There & Back Again

As my taxi trundled south from the city of Delhi to it’s smaller neighbour Gurgaon, giant concrete edifices, skeletons of apartment blocks, malls and miniature cities yet to be born loomed out of the dust like some Balardian nightmare. The smog and pollution hung thick over the land, a veil of dirty mucus coating everything in sight and disguising everything but the near distance. In a city of nearly 13 million people, crammed in between alleyways and dusty roads teeming with a constant pulse of motorbikes, tuk-tuks, rickshaws and battered old vehicles all clamouring for space between the lanes, the terrible air quality should come as no surprise. But it still hits like a filthy rag to the face.

Finding my initial accommodation in Delhi proved to be, compared to previous experiences, rather painless. I’d pre-arranged to be picked up from Indira Gandhi airport and duly escorted to my hotel, the rolling film of my introduction to the city sweeping past the taxi windows—the poverty, the feculence, the unabashed urinating into the trash-littered ditches at the sides of the road, and above all else the horrendous traffic. Thankfully my bleary-eyed interest in the goings on outside my window distracted me from watching ahead, otherwise I would have been liable to leave a terrible stain in that sorry cab!

I initially spent 2 days by myself in Delhi, before joining the other members of the month long program in a peculiar dorm house hidden at the back of a half-built neighbourhood near Gurgaon, around an hour or so south of the capital. However, feeling worn-out by the long flight, my out-of-sync body clock and the sheer overwhelm of Dehli, I spent most of my time sleeping myself into my new reality and saving energy for the busy 4 weeks ahead. In face, I barely left the sanctuary of the hotel besides a few inquisitive strolls around the hectic local market district of Karol Bagh.

My first impressions of the area, and consequently of Delhi and India as a whole, were of trash-bordered dirt roads, crumbling structures of peeling paint and plaster and rusty shop signs hanging weakly from their supports, colourful posters adorning every free patch of wall tugging at their last few inches of paste, stray dogs roaming between the cars and bikes without a care in the world and the expected beggars and hustlers vying for my attention. But taking detours down the telephone wire strewn alleyways presented me with a startling variation and contradiction between the 3rd and 1st worlds. Toothless awkers grappled for my rupees offering everything from knock-off sunglasses to disgustingly cheap tours of the city as young couples wandered past, arm-in-arm, dressed in Ralph Lauren and Gucci. One minute I’d find myself in a claustrophobic alley crammed with tiny stalls boasting silks and saris, cheap mobiles and steaming pans of tantalising curries, when a left turn would bring me out onto an equally crowded road lined with Western-style high street shopping, Gelato ice cream stalls and the global fast food staple—McDonalds! What struck me as so peculiar between these two very different but so closely geographically linked worlds was the steady, similar stream of street traffic—smartly dressed, evidently well-to-do shoppers nonchalantly picking their way between legless beggars, filthy (probably homeless) children and mothers and cows (considered a holy animal) padding along between the cars without blinking an eye, shitting wherever they fancy. What was even more peculiar amongst the maelstrom was that I felt surprisingly comfortable and unintimidated—I didn’t garner odd glances being the only Caucasian in the crowd, and in fairness I was barely bothered by any hawkers. Everyone was extremely polite and friendly if necessary, otherwise pretty much ignoring me!

Feeding myself with tasty nibbles from street vendors, I quickly discovered that the general standard of English is surprisingly high, usually backed up with a dance of indicative gestures, but by-and-large I found no trouble with the language barrier, which is always reassuring. My meanderings around the endless market mazes may have been short and sweet, but not in vain or with lack of thrill.

Friday night was an early one, allowing the group of 6 to make acquaintances and try to tackle the effects of jet lag and the revised timezone for the packed tour of the city the following day. Three females, three males—an even mix. On the men’s team, besides myself, we’ve Daniel, a shy German with a steady but heavily accented grasp of English, and a chirpy Essex lad called Matt who thankfully doesn’t adhere to the stereotype. On the women’s team: Becky, a seasoned traveler; Fay, from Scotland, the eldest of the group; and on her first backpacking adventure is Evie from Widness.

Yesterday, Saturday, was the kick-off of the trip. The cobwebs of jet lag and sleep deprivation clung to everyone as we were shipped around the sights of Delhi—India Gate (another mock Arc du Triumph, equally impressive but a rather tired concept), the Presidential Palace, Raj Ghat—the final resting place of Indian icon Ghandi, and the highlight being a trip to a Sikh temple. The two issue at hand that deprived the day of excitement were the tedious stand-still journeys between each area due to the onslaught of traffic (and Delhi being too large to realistically walk between everything), and the desperate desire to actually stretch ones legs around the city after, in most of the group’s case, a day on a plane. After the excursion to the Sikh temple, I convinced our tour guide Anand to swiftly escort us to the Karol Bagh area so I could show the group the tangled market streets I’d discovered previously. Thankfully this satisfied eveyones hunger for a taste of the real city instead of tourist-infested sights.

A couple of beers in an off-the-mark “English” bar we discovered in a local shopping mall last night sated our thirst for alcoholic refreshment and helped everyone to relax and get to know one another better, but failed to ease me into slumber as another fairly sleepless night proved. Although only one solid day was spent in Delhi, with surely much still to see, most of the group, I especially, were happy to escape the smog as we boarded our minibus for the (sigh) 6 hour journey to Agra this morning, to the next point of the triangle.