West Meets East

The first part of our winter break was spent in Delhi. We were warned of the smog, but we figured we would live. We posted up in a relatively cheap but convenient hotel in Connaught Place. The moment we stepped out, we attracted unwanted attention. Mike was in his shorts and sneakers. No one else was, given the 60°F winter. I was constantly checking my phone to find the shortest route to our day's destination. Initially, we thought the barraging was a general, misdirected enthusiasm to help out, Aditidevo Bhava and all. But as the excuse me ma'ams and the unsolicited advice got more persistent, we realized that we had 'tourists' stamped across our foreheads.

So I did a classic male number and asked Mike to reconsider his clothing choices. He grudgingly changed into jeans, but was much relieved when the pestering subsided. I told him not to smile at people, to say "no" curtly instead of pleasantly. Or better yet, to wave people away without wasting his breath. He did and it worked.

We browsed the shops along Janpath, but I had no shot at a bargain with Mike around. We made a lackadaisical effort to conceal that we were a pair, but it didn't work. But perhaps I am attributing too much to Mike. Maybe I've lost my haggling skills, or maybe my heart is not in it anymore. After all, my bargaining had less to do with ensuring value-for-money and more to do with not wanting anyone to think that I can be easily gouged.

At the end of the day, I bought whatever I fancied and the only time I felt like the fool in "a fool and his money will soon be parted" was when I succumbed to a Starbucks purchase.

We took a trip down memory lane. We got on the metro to Vishwavidyalaya and went to DSE and to the Roopnagar PG where I used to live while at d-school. Since the door was wide open, we climbed to the rooftop where I roomed with the other girls of slender means. I hoped a few monkeys would be hanging about. They used to be a thorough nuisance in winter, but their presence would have lent more color and credibility to the monkey tales I've told Mike. But alas, we had to wait till Agra for that. I took Mike to Kamla Nagar where we had steamed and fried pork momos. I felt gratified in knowing that my memory did not deceive me and that the Indo-dumplings are indeed better than its American counterpart.

We went to Old Delhi and it was packed with people. Once we got to Jama Masjid, the crowd thinned out a bit. In the middle of the mayhem, the Masjid stands graceful and self-assured. We walked around, paused and took in the feel of an era that was. We sat on the steps hoping to take a breather. A couple of kids came begging for alms. Some random dude wanted to take pics with us. Mike obliged, I did not. We were soon writhing through the swarm of people again. As we did, Mike kept saying, "Why are there so many people here? There is nothing here". A part of me thought, go with the flow dude, let the madness happen. The other part thought, there is nothing for us here. Still Delhi seems to do a reasonably good job of preserving its monuments. Akshardham was impressive and Lotus temple was peaceful.

Then we made a one-day bus trip to Agra. As we entered Agra, Mike was stupefied by how a tourist hub of a place had no real commerce or economic development around it. It was true and I felt disheartened. I channeled my feelings to loathing the self-appointed guide in the bus—a most unsavory fellow, who was out to get his, every step of the way. He put himself in charge and wanted anyone who didn't bring an ID (including myself) to pay foreigner rates for entry tickets into the sites. I ended up paying foreigner rates for Taj Mahal (but not for Agra fort, where a defiant declaration of "I'm a Malayali!" to the ticket collector seemed to do the trick), and this allowed us to skip the Indian line which was especially long. We ended up touring the Taj with two sweet Tamilian men from the bus, who were obviously excited to hit up a friendship with Mike, and we had a gentleman of a guide with us who made the whole tour around Taj more convenient. In the end we surmised that Taj Mahal was lovely, sure, but the journey is the destination after all.

I made some new memories. There was a Haldirams a minute or two away from where we were staying. We ate fresh sweets in the morning and snacked on Paneer cutlets. There are several chai chains popping up, countering the innumerous cafes. Now that I've had my fill of cheesecakes and croissants, I appreciate businesses which fuse and adapt foreign formats to the Indian context rather than purely imitate.

We went to Dillihaat for bamboo shoot pork and later Huaz Khas because I've never been there. The complex has its charm and made for a pleasant stroll. But we were soon on our way, searching for other Khas bits. We discovered an Indian poster/pop art place, which had a cool collection of vintage mementos, including "Vote for Indira" pins. Stray dogs, like elsewhere in Delhi, continue to coexist with the city buzz, the guards, the beggars, the shopkeepers and the street peddlers. They are fed and sometimes clothed, they sleep on the mats in front of stores or are sometimes seen cuddling next to the homeless. They are a welcome respite from a city that is otherwise indifferent to its own.

Mike got a feel of the Delhi part of my life, but he wasn't taken with the place as such. As for me, for the most part, I cherished the chance to be there again. But while Delhi hasn't changed much, I have. Back then, Delhi was a place where I was determinedly struggling to make my way, where I got to be independent. The classic girl meets city story. But now, I have to face up to the odd juxtaposition between the rich and the poor, the strays and the commerce, the old me and the new me.