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Published: December 16th 2007
Standing tall
At the Qutb, yo!I find myself conflicted on how to try to describe Delhi (both old and new). It is a city that seems to thrive on its very own contradictions. Poverty tucked away on every corner, unnoticeable from the balcony of the prestigious Delhi Golf and Country Club. White ambassadors side by side with broken down rickshaws circling what surely must be the worlds largest roundabout - Connaught Place. Lush green grass at every corner, stinking of the sewage it is watered with. The crowded mess that is Chandi Chowk and old Delhi in contrast to the open spaces of Rajpath and Shantipath roads.
Yes, Delhi is a city that has a little something for everyone, but much much more for a lil' tyke such as myself...
I started my week in Delhi as any man should (at least as my deluded father might think), at the Indian National Railway Museum. While excruciatingly boring, I did enjoy the paddle boats around the little snack bar (take that pops!). Next up on the list? Oh, getting denied access to my own country of course...
[History: From August 1985 to July 1988 my family and I were stationed in New Delhi as
Qutbbin'
Oooooohhhh.... aaaaahhhhh part of a super-secret co-op infiltration of the Indian Government. Fortunately, we have not been found out yet.]
Yes, amidst various increased terror threats, the Canadian High Commission surprisingly would have nothing to with a strange bearded Canadian, insisting he wants in. Oh, it was a Sunday too.
Monday was spent walking all of Central Delhi (read: parliament and the land of the diplomats) as well as blowing out my knee and foot. Although, as a plus, I had my first Peanut Butter Malt, which is like drinking Reese's Pieces, at the American Diner for lunch.
Ahh, Tuesday. Tuesday is the day this youngin' revisited his past. In quite some detail too. The road I fell off my bike many times, forever tainting the colour of my knees; the Canadian Club where I got stung by a bee; and of course....Margaret. Margaret was our housekeeper during our stay and I think I pulled quite the surprise on her when, from the 'mission, we gave her a call to explain that a certain Stephen Hawkshaw was there. Seeing as she hadn't seen me in 15 years, nor heard from us in probably 7, I'd like to think it
Qutb Minar
It is sort of the centre piece of the whole centre... was a shock.
In true Indian style, Margaret and her boys: Vincent, Johnny, and Richard took me in, made me feel at home, and even gave me a bag of cookies in which to ruin my dinner. Dinner, that is, with family friends at the New Delhi Golf Country Club. (I ate so much that I needn't eat until 7pm the next day. I also think I picked up some rare sort of farting disease that I later discovered was my body's warning system. Welcome back, travelers diarrhea!!)
Wednesday I spent soaking in the sights of Old Delhi (and worsening my knee), and Thursday I spent again with Margaret and the family. My Indian family. At the Norwegian Embassy. Which no one knows where it is. Because its Norwegian.
And so, ladies and gentlemen. That is how you do Delhi and relive a part of your past that you never thought you'd see again, in 5 days.
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Dad
non-member comment
Again, good pictures Buds. The shots at the High Commission sure bring back wonderful memories. And, the shot of you and Margaret is priceless. Thank you. So, the rail fanner in you is finally out of the Closet. Yes! To think we now have four generations of train aficionados in the family - be still my beating heart.