Falling in Love with Delhi

Cycle rickshaw and driverf, Delhi

Day one and India serves up a huge surprise, a coup de foudre. As this is my seventh visit, I should know by now to expect the unexpected. I was completely unprepared to fall in love with Delhi, and yet this is what happened.

 

I had crafted my itinerary so as to spend minimal time in India’s capital city. Touching down at Indira Gandhi International Airport at 8am I would transit to New Delhi Railway station, buy a ticket for the 3pm express train to Haridwar in the Himalaya. 

My schedule was all lining up nicely. I congratulated myself on the smooth flow and thanked the Universe for supporting me.

Did I mention that this is my seventh stay in India? I should have known better, India had other plans.

Delhi has a new metro system. It is a perfect example of how India observes and appropriates what other countries are doing in its quest for modernization and economic expansion. The metro was quiet, clean, cheap and efficient.  

I boarded at the airport, it was four stops to New Delhi station. I was feeling excited and buzzing just because of being in India. I was grinning so widely I straightened my face, not wanting to frighten my fellow passengers.

Layers of transport history

The carriages were peopled by the new generation of modern Indians, young, educated, wearing western style clothing and carrying the technological accoutrements of our age: laptops, mp3 players, mobile phones.   

The metro system itself reminded me of the Parisian RER network. The stations were spacious with wide walkways. 

 

At New Delhi train station, the fun began. I was carrying 26kg of luggage and a travel guitar. In my efforts to secure a ticket I must have traversed the station seven or eight times. Heaving my baggage up and down stairs, across platforms, through the security scans… I was getting tired and going nowhere.

In a fairly typical scenario I was sent from ticket booth to ticket booth, across town and back in a rickshaw and then queued for an hour in the foreigners office, finally to be told that the 3pm train was full. I crumbled somewhat: I wanted to keep moving. Having to spend the night in Delhi would slow me down and I had heard that hotels were expensive. What to do?

 

I had already missed two nights sleep, the night before my flight anxiety kept me awake and I flew through the night via Doha in Qatar. Nonetheless, the only viable option presented to me was a sleeper train, leaving Delhi at 10pm for a 6am arrival in Haridwar. I took it. It was years since I had taken a sleeper train and I was open to the adventure. 

 

I paid my ticket and stashed most of my luggage in the cloak room (platform 16, 10rs per item per 24 hours).  It was already 3pm and I wanted to take a shower and rest for a few hours so I began roaming the adjacent neighbourhood of Parharganj,  packed with budget hotels.

Roach ridden room at Hotel Volga

I checked out a few possibilities, the smarter places costing between 1500 – 2000rs were out of my price range. I headed deeper into the back streets and randomly selected Hotel Volga. 

The room was pretty crummy, I didn’t care. I paid 500rs with the agreement of receiving 100rs rebate for a pre 9pm checkout.

I showered and crashed onto the bed. There was a knock at the door. A young boy came in, ostensibly to check the air conditioner, he then asked me if I would like a body massage. Eh? A body massage. 

I twigged and feigned indignation and chased him out of the room. I thought I should report this incident at reception to preserve my moral integrity.

Downstairs in the foyer I was taken aback to see a row of individuals seated in a line upon a sofa. In an instant I took in garish makeup, and a hard quality to their faces, they were all hookers, of both sexes. 

This was my first encounter with Indian prostitutes, let alone transvestites and I really wanted to stare and take in the grotesqueness of it all. Namaste, intoned a large, butch she-male in a pink and red sari. I kept walking, out onto the street as though that was my original intention.

Hence I found myself in the teeming, dusty, ever moving mass that is urban India. Every inch of the city was vibrating with life. In my street a horse was tethered next to an open air urinal, then an artisan beating copper wire, then children and grandmother lounging on a day bed, then a gents barbers (hair saloon), then a cook frying samosas in a large iron pan on an open flame, then a tiny temple dedicated to the Goddess Durga and so on.

Street life, Parharganj

It occurred to me that this was village life, being lived outside, communally and that all of history was happening at once. 

Stumbling over a cockerel I rejoined the main road and marvelled at the rush hour traffic. Lanes and lanes of every kind of transport from bicycle rickshaws to privately owned air conditioned four wheel drives. Honking and parping and pumping fumes and travelling very slowly with no sense of rule or regulation.

I checked in with myself: cities tend to drain me, how was I feeling? I should have been exhausted and depleted from the travel and lack of sleep. Yet I felt, alive and invigorated and really, really happy!

It was true, I felt amazing! I was coming up on the insane chaos of this ugly, beautiful city. India, ever the temptress, had scored again and stolen my heart. I stood still in the turbulence and absorbed the scene. The prana, the life force of India. How utterly absurd! As nourishing and blissful as standing under a waterfall.

I ambled around as the sunset, meandering the back streets and eating far too many snacks; samosas fresh from the fryer, roasted channa (chickpeas) served in a twist of newspaper, sliced pineapple and tiny cups of sugary chai. It was most unhealthy and I was loving it!

All aboard!

Later, I checked out of Hotel Volga, collected my luggage and took the metro to Chandra Chowk for Old Delhi Station. 

I was helped onto the train by a vibrant, newly divorced Delhite, Anjuna, who was visiting her son in Mussourie. I let her take charge of me, it was nice to be taken care of, another blessing!

Finding my carriage I scrambled up to the top bunk, arranged my bedding and lay smiling to myself as I replayed the day in my mind. I fell asleep with thoughts of gratitude and anticipation of what was to come, whatever that should be….

At the time of writing 75rs = £1