India: Day 1
23 May 2007
“Everything is backwards here,” remarks Pareena on our first day in Delhi. Of course, she was only referring to the light switches.
The first day was not quite overwhelming but still stimulating to the point that we had a rest period at midday a la summer camp. The physical discomfort of the heat is not so great as I expected but I still find my mind wandering to how much I hate the hot dampness of sweat more frequently than I would like. We purchased our traditional dress clothing at the market the other day, which I wear as I type this now. It was sort of exciting but my complete lack of knowledge of the language here makes me feel a number of things, none of them exactly pleasant. I feel like a cow, being herded along dumb, not deaf, but not understanding the words being spoken all around me, always waiting while others speak together, large, white, obtrusive, and in the way. The clothes we bought are nice, brightly colored airy cotton that will hopefully camoflauge my incongruity to some extent; perhaps I can upgrade to feeling like a goat instead of a cow or something.
The only time I feel grounded is when we eat. I thank a long history of Indian buffet for my knowledge of Indian cuisine, which has impressed Pareena and her family members and allowed me to eat and order with a confidence I lack at most other times. I hope that my uneasiness fades, but at the moment I can’t imagine simple things like riding in the car without a clutching tightness developing in my chest. I honestly fear for my life with each ride; the roads are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, even in the world’s largest cities, London, Paris, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Manaus (Brazil), even the relative chaos of Beijiing streets pales in comparison to the free for all that is driving in this city. Lanes, though painted on most of the roads, mean almost nothing. I watched our driver cross four lanes at once twice in less than a minute’s time. He weaved through cement barricades reading “Stop” and “Slow Down for Checkpoint” in neon orange paint, which I would have had trouble biking through, at 40 miles an hour. We continually pass through narrow gaps between bicyclists, cars, and buses (none of whom are in a lane exactly) in a fashion that reminds me of an ambitious teenage boy playing NASCAR racing on his Playstation. Pareena proposed that we all return to Delhi to pick up the fourth member of our group at the beginning of June, meaning that on our return to Rojhtak, we would be sitting four in the back of a small Honda sedan. This of course means not only squishiness and sweaty bodies, but also no seatbelts. Frankly, though we might have the chance to see Parliament, I value my life. I told Pareena that I might be more comfortable staying behind; she treated me like a sissy and a party-pooper afterwards. “You’ll be fine,” she soothed, although I’m sure I was the only one in the room who has actually experience the wrenching terror of actually being in an accident, felt the seatbelt lock and hold me in my seat as my car spun 540 degrees.
Minus the fearing for my bodiliy safety every time I ride in the car, life here has been relaxed and pleasant so far. Yesterday morning began with some minor yet necessary work for Pareena, easy but tedious tasks that were quickly completed. We were then treated to a full-body massage by a masseuse who comes to your door and charges 100 rupees (about 2.50). It was relaxing, and also gave the opportunity to lay around mostly naked for almost an hour. I followed my massage with a breakfast of chai and samosas made by the hired chef. All this while the cleaning lady dusted, cleared the table, washed our clothes and the floor. Later, Pareena came into our room asking if any of us had things for the ironing lady. The service industry is ridiculous here.
“Everything is backwards here,” remarks Pareena on our first day in Delhi. Of course, she was only referring to the light switches.
The first day was not quite overwhelming but still stimulating to the point that we had a rest period at midday a la summer camp. The physical discomfort of the heat is not so great as I expected but I still find my mind wandering to how much I hate the hot dampness of sweat more frequently than I would like. We purchased our traditional dress clothing at the market the other day, which I wear as I type this now. It was sort of exciting but my complete lack of knowledge of the language here makes me feel a number of things, none of them exactly pleasant. I feel like a cow, being herded along dumb, not deaf, but not understanding the words being spoken all around me, always waiting while others speak together, large, white, obtrusive, and in the way. The clothes we bought are nice, brightly colored airy cotton that will hopefully camoflauge my incongruity to some extent; perhaps I can upgrade to feeling like a goat instead of a cow or something.
The only time I feel grounded is when we eat. I thank a long history of Indian buffet for my knowledge of Indian cuisine, which has impressed Pareena and her family members and allowed me to eat and order with a confidence I lack at most other times. I hope that my uneasiness fades, but at the moment I can’t imagine simple things like riding in the car without a clutching tightness developing in my chest. I honestly fear for my life with each ride; the roads are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, even in the world’s largest cities, London, Paris, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Manaus (Brazil), even the relative chaos of Beijiing streets pales in comparison to the free for all that is driving in this city. Lanes, though painted on most of the roads, mean almost nothing. I watched our driver cross four lanes at once twice in less than a minute’s time. He weaved through cement barricades reading “Stop” and “Slow Down for Checkpoint” in neon orange paint, which I would have had trouble biking through, at 40 miles an hour. We continually pass through narrow gaps between bicyclists, cars, and buses (none of whom are in a lane exactly) in a fashion that reminds me of an ambitious teenage boy playing NASCAR racing on his Playstation. Pareena proposed that we all return to Delhi to pick up the fourth member of our group at the beginning of June, meaning that on our return to Rojhtak, we would be sitting four in the back of a small Honda sedan. This of course means not only squishiness and sweaty bodies, but also no seatbelts. Frankly, though we might have the chance to see Parliament, I value my life. I told Pareena that I might be more comfortable staying behind; she treated me like a sissy and a party-pooper afterwards. “You’ll be fine,” she soothed, although I’m sure I was the only one in the room who has actually experience the wrenching terror of actually being in an accident, felt the seatbelt lock and hold me in my seat as my car spun 540 degrees.
Minus the fearing for my bodiliy safety every time I ride in the car, life here has been relaxed and pleasant so far. Yesterday morning began with some minor yet necessary work for Pareena, easy but tedious tasks that were quickly completed. We were then treated to a full-body massage by a masseuse who comes to your door and charges 100 rupees (about 2.50). It was relaxing, and also gave the opportunity to lay around mostly naked for almost an hour. I followed my massage with a breakfast of chai and samosas made by the hired chef. All this while the cleaning lady dusted, cleared the table, washed our clothes and the floor. Later, Pareena came into our room asking if any of us had things for the ironing lady. The service industry is ridiculous here.