasagna, actually. I tasted Jassa’s chicken kebab and it was actually really good, smoky from the grill. Adam’s rogan josh (goat) I couldn’t handle so much- the red meat is too big a leap from my vegetarian years at this point. We’ll see how the meat situation goes in the future. It’s definitely easy and entirely possible to be a vegetarian here, even “pure veg” (vegan- no ghee, other dairy or eggs), but I’d like to sample more of the local cuisine. Apparently the fish in Bombay is really spectacular.

From lunch we walked to the National Art Gallery, which has a modern art collection. I’ve only ever seen classical Indian art, so this was a nice new perspective, but difficult to really focus in a museum after a big meal. I also almost got trapped in the bathroom (or public convenience) as they call it, but I finally got the lock open. That was a bit touch and go, glad I escaped. As Adam pointed out, the museum didn’t provide much background in the exhibits with context or explanation, so lots of what we saw didn’t really penetrate. I did glance through a book about tantric symbolism that spoke of the rise of modern tantric art as an outgrowth of the LSD/Eastern fascination of the 60s in the fallout of the Vietnam War, referencing the Beatles and Baba Ram Das and such.

From the museum we took a tuk-tuk to the Baha’i Temple on the other side of the city, a newer, lotus shaped structure, very impressive. The grounds are huge, and include an exhibition hall with all sorts of information about the founding of the faith, its spread, current programs for education and development, and centers around the world, including the gardens I’ve seen in Haifa. My flippant stereotype that Baha’is are the Unitarian Universalists of Asia Minor has held up, except now I think there also may be similarities to Mormonism in that it is so recent, manmade (I know, many arguments could be made to poke through this point- what I mean is that there is no allegedly divine text or ancient history), and evidently pretty aggressive in its spread. Young adults probably 18-20 were posted at the doors and in the exhibit to greet us and explain what was there – evidently from all over the world, and freakishly android-like. They seemed totally programmed to say specific things and when I asked one woman where she was from she said they’re not allowed to “reveal our identities.” Um, creepy. From the exhibit hall we went up to the temple itself, after removing our shoes and putting them in the shoe-check. (really, just like a coat check). The inside of the temple is really nice- all marble and polished wood, very modern and light and open feeling. But the cleanliness and orderliness of it all was in such contrast to the world of India outside, it seemed very out of place and even kinda wrong. Adam was especially creeped out, he said it reminded him of evangelical churches in the States.

So after that set of adventures, we called it a day and headed home, walking a good bit of the way through narrow crowded streets of commercial trucks, private cars, tuk-tuks, motorcycles, bikers. All kinds of tradesmen seem to set up shop just on the curb or side of the road- whether it’s a tea seller or a blacksmith or a locksmith or a cellphone card seller. No difference, they all just make the street itself their shop.

Watching Adam’s negotiations with the tuk-tuk drivers was educational. Both he and Daniel seem to bargain out some sense of principle, although what they’re fighting over is like 3 pennies. True that it adds up, but we’ll see more money in our lives in America than most of these people can ever even conceive of in a dream. We’ll see how my feelings about this change over time. I’ve been surprisingly unapproached by beggars, but we did pass some really poor, filthy slums during our treks today, as well as day laborers doing back breaking work right in the open.

I was pretty tired so I just stayed in tonight- Adam went off to the airport, Daniel went to some book opening at the British Council, and his other friend Mike went out with friends. I ordered dinner from a delivery place: Saleems Mughlai Food, in a neighborhood called Defence Colony/ Flyover Market. Muttar mushroom, veggie biryani, and aloo naan was 115 rupees. Delish!

Tomorrow, off to Bombay! I can’t wait to unpack and start taking in my new digs.