i arrived in new delhi via (insert random european city here) at some godforsaken hour of the morning – one of the gazillion ‘red eye’ flights that non-resident indians (nris) have grown accustomed to over the years. surprisingly enough, i sped through the customs line and had gathered my baggage in minutes (something i wasn’t used to – let’s just say that more often than not, if you’re flying air, you may never see the contents of your checked baggage again).
and i know that as a person of indian origin, i prolly shouldn’t dis air india, but geez - i really think that i could have done a thesis on how air india as a business could be construed as the epitome of why old-school india-born businesses can never really prosper – no prospects for employees to ‘move up’ in the organization, zero tolerance for for customers (it’s true – no concept of customer service!), ill treatment of the grandma/grandpa types (although they can be pretty feisty themselves sometimes : ), and i’ll spare you the rest.
i really should own up to the fact that most of this angst is coming from the ‘now,’ especially since I was feeling really frickin relieved (that my luggage was intact) and exhausted (as is expected after hours upon hours of sitting on a plan doing stan-the-man exercises).
back to the story though - as i quickly gathered my belongings and steered myself over to the pre-paid taxi counter, the pungent odors of the india that i loved and hated dearly left me wondering if i could do this all over again - put on a front of 'knowing' when that was the furthest from the truth - 'knowing' the bigger things--like language and making realistic, thoughtful travel plans--as well as the smaller things--like how much to tip, how to get from place to place, and if i'll get diarrhea merely from thinking about whether or not i'll get it.
so, i took a deep breath as i rolled by baggage cart out of the airport, and stole furtive glances in the direction of the alleged pre-paid taxi stand. when i didn't find them, i asked a security officer in my ivy league hindi, 'taxi stand kahaa par hai?' he gestured the direction that i should head.
after much strife (mostly due to the approach of direction giving in india generally, i.e. ‘the place that you’re looking for is past the petrol bunk, three roads later you’ll see a temple – don’t turn there, the next road over – there’ll be another temple, turn there….’ – and you’ll get this if you’re lucky), we landed up at the guest house i was staying at with my close friend and travel buddy for the next month.
we stayed in delhi long enough to check out the Bahá'í lotus temple which was an oasis of peace and quietude in the gadbud that defines almost every nook and cranny of delhi. and let me assure you that by ‘quietude,’ i mean quietude.
i emphasize this because my friend and i were chastised more than once for whispering to each other in the prayer area. i don’t think we were being disruptive, but of course i do happen to be one of the two rebels disobeying the numerous ‘silence please’ signs. in our defense, we were merely trying to process our understanding of the baha’ii faith.
i can’t really remember what else we did in delhi – the mélange of intense heat, humidity, and pollution has most likely has obliterated any memory of what else may or may not have taken place in the motherland’s capital.
more on the next destination to follow. . .
1 comment:
Thanks for writing this.
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