Delhi

December 7, 2010

Walking home from a Bollywood film last night, I discovered the perfect metaphor for Delhi. Just before 11 PM, the streets were aglow from neon signs, street fires, and a smoggy haze that never abates. Rickshaws, cars, and bicycles are zipping through the streets, narrowly avoiding collisions and leaning on their horns the whole way. Dogs are sleeping with their noses tucked under on the edge of curbs or in the middle of the sidewalk. Trash heaps sprawl out from every nook and cranny, and the stench is overwhelming. It smells like piss and masala spice, gasoline and incense. People dressed in rags are sleeping in the road, traveling in packs, eating smoked peanuts.

Something clicks. I realize, without melodrama, that this is what I imagined hell might look like. You know, in Bible school, when they talk about Heaven and Hell, and you imagine puffy clouds and pearly gates for one and post-apocalyptic chaos for the other?

Actually, my vision of hell also coincides with my visions of a post-apocalyptic future, inspired mainly by films of that genre, and Delhi is a ready made set. It shares a startling resemblance to Gotham City.

***

It may sound as though I've given up entirely, but it didn't start that way. Yesterday morning, we began with another delicious breakfast of stuffed parantha, and by the time we started out for Old Delhi, I was determined to enjoy myself.

The walk from Paharganj to Old Delhi takes about 20 minutes, and during that time, we passed enough people and cars to populate all of the Twin Cities. From a bridge, we looked down at trains rolling by and children digging through trash heaps. Carts passed us on the sidewalk, drawn by enormous cows and carrying great stacks of rice and paper.

The streets in Old Delhi are narrower and more congested. We picked our way over streams of piss and old food, stepped over sleeping dogs, and avoided touts expounding on the glories of their fine pashminas, dupattas, shawls, jewelry and more. We navigated a corridor of glittering, embossed wedding stationary, and on the other side, we hopped another trash heap to enter the Jama Masjid Mosque.

Entry into the mosque is supposed to be free, but they charge tourists 250 rupees to bring in a camera. I waited outside with the camera while Joshua looked through the courtyard. Sitting on the steps over-looking a smoggy street with more trash heaps and even more honking rickshaws and cars, I felt my will crumbling. It's not that Delhi disappointed me; despite the crowds, the mess, and the stench, I really wasn't all that surprised. I've been warned plenty of times about Delhi and it's unweildy, ragged charm, and it really wasn't so much worse than I had already imagined.

That said, I was already tired. I slowly felt the energy to discovery Delhi's hidden delights trickle out of me. When Joshua came out, I gave him the camera and tried to go in. The man at the door tried to charge me for the camera anyway, and when I showed him that I didn't have it, he tried to charge me for keeping my shoes. When I showed him that Joshua was holding onto my shoes, he waved in a couple of other tourists and then told me that the mosque was closed.

I didn't really care enough to argue, so I went back to put my shoes on, watching the man wave in dozens of other people. Clearly, the mosque wasn't closed.

Heading back onto the streets, we dodged rickshaws and fighting dogs. Reaching a busier road, we walked down to a street food stand recommended by Lonely Planet. Dripping pastry dough into a vat of bubbling oil, they served up sticky sweets that we quickly devoured and immediately regretted.

Clutching sugar headaches, we wandered past Sikh and Jain temples, overflowing with devotees. Across another busy road teeming with rickshaws and taxis, we walked up to the Red Fort. In a separate ticket line for foreignors, we paid 250 rupees apiece to tour this old Mughul complex. Indian nationals paid 10 rupees apiece.

Inside, we listlessly walked through the paved paths, gazing up at carved, red sandstone, horse-shoe arches, and dry fountains. Teenage boys stalked us for photos, and we half-heartedly smiled and took some of our own. We sat on a bench and watched chipmunks scurry along the rails.

We both had bad attitudes. Delhi's not particularly glorious to begin with, but this late in our travels, with family, friends, and Christmas just in reach, we're in no state to get excited about monuments and museums. We wandered through the last exhibit, looking at scraps of paper with arabic lettering, old disintegrating tunics, and rusty sabers.

From the Red Fort, we made our way back through Old Delhi. It takes a lot of energy to ignore touts, dodge rogue rickshaws (and they're all rogue), and pick your way through smelly crowds. By the time we got back to the hotel, we were exhausted.

In the room, we drew the curtains and turned on the television. From inside our clean haven, the only signs of the chaos below is a far off beeping. We relaxed for a half hour, and then we set off again.

Walking back to Connaught Place, we bypassed the usual bedlam, and at the PVR Cinema, we bought tickets for Khelein Hum Jee Jan Sey, a newly released Bollywood film. The man behind the counter warned us that the film is in Hindi, and there are no English subtitles. We told him we would do our best.

The film wasn't for a couple of hours, so we headed over to another Southern Indian restaurant. Ordering a couple of dosas, we played cards while we devoured the crispy crepes with savory sauces. My luck started to change, and I finally won a couple of hands.

At 7 PM, we walked back to the Cinema. Piccadelhi is a swanky shopping complex in a white-pillared monolith that surrounds an enormous roundabout. Inside, we passed through metal detectors and were frisked. The woman solemnly took away my playing cards, telling me that they were not allowed 'for security reasons.'

In the theater, we sat down and watched as the screen warned us to 'not touch foreign objects; they may be explosives.' Another screen thanked us for allowing their security to frisk us.

The previews were colorful and song-filled, and already, we were noticing a strange combination of Hindi and English. It seems like English is used for official paperwork, general directions, and business conversations, but Hindi is more likely to be used in casual exchanges. The pre-views and advertisements were primarily in Hindi, but most of it was about unashamed consumerism. It seems as though India is catching up with the West at an accelerated rate.

When the movie started, we settled in for three hours of melodrama, singing, and killing the British. That's right. Khelein Hum Jee Jan Sey is a period film about a guerilla group in Bengal. The film follows the group's formation, training, attacks, and ultimately, their slow and gruesome demise. One by one, they all either commit suicide, die by British bullets, or hang by the rope. All in all, it's pretty fucked up, and at one point, you even watch four teenage boys shoot themselves in the stomachs. In the end, the guerilla leader is beat nearly to death with a hammer and then hung under the moonlight while the pretty girl looks on from her prison cell.

We left the theater hoping that no one would mistake us for Brits, and luckily, no one did. Then, we walked home.

December 8, 2010

When we woke up this morning, I told Joshua that 'just because we're in Delhi doesn't mean that we have to act like it.' He laughed, and we agreed to start the morning by watching a couple episodes of Friends on the television.

Just before 11 AM, we finally made our way up to the rooftop restaurant for breakfast. Nibbling on stuffed parantha, we played cards and decided that what we really wanted to do on our last day in India is find a cafe, read, and just generally not brave the streets of Delhi.

So far, we've been semi-successful. Our flight for London leaves early tomorrow morning, and although we're not keen to walk through the chaos, we are keen to walk a little bit.

In the Main Bazaar, we paused at a shoe shop before we went to go look for the Internet. On the walls, lovely hand made leather shoes with gorgeous embroidery are hung, one on top of another. I picked out one lovely pair, and for less than 5 dollars, they were mine.

Now, we're in the Internet cafe. My computer has finally succumb to the unprotected wireless dangers of Asia and is refusing to start, so I'm writing here with the sticky keyboard and a shift button that barely works. I'm a little sad that we're ending our three months in India and Nepal on such a dull note, but it's also a good thing. We're ready to go home; we're excited about the next phase in our trip; and we feel like we've done what we wanted to do Asia.