March 8, 2011
The time difference is still playing tricks on me: it is 3:50 a.m. and I am wide awake. Both last night and about 20 minutes ago I was woken up by what can be best described as a grown man lamenting for ten minutes straight. Eerie, I was at my window trying to get a look at him to determine whether he was really crying or just pretending in some kind of twisted prayer? Anyhow, didn’t see a thing so that leaves me here, telling you about my first full day in Delhi.
Many people who have been here told me that India would change my life, so I kept waiting for that yesterday. I wondered whether it’d be a pop, a vision or a spiritual exaltation, the kind you hope for when you are 10 and you see a Franco Zeffirelli movie. Didn’t happen… yet?
India is magnificent, and joyful, and poor, and fragrant, and scary, and both backwards and right in its humanity. Quite the mix.
Begging children are not as numerous as I expected, but they are persistent, and they know me very well. Typically, it is a mother and some pantless child, sleeping in her arms, and she looking at me, gesturing to her mouth, pointing to her baby, and me fumbling in my bag, looking for a few rupees so that she’ll stop poking me with her little accusing fingers and whining “food, baaaaby, food, baaaby, food, baaaaby”. Despite my best Slumdog Millionaire mind scenario, what can I do? I have to respond.
The 1.8 kilograms of lollypops I purchased at Costco are almost all still in my bag (I ate 11 before going to bed two days ago in a fruitless attempt at comforting myself into a sugary coma). Somehow, it feels pithy to hand them out, like offering a new bicycle to someone who needs a liver transplant. The three little brothers that I gave them to looked happy enough, but I couldn’t help but wonder if one of them was going to lose his eyes or a leg at the hands of his boss because I like to shop in bulk and don`t know any better.
Bita is great. The three little creatures had been following us for the better part of our walk in Connaught Place, when she stopped at a street food stand (verboten territory to us Westerners with the tender GI tracks), bargained the guy down to 20 rupees for a full plate of mush (couldn’t see what it was exactly), and some bread. She sat them down with napkins (a nice touch considering they looked like they hadn’t seen soap nor running water in a long while if ever), and we watched them eat, all smug with humanitarian goodness. Fearless Marie-Christine got them juice, and then we were swamped by another fifteen children who’d discovered a bunch of white Canadians who obviously had more delusions and rupees than common sense. I got a little worried, wondered if in a pinch they’d let us get away if I threw my useless iPhone at them and ran.
That was not taking Bita into consideration, who managed to shoo them away with threatening cries of “shoda-something-or-other” (which means go home she says, but by then I was unnerved beyond learning new hindu catchphrases), and we walked – FAST- to a nearby upscale Indian restaurant. They had an attendant in full maharajah regalia at the front door, and Marie-Christine asked if his beard was real, it was so lush and shiny. I remember thinking that that was a good metaphor for India – no matter how technologically evolved and enlightened we are in the Western world, we probably couldn’t grow a nice beard like that (I certainly would hope not in my case, although on certain pms days, anything feels possible) if we tried.
Three things and people I am grateful for today:
- Got my hands hennaed with a beautiful design. They tell me that it will last 27 days, so perhaps it will have faded by the time I get back to work. Maybe not. Perhaps I’ll change my name to Bliss and have business cards redone then.
- Bita who is finding out that herding twelve unruly tourists in a third-world country is no easy feat, yet remains graceful and patient, if a little tense.
- Got some restful sleep this afternoon, felt very colonial to be lolling about in bed with the street hubbub going on outside my window ; )
The time difference is still playing tricks on me: it is 3:50 a.m. and I am wide awake. Both last night and about 20 minutes ago I was woken up by what can be best described as a grown man lamenting for ten minutes straight. Eerie, I was at my window trying to get a look at him to determine whether he was really crying or just pretending in some kind of twisted prayer? Anyhow, didn’t see a thing so that leaves me here, telling you about my first full day in Delhi.
Many people who have been here told me that India would change my life, so I kept waiting for that yesterday. I wondered whether it’d be a pop, a vision or a spiritual exaltation, the kind you hope for when you are 10 and you see a Franco Zeffirelli movie. Didn’t happen… yet?
India is magnificent, and joyful, and poor, and fragrant, and scary, and both backwards and right in its humanity. Quite the mix.
Begging children are not as numerous as I expected, but they are persistent, and they know me very well. Typically, it is a mother and some pantless child, sleeping in her arms, and she looking at me, gesturing to her mouth, pointing to her baby, and me fumbling in my bag, looking for a few rupees so that she’ll stop poking me with her little accusing fingers and whining “food, baaaaby, food, baaaby, food, baaaaby”. Despite my best Slumdog Millionaire mind scenario, what can I do? I have to respond.
The 1.8 kilograms of lollypops I purchased at Costco are almost all still in my bag (I ate 11 before going to bed two days ago in a fruitless attempt at comforting myself into a sugary coma). Somehow, it feels pithy to hand them out, like offering a new bicycle to someone who needs a liver transplant. The three little brothers that I gave them to looked happy enough, but I couldn’t help but wonder if one of them was going to lose his eyes or a leg at the hands of his boss because I like to shop in bulk and don`t know any better.
Bita is great. The three little creatures had been following us for the better part of our walk in Connaught Place, when she stopped at a street food stand (verboten territory to us Westerners with the tender GI tracks), bargained the guy down to 20 rupees for a full plate of mush (couldn’t see what it was exactly), and some bread. She sat them down with napkins (a nice touch considering they looked like they hadn’t seen soap nor running water in a long while if ever), and we watched them eat, all smug with humanitarian goodness. Fearless Marie-Christine got them juice, and then we were swamped by another fifteen children who’d discovered a bunch of white Canadians who obviously had more delusions and rupees than common sense. I got a little worried, wondered if in a pinch they’d let us get away if I threw my useless iPhone at them and ran.
That was not taking Bita into consideration, who managed to shoo them away with threatening cries of “shoda-something-or-other” (which means go home she says, but by then I was unnerved beyond learning new hindu catchphrases), and we walked – FAST- to a nearby upscale Indian restaurant. They had an attendant in full maharajah regalia at the front door, and Marie-Christine asked if his beard was real, it was so lush and shiny. I remember thinking that that was a good metaphor for India – no matter how technologically evolved and enlightened we are in the Western world, we probably couldn’t grow a nice beard like that (I certainly would hope not in my case, although on certain pms days, anything feels possible) if we tried.
Three things and people I am grateful for today:
- Got my hands hennaed with a beautiful design. They tell me that it will last 27 days, so perhaps it will have faded by the time I get back to work. Maybe not. Perhaps I’ll change my name to Bliss and have business cards redone then.
- Bita who is finding out that herding twelve unruly tourists in a third-world country is no easy feat, yet remains graceful and patient, if a little tense.
- Got some restful sleep this afternoon, felt very colonial to be lolling about in bed with the street hubbub going on outside my window ; )
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