Loving and hating India in Delhi

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Delighted at escaping UAE without a criminal record or a invoice for a new Mitsubishi Pajero, Matt and I arrived

in Delhi at around 6am. Having no clue about anything, no guide, travel book or ideas, we stopped at the

handy tourist desk. We had a steep learning curve to learn the value of things in India. Easy taxi to our

destination in Karol Bagh and a room for a mere 2000RS for both for two nights...not quite the bargain I

based my budget on, yet we were both too tired to argue and went to bed! Next time we discussed price

and talked of moving on, the price dropped to 1000RS! Then we moved and got 450, then eventually

200Rs ... everything keeps getting cheaper and my budget keeps getting bigger and bigger. Wow! I love

this country;



Everything being so different was very exciting (e.g. monkeys running over buildings, a million crazy

rickshaws all swerving, honking and squeezing between traffic, raj-era architecture), no doubt coupled

with our delight at being free, non-'wanted men' (no threat of amputation or fatwa's under sharia law),

gave the initial days a special, fascinating feel. Soon after the reality set in. The drive in the dark back to

our hotel each evening took us past the desparately poor; living in tarpauline tents, or sleeping on the

streets, salvaging food from rubbish piles alongside the feasting cows and dogs in the road, and doing all

their business out on the street as there's nowhere else to go. By day these same people will be

pestering you for money. What do you do? You certainly can't help everyone, and it feels callous to turn

them away. Of course they know this, and the cutest kids are sent into the roads with the young baby

going from rickshaw to rickshaw asking for money. I handed one cute but dirty kid a few rupees to which

she turned her head in a gesture of disgust and made a 'come on' gesture with her hand for more money. I

was bemused and amused in equal measure; this young girl makes a living from begging and is obviously

well practiced in not-gratifying 'underpaying' tourists. Wow! Was quite a relief when the rickshaw driver

shooed her away.


Everything was dirty, all covered in a fine layer of dirt, cow shit everywhere, heavingly crowded

streets. Everywhere in Delhi we were constantly approached by sharks, posing as helpful locals, yet

wanting to drag you off to their particular tourist office to be charged insane (western) amounts of cash.

Matt and I spent a day being taken for tea, then to a three separate tourist offices; all offering the

same inflated prices and AC cars with drivers to take us round for a day trip. This thought that everyone

here was trying to lead me astray or try to cheat me really made me feel bad; how do you know who to

trust? How do you know find some personal space and converse rather than be talked into something?

I'd arrived quite ill with some sort of persistent stomache problems, and was feeling it at the time after

having reaching the end of my second course of antibiotics since leaving the UK. The thought that I'd

probably die here in India, with no-one to help and people just taking my stuff as I lay incapacitated,

overwhelmed me as I lay in bed one evening. Needless to say I had a restless night sleep! How would I

last six weeks here in this dirty, poverty-stricken, cow-strewn, overcrowded, unfriendly country full of

swindlers?



My panic had passed by the morning, yet my stomache was still causing me problems. Got a lift to the

pharmacy to buy yet another course of antibiotics; had an ammusing conversation with the pharmacist

trying to explain the action of immodium tablets, and his equally commical attempts to tell me the tablets

he'd given me would do the job. The action of joined fists sweeping outwards and downwards with the

speed these things usually take; got the message across and raised a genuine, if somewhat embarrassed

smile. A horizontal outward sweep of the hands (to indicate a complete stop) drew a nod of agreement,

and the summing up with a fast upmoving fist slamming into my cupped hand drew a rather broad, yet still

somewhat embarrassed chuckle from everyone. To this day I'm not sure if I'd crossed the usual lines of

toilet conversation ettiquette with my unmistakable gesticulations in front of his other customs (yet I

thought it would be common place in India), or if he felt embarrassed for me at having to reveal these

things about my toilet breaks in front of an audience. I suspect it was the former, yet Matt and I found it

amusing.


The next day saw Matt and I hang around on Mahatma Ghandi day, trying to find something that's open

and something to do. We decided to move to Pahar Ganj in the morning and escape the cycle of wake-up,

free ride anywhere as long as it's via the tourist office. On arrival by rickshaw, we were immersed in a

swarming mass of people, cars and rickshaws busying about New Delhi train station. The daunting-looking

packed streets of Pahar Ganj main bazaar looked like something to psych myself up for so we retreated to

New Delhi train station to find some peace...big mistake. As soon as we arrive at the doorway, we were

told that the station was closed and that we should head to the local tourism office (as mentioned in lonely

planet, of course), then another chap came over and despite our statement that we just wanted to talk to

each other, he hung around and kept trying to start a conversation despite our complete lack of interest.

Not getting any space spurred us into heading into Pahar Ganj with no destination in mind. As soon as we

crossed the threshold, the madness outside seemed to dissolve away and the streets although busy

seemed more relaxed...quite a relief. We kept walking until we reached a police box to stop and think. We

happened to be just outside a hotel and were quickly invited inside Hotel Lord Krishna DX to check the

rooms. On noticing they had a rooftop cafe we decided to retreat there for some peace. What a perfect

slice of rooftop paradise. The noise of the street was a dim whisper, and I was very relieved to sit down

and chill. I realised that the train station experience and the busy streets, not to mention the thoughts of

death the previous night, has marked the onset of culture shock! The space I managed to find at the

rooftop cafe allowed my adrenaline levels to drop sufficiently so that it actually hit me. I sat there red-faced

and sweating, and was so glad Matt was there, looking completely unfazed and prefectly relaxed as ever,

so I didn't have to experience this by myself (Cheers ;o) ). Yet in two days I'd be here by myself and

what would happen then? I was determined to stick out my time here and not run away, as all my

reasoning was suggesting to me. There must be something that makes this country special as everyone

says, some redeeming features I'd not yet discovered...yet I couldn't help my thoughts leading me to

'this country's shit and I hate it!' I hoped it would pass.

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