First few days in India

Well I’ve arrived at a point in time when I can sit down to type. What precedes this moment of repose however ended up being a very tangled mess. But first, let me start off with some words about a simpler place, home.

As the days wound down to my departure to India, I found myself becoming significantly more emotional. It was difficult preventing thoughts about how long I would likely be away from friends and family. I was fortunate though to have a warm send-off that would make anyone feel loved. The morning of the day I left I woke up around 9 to organize some final things; Mom was up too and together we brainstormed more and more things that I should take along. However, as we started packing, it became clear that it would be a tight fit. I only wanted to have 2 bags that I could carry because I plan to be traveling quite a bit before going to Bangladesh. 2 carry-ons for a year and 2 months is no small task. Through careful rearrangement, we were able to fit it all in, and actually it works out that one bag I can have over my shoulders in back and the other in front, leaving my arms free. The bag with my clothes was a graduation present from Aunt Karin; it’s waterproof and collapsible, so it should prove to be a great asset while traveling.

Around 11 my old roommate from college, Dan Kuhn, came by. Although he lives all the way out in New Jersey, he was visiting his relatives out in Pittsburgh, and it was a stroke of fortune that he was able to meet up with me one last time before I left for South Asia. It was so good to see him again; the last time we had been in the same place it was at school on the day of graduation several months before. He made me realize how grateful I am for our strong friendship, but also how much I will miss being around the friends that I’ve grown with at school. Chris and John showed up at around 11:30, and also Sam ran all the way from his house because he didn’t have a car. All 5 of us went to eat lunch at Panera, just the kind of food that I knew I would be craving in a few months’ time. 3 more people were waiting on the front steps of the house when we got back: Luke, Nathan, and Madeline Badaczewski, and it wasn’t long before their mom and another sampling, Eli, arrived as well. Dan Ochs also came by after a few more minutes. After exchanging our goodbyes (and receiving some delicious cookies and scones from Mrs. Badaczewski), it was just Muhlenberg Dan, me, and my mom left to straighten up everything else in about half an hour before going to the airport. I am still processing how blown away and deeply affected I was to have witnessed so many friends come by on my final day to bid me their farewells.

Dad drove home from work, so after saying goodbye to Dan, it was just us family heading to the airport. Both of my bags ended up being sufficiently small to carry on the plane. Security took longer than expected, and despite rushing to make a departing tram and running to the gate, the door had closed ten minutes before departure, leaving me about 2 minutes too late for the plane. Dad had already been talking to the registration desk, and after some discussion, we were pleased to know that I could be put on the next flight to Chicago for no extra charge and still make the connecting flight to Delhi. During spare time at the airports I made some final calls to friends and family, wondering where I’d be and what I’d exactly be doing in about 16 hours’ time.

The flight from Chicago to Delhi was 14 hours. American Airlines was okay; I wasn’t as wowed as with Jet Airways for certain. The entertainment system was so sparse I didn’t even use it. Breakfast was cancelled because of turbulence from a thunderstorm we were flying through to make it to Delhi. The terminal we arrived at was brand new and had opened about 3 months before I think. Everything was wide open and clean and white, fortunately enough space for the hundreds and hundreds of people going through customs. There were massive sculptures of hands in traditional Indian dance poses above our heads to keep us distracted. After about a 40 minutes’ wait, I was through and just about to leave the airport. The metro is from the airport to the city is not up and running yet (it will be in about 3 months I think), and I was disappointed that the bus I was counting on to take me into the city was not running. That left a taxi as a final option. I’ve heard it’s best to get a prepaid voucher from the government run taxi booth, and it was a great suggestion because my driver ended up being quite a savior this evening.

The humidity was so thick it made you think like you were walking around on the ocean floor; sights and smells rushed back to me. It was easy to see that indeed I was back in India. The drive to New Delhi Train Station was about 20 km; from there I was hoping to find accommodation in an adjacent area littered with backpacking lodges and guest houses. The driver knew before we got there though that the area was “broken” and had so much construction, and something about upcoming sports games or something, that many places were closed and full. The situation looking grim (and the time being about 10 pm) we drove—by suggestion of the driver—to a government operated tourist agency. I used their phone to call many places I had been looking at, only to find out that they were all entirely full. The process was extremely slow. The telephone line had to be repaired a few times. The person helping me was asking me about my stay and insisted that I call to confirm the times of the train tickets I’ve booked to places outside Delhi. Due to storms many were cancelled or delayed. For my first ticket to Khajuraho from Delhi a few days from now, our operator told us that it was 42 hours delayed.

Accommodation possibilities were looking bleaker and bleaker. I admit that part of the issue was me not wanting to take the openings at the 3-5 star hotels that had vacancies, but I also must admit that their fees for a single room for one night exceeded 5 and 6 hundred US dollars. My tourist person brainstormed some schemes to get me out of the city by bus or mini-bus to stay in Agra or Jaipur instead. Without wanting to complicate the situation further (I still need to meet with Melissa tomorrow, as we’ve planned to travel for a week together), I insisted on staying in Delhi and trying to find a less expensive place. By now the taxi driver had been waiting about 2 hours.

We decided to drive to Market Place, about a five minutes’ drive away, to investigate some possibilities that were not in Lonely Planet. At midnight though, not many places are open for business to say the least. The second place we stopped at, was the cheapest accommodation yet and also looked like the last option I could take. Although I wasn’t tired (it was early afternoon for me), I took the room at $120 for one night, credit card was not accepted, only cash.

I need to try to rest some so that I can scout around for another place tomorrow. Especially if the train is delayed for so long, I cannot afford to stay here multiple days. My AirTel Indian cell phone is not receiving the network, I’m not sure whether it’s a problem with the phone or with AirTel itself. That will need to be investigated tomorrow as well, perhaps I can get in touch with my friend Vipin who lives in this area to help me out. I also need to see whether my other train tickets are delayed as well. I’m very thankful for my taxi driver, he was how I found the tourist agency in the first place, and it was through his concern for my safety that I was able to get to the places I needed to go. In addition to what was hopefully a healthy tip, I thanked him and apologized for the confusion.

So, suffice it to say, things are not going as hoped for. I’ve learned some things though. Namely, reserve a hotel before coming to Delhi. Although I tried to call a few places from the US and it wouldn’t go through. Hmm. The situation could be better, it could be worse. I could be more fazed by the situation; I guess I’ve built up my nerves ahead of time in anticipation for unexpected issues. Let’s see what happens tomorrow.

Hello again, India.

Last evening closed on a bad note, not only because of how uncertain I was about everything, but also because the surge protector I put into the outlet erupted with a boom, sparks, and smoke from the unfamiliar current. Badly shaken and feeling pretty defeated, I resigned and tried to sleep. Although it felt like ‘day’ perhaps the lack of sleep on the airplane made it possible to sleep soundly (minus a few nightmares) all the way until the phone woke me up at 8:30. Hoping to sleep until just before check out at 12:00, I was disappointed to say the least. The staff wanted me to go to another room in 15 minutes because of a preexisting reservation for my room. Whatever.

When I stepped out of the room into the lobby, an enthusiastic man approached me, asking the traditional questions of where I was going and what I was doing in India etc. Only half-heartedly answering him, my ears were caught when he started talking about cheaper accommodations for tomorrow. *You don’t want to stay here. What is it..5…6 thousand rupees? I take you to gowarment operated tourist office. Der they will help you to find less pricy room, also check you train booking reservation. Come come, taxi free of charge, paid for with fee for room.* Well I didn’t really feel like going back to sleep, and there was work to be done today sorting this all out, so we departed from the most expensive night in India I’ve spent for the office.

Very little of what I type in this blog should be taken as a truth. In fact, really none. After today, the entire tone of what I wrote yesterday would have changed. The tourist office we went to looked more professionally-run than the one yesterday, they claimed that it was likely that the place I was at yesterday was not a valid agency and that much of what I was involved in may have been a scam. Again you never know. The taxi driver: “So, do you think that my driver from yesterday got a commission to take me to the expensive hotel?” *No I don’t think so, but maybe he try, maybe so maybe not.* Today’s tourist agent: “But I watched him dial all the numbers of all the guest houses…every one said that they were full” *He may dial, but dial may be go to same person, same person say same ting.* “But we called the number on the IRCTC reservation to confirm the booking when they told me it was delayed.” *Again, maybe same person. Maybe maybe not. Here we check on internet, official gowarment website. Here. Yes is confirmed ticket tomorrow. No delay.* “So how do I know when to trust someone??” *You trust what’s inside, that’s all you can do. Done, is finish. Yesterday is yesterday. How much you pay for room?* “About 6 thousand rupees” *Whoosh that’s a lot. Again, done, finish, you learn for tomorrow, you trust what’s inside.*

I guess trusting my inside at that time was not going back to the Pahar ganj area where I had intended to stay. If I had gone back, I would have had to have left the taxi driver and walk around in an unfamiliar place to search for a guest house. Today’s agent claimed it would have been fine to walk around to find a guest house, there would have been some open. Perhaps it was worth the 120 dollars to stay in a place that the taxi took me to? Perhaps it was better to be involved in a scam? That’s a little harder to answer. Of course, perhaps nothing was with bad intentions. Maybe we’ll call last night an ‘ouch’ moment. You end up accumulating a good deal of those while in India. We’ll never know the intention behind the wound, the reason for what happened, but in the end it’s best not to carry the wound and its pain with you.

Today’s agent saw that I was heading from Nizamuddin station tomorrow from my train ticket, that is in South Delhi. Rather than trying again to find a place in Pahar ganj, he knew of a family guest house in south Delhi near the station that I could go to. Less crowded, home cooked food, only 600 rs. or so a night.

The owner of the guest house was very helpful and had internet which I used to contact Melissa (Melissa and I became friends in Hyderabad, she’s from Chicago and likes to travel; we intend on traveling for a week together). I was surprised to read on facebook that she was waiting for the train to Delhi in one message, then in Delhi and going to Pahar ganj to see if she could find me, then in the final message actually in Hotel Rak International (where I had wanted to stay yesterday) looking for me. When I called the hotel I found out she had already booked a room there. With me in the south and she in the north, we decided to meet up in Pahar ganj today then maybe go to the south tomorrow.

Before finding an auto to go to Pahar ganj, I wanted to square away my phone. Gopal, the cook/helper in the home, took me to the local AirTel station where I inquired about a new sim card. Needing passport/visa photocopies and a passport photo for one, I went back to the house, then walked back to the AirTel station with another housemate from England, Joel. My new cell plan enables calling to the US for only 2.5 rs. a minute, that’s about 6 US cents a minute, much more economical than the 3 dollars a minute or whatever roaming AT&T charges.

Back at the house, Gopal had prepared lunch: rice, daal, palak (spinach), and a potato/cabbage dish. My first meal in India was all I could have hoped for.

At about 3 pm (hours after I had told Melissa I would be in Pahar ganj, things operate more slowly in India, especially when Joel and I tried to find an auto that would take us up there) Joel and I arrived at the elusive Pahar ganj. I the area in my head was in so much dispute yesterday (should I go back, should I not?) that it was like finally arriving at a goal when we got there. I had worn the sandals I had throughout Hyderabad and last summer in India/Bangladesh. Those sandals ripped last fall. I’ve been waiting for almost a year now to get them sown back together for the third or fourth time. Who else takes worn out, broken sandals in an already tightly packed suitcase? Well, they are my favorite. And no place repairs broken footware like India As soon as Joel and I stepped down onto the ground, a shoe repair man scurried over to us offering his services, probably readily tipped off that my gait was off balance. “Well yes you CAN repair my sandals! I’ve actually been waiting a long time for this!!”

Melissa ran out to greet us as we approached the hotel; it was amazing to see her again after about 2 whole years. It was just like old times, especially because we were both back in India. She told me about her internship the past 6 months in Bangladesh and was excited to get me in touch with the friends she made there. She did not like Dhaka though. Too crowded, too hot, to unhealthy. She’s curious what my impressions will be next year, and so am I.

Walking around Pahar ganj was not like something I’ve ever experienced in India before. Remember how I said the driver told me Pahar ganj was ‘broken’? It is. It’s like a crowded city area, except all the roads are torn up, bricks are everywhere, rubble is piled up to your head in some places, and the facades of all the street structures are ripped off. While trying not to trip on a brick or get sprayed with a shower of sparks from a metal welder over head or get clobbered with falling rubble (these are overstatements really, I mean, if you heed to the steel bars lining dangerous areas, it’s not an issue), I would glimpse all of the rooms in all of the structures lining the streets. You could tell, there’s a kitchen, there’s a bathroom on the third floor, it’s tiled and has a toilet. There’s a bedroom, that woman is sleeping. It’s like cutting a block of swiss cheese, and the holes are the rooms. Metal cross bars jutted out from the floors and walls out into the street area, or what is ‘now’ the street area. The reason for the mess is a street expansion. How do you widen a street that is packed on either side with structures? Well, slice the structures a few feet thinner to MAKE ROOM. The commonwealth games coming up in October evidently are a big deal to necessitate such renovation. And also necessitate wide streets? Not sure why. Are they playing the games in the streets?

The three of us went to the metro. To get to Old Delhi. Getting off at distant Old Delhi, we planned on walking back down through Old Delhi to Pahar ganj. I like Delhi more and more, and Old Delhi was in-credible. Keeping an eye out for my favorite street foods, sweets, and snacks, we chose to walk in a southern direction (due to the sun setting in the west). We passed the massive Red Fort, a landmark of Delhi, the whole way (the walls span for quite some time). Every once in a while, crowds of people dressed in dirty orange and carrying massive colorful stick apparatuses (and also usually shouting) would pass us. They are Hindu pilgrims, trekking for an entire week to a holy site, and usually without footware.

Consulting a map, we saw we needed to head west towards the setting sun to approach New Delhi station and Pahar ganj. A glorious mosque stood in our way. Making our way around it and all of those getting ready for the evening call to prayer, we veered off into a crowded and colorful side alley. One’s senses are overwhelmed with sparkling bangles, colorful cloths, animal heads and entrails on butcher’s front stoops, mountains of fruit, dense hoards of people and richshaws, and smells ranging from body odors to sweet fruit to exhaust and cigarette smoke to soothing incense. The road winded and branched and winded and narrowed then widened etc etc. Then we kept going. Then it branched and winded and narrowed and branched and widened and winded. We stopped for a snack. And winding and branching and winding and branching. What direction are we going in again? The sun is blocked by the buildings. Look, there’s a wider more populated road, let’s go there. This continued for quite some time. By the time we had emptied out into a major thoroughfare, I had delighted myself with a mango shake, several sweet and spicy kachori chaat puffs, 2 samosas, several fried-crunchy but syrup-drippy jilebis, paan, lime soda, squeezed mosambi citrus juice, a few mangos…there must have been more. Hey, when you’re in Old Delhi. Asking folks for the New Delhi Station, we were pointed what felt like north. Just as it started to get dark, we stumbled upon the first sweet shop we had visited after just having gotten out of the metro. We had made a massive circle. One giant, adventurous, unintended, tasty, smelly, dizzying Old Delhi circle.

With our unanticipated-ly thorough self-designed tour of Old Delhi, we took the metro back to Pahar ganj and ran into an…energetic, elderly, bearded, turbaned,…mystic? man. He approached us and claimed that Melissa had great potential but was lacking good vibration. Her energies were off. Of course realizing that he’d be wanting money, but also knowing we wanted to give none, yet at the same time somewhat intrigued what the man would do, we gave him our attention and stepped into a nearby open-aired eater to sit down. For the next hour we chatted intermittently. The man asked Melissa questions like how many letters her father’s name had, which…holy man? she first glimpsed in a picture, how many this, what that, etc. All the while writing single capital letters on a scrap piece of paper. In no order. Then he gave Melissa a crumpled slip of paper. *What is the first color that you think of now?* “Green.” The paper uncrumpled read G-R-E-E-N. I ordered veg Manchurian and veg chow mein noodles, the place looked like it had some good Chinese food. He sat at one side of the table; we, the other. *Your mind is blocked. You have too much concern for your money. Money is you eat and you shit, and dat is all, finish. I am talk about what is here (point to head) and here (point to chest). This last. Your mind blocked.* “You want rupees, I’ve given you 20 but will offer you no more” *you are blocked, I give you 5 year challenge, you go, you face the crazy world you face crazy outside, then you come back, you find me in 5 years you still have problem, give and take.* “Is this religious advice?” *Shit religion, there one God, religion no, I know what I need to know, you know what you know, but you not know what I know, and you never know what I know. Your aura I see, I see everybody aura, many many tings people don’t see.* “(me) And this advice, how much will are you wanting for it?” *Tousand rupees* “Sorry, I’ve run low on money after last night. How about we trade advice, I offer mine, and you offer yours. Money blocks the mind anyway, right? Let’s keep it about what is here (point to head) and here (point to chest)” *I give you 20 year challenge* “I’ll be 42!” *By then you will want to come back to here, you can find me. You want to look for something but never find it. I help you, later. 20 year challenge you go into crazy world, you realize your problems, then come to me.* “(still me) How about a piece of advice while I’m taking this challenge” *Advice, is dat you don’t see it, is here, is go away, you don’t see. Is here, is go away. Every moment. You don’t see. You don’t get back.* “…” *Is like you travel, you need return. Confirm ticket. Book ticket confirm, go home. Travel, no.* “But what about everything there is to be gained and exchanged from travel?” *You no need, confirm ticket* “…” *You born out of mother stomach a teacher?* “…” *You born, right then, a teacher like you go teach now?* “[! No one mentioned to you that I am teaching next year]” *You born teacher right then?* “No.” *Der, you see? Other people make you who you are, you learn from others. Just remember, 20 year challenge, you come find me you want to know after you go all into crazy world outside. You take it, you leave it.” This conversation is no more confusing than the majority of conversations I stagger through with people in India. See how it might be difficult to detect a scam? You can never really tell what’s going on. You must be thinking this man is out of his mind. After time in India, maybe it’s not so much crazy as it is a mixture of enthusiasm, the drive for money, the experienced tactfulness in tickling a foreigner’s interest, and the love of the whole game. There were no hard feelings that we gave no more than 20 rupees. If he had wanted ‘money,’ he would have accepted our offers of 50 rupees. But no, it was more about the advice. And that advice was evidently of great value. I was interested, but not rs. 1000 worth, and it was an exciting dinner conversation anyway. Our last glance as I turned my head upon exiting the restaurant to say goodbye seemed to last much longer than it actually would have. He was standing calmly with deep, still eyes and a smug look on his face as if to say *and best of luck to you in this crazy world.*

The next morning I spent relaxing around the guest house. Three mangos and cinnamon tea for breakfast. Ruby, the house owner, and her mom sat/laid on the sofa in the middle of the living room. Every once in a while they would shout *GoPAAL* and he would hurry out of the kitchen or back room to receive their requests. Then the phone would ring and Ruby’s mother would shout on it for a half a minute, then hang up whenever the conversation would be finished, with no audible goodbye.

Melissa, Joel, and I went that afternoon to the India gate, an Arch du Triumphe-like monument about a kilometer away from the president’s estate, a massive grassy lawn between the two. We spent a few hours wandering around that area talking, and sat under a tree for a good bit too. Eventually we took an auto to a promenade mall-esque area in the southwest of Delhi where there was a restaurant I wanted to eat at. Its posh interior reminded me of a Cheesecake Factory. As Joel and Melissa and I talked the afternoon away, I remember feeling just as if I were in the US. Our discussions of career interests, philosophies, physics, impressions of culture, and past memories lasted until 7 pm, when we booked it back to the guest house to pick up the bags and then straight to the Nizamuddin station where we fortunately caught our train just in time. The next morning we were to be in Khajuraho, a famous temple town.

On the train I talked some with the others in our compartment; they were going to Khajuraho as a sight-seeing vacation through their business or something. Things went well until I tried to go to sleep. Fortunately I had the bottom tier bed, as I would be up and down many many times that night. An angry stomach kept me up (likely made worse by the shaky train). Multiple bouts of diarrhea and vomiting followed. Despite finding the extra blankets, I shivered constantly as a fever grew. In addition to the shivering, I couldn’t stay in one position very long before stomach pains made me shift again and again. As my condition got progressively worse and worse, at about 4 am I tried calling the parents to see what they thought of the situation. I tried to call with a pre-paid phone card, but unable to figure out all the numbers, I considered it justified to use the US phone (regrettably at almost three dollars a minute). This was the first I had spoken with them since leaving. They thought the antibiotic I had was a good idea along with pepto bismol, and of course water. Unfortunately I was fresh out of water stores and the small stations we were stopping at didn’t seem to be selling bottled water, and my friends were out of water too. Ended up using some bottled water from someone I didn’t know and never met, as everyone was asleep.

I arrived at Khajuraho the next morning very drained, without sleep, and able to walk but not stand for long before getting out of breath. Melissa and I sat at the station for a while before getting a rickshaw into town where we checked in to a close by hotel. The dissolvable rehydration salts she bought for me ended really helping. That morning we talked more and she told me stories about her travels in Thailand and Cambodia and Bangladesh before I napped in the afternoon. In the evening I felt much better and we went to a rooftop restaurant where you could see large temples across the street. Still without an appetite, I just got a lemon soda. Finally I also got that pre-paid phone card to work, quite the asset as it is about 40x less expensive to call the US than through AT&T.

As we walked around the town that night, every few steps another shop owner would pop out and start asking us where we were from, how we liked India, etc. We have become pretty jaded to such small talk because most often, especially in a tourist place like this, the conversation would always end with the shop owner insisting that we have a look, and we replying with a “no thanks” or “sorry just exploring.” It is always so difficult to determine what one’s motivation is to talk to one of us. Many times it is for money one way or another, in some places more than others. And it’s gone about in so many ways. Perhaps the few people that offer an informal tour even for no charge want to do so because a relationship is formed that in the end usually leads to a tip. People offer advice, people lie, etc. Let me give you a hypothetical scenario. A taxi driver advises a tourist to stay out of an area late at night because the guest houses there will be hard to find and will be full anyway. For safety’s sake, it would be best to go to a tourist office and call from there to book a reservation. Through calls and advice, the tourist office suggests getting out of the city, as the only accommodation options are so expensive. The tourist wants to stay in the city, so he is taken by the taxi driver to a safe place to stay that is the least expensive of the bunch. Sound familiar? Sound like everyone has each other’s best interests at heart? A behind-the-scenes picture can be painted: The guest houses are not full. They are not located in a dangerous area. The tourist agency routes all the calls to someone who says what they want. They want you to take one of their tours, so they make it seem like staying in the city is an impossibility. The taxi driver walks with you into the hotel lobby, offering to carry a bag. The manager catches sight of the driver and skyrocket’s the room fee to include a commission for the driver. Three simple words: I don’t know. However I do know that the agency claimed my train to Khajuraho was 42 hours delayed. I also know that that same train left exactly on time when Melissa and I left 2 days later from Delhi.