Delhi Life and Punjabi Travels

27 July

As of this moment my trip is actually on the precipice of beginning. The Hyderabad students left today, so now the vacation is really over. Just before they left we had our first encounter with Delhi's monsoon rains. It was incredible. Within minutes the street was turned into a lake as the sky just chucked it down on us. It felt like the weather knew how we were all feeling and turned our misery into a downpour. I for one will miss those friends I made in our first month very much, but beside that I also have this impending feeling that the trip will get a lot more difficult, though perhaps a little more authentic, from here on out. I'll really have to learn how to live and do many other things alone in a big, foreign city.

We went to go and see the new Harry Potter movie at a cinema nearby to our hostel. It was great! A lovely three hour retreat - I almost forgot all about the cockroaches that all seem to flock to the pavement right outside the cinema. Also saw an ad for the LPU (Lovely Professional University - no joke) before the movie started. It offers an "A++ education." Perhaps I should go there instead of Delhi University, which can't seem to figure out when Anthropology classes should meet, even though term technically began last week.

29 July

All moved into our apartment. That is, the five of us who are supposed to live here plus seven others whose flats are still under construction. It's a little crowded and very hot (no AC) but a bit like a sleepover so it's a good time. I'm a little daunted by the prospect of having to furnish our apartment, buying things like kitchenware and appliances and cushions, plus organizing internet etc. I have no idea where to begin to look for these things in Delhi and nobody offers any advice or help. My landlord must have a sense of humour for thinking that a 1/2" thick padded blanket passes for a mattress, so I have to buy one of those too. I have a squatting toilet in my bathroom and my mirror and sink are outside in the hallway. Nowhere to unpack my clothes into and twelve people's things are everywhere so it's really hard to unpack. Did I mention that it's really hot in our apartment? Don't feel like doing anything, so excuse the little spoiled tirade. I'm off to bed.

1 August

Apartment is starting to shape up a bit. Got a mattress yesterday! Lovely to sleep on but still so damn hot, I woke up in a bath of sweat this morning. Horrible.

Went to the Anthro department at school yesterday because they said the timetable would be up the day before. Turns out it wasn't, so they said at the office come back Monday, a week after classes were supposed to start. Fantastic. Guess this is what happens when you attend university in a third world country.

7 August

On the train to Amritsar. Got to the New Delhi train station early in the morning for the train to leave at 7:20. The train station floor was pretty crammed with sleeping people, some waiting for trains, clutching their luggage, but mostly beggars and street people. Right outside the entrance from the Metro I'm quite sure I saw a dead man because I've never seen flies swarm on anybody like that before. They were in his ears, and half-opened eyes, and mouth while he just lay there motionless and gaunt. A few beggars came up to me as I waited to board the coach. One man was particularly shocking because he was burnt all over his body, his skin fusing in strange ways around his neck and his hands. I had to turn away from him as he loomed above me, disfigured hand outstretched. I felt so awful. About half of the beggars I see here are burn victims. Many others are blind. In Rishikesh I saw a woman whose nose had been cut off. It sort of hits home that most of these disfigurements were done to them so that they could make more money as beggars. Although I've also heard of women being doused in Kerosene by their husbands over dowry disputes. My housemate Ronny also told me about a man who kidnapped his niece and tried to rape her. When she resisted he poured acid over her face, blinding and scarring her for life. He was put up for trial but pardoned. Today that man is a wealthy, influential judge.

But I try not to think of these things very often. It's just a reality that comes with India, so I have to move on to a lighter note. I spent the entire day in Pahar Ganj yesterday, my favourite shopping district. Have come to the realization that India, especially Delhi, is like one giant flea market and that I may very well return home with a shopping addiction. How I'll get everything back to the states, though, I've no idea. I'm in a love affair with harem pants - thin, baggy crotched, bunched at the ankles and popular with backpacking hippies across the country. I also had my palm read there. It was ridiculous but a good laugh! I'm confused though, he told me I think too much, but that I should use my head first more often, then my heart. Also, I'm apparently an angry person when it comes to troubles with love and I should learn to control that more. Hmmm...

Was thinking of planning a trip to Dharamsala and McLeod Ganj next weekend but just found out that next Saturday is Independence Day, and that Friday is Krishna's birthday. Funny that each Hindu god has a birthday - I wonder if it's like having twelve Christmases? Anyway, the Saturday should be great so I don't want to miss out. There's going to be a parade all the way from India Gate to the Red Fort and I've heard there are elephants involved (yay!). Then the weekend after that we're taking a class trip to Agra and Jaipur to see the Taj Mahal, which of course I'm really excited for.

Good thing is that I finally have classes sorted and have organized to take them on Mondays and Wednesdays only, so I should be able to travel a lot with all my four day weekends. It's a rough life.

Flat is much emptier and much more organized with everyone gone, but still really hot! Trying to get a fridge and internet but these sort of amenities - sorry, luxuries - take forever in this country. The carpenter finally came by last night and fixed a pole in my wardrobe. I was so happy I could've kissed him! I guess I'm an easy girl to please these days. Now, if I could just get them to keep mysterious little black hairs out of my train food...

9 August
I'm back from Amritsar, surviving on two very early mornings but otherwise really content with the weekend. Booked a cheap hotel room for the three of us travelling together when we got in, then pottered around downtown Amritsar for a bit. Ended up seeing #1 of the only 3 exciting things to see in Amritsar - the Jallianwalah Bagh. It was the site of a devastating massacre in 1919, when the British General Dyer ordered the firing of thousands of rounds onto a defenseless crowd of 20,000 Indians who had gathered in peaceful protest against the Rowlatt Acts. 1,500 were injured and over 300 were killed, some of whom were women and children. Nobody was ever given a warning, and found themselves trapped in the little square, surrounded by high walls and tiny alleyways. It was really sad to discover all of this at the very location where so many were brutally killed ninety years ago. It's been turned into wuite a nice park now in memory of those who died, but it's also pretty similar to every other monument in India - beggars sleeping on benches in the shade and people pretending that they're not taking pictures of you on their camera phone, even though it's pretty obvious...

It was a good experience to be in a new state in India, where a small change in location means a new language, new food, new cultural customs. Apparently Punjabis are considered to be the hillbillies of India - always down to drink, smoke, party, and fight. They are the butt of many blonde-style jokes, and there's a saying here that Punjabis are best at starting parties and ending them. Their fierce attitude seeps into traditional Sikh dress, which has the effect of looking really militant complete with turban, beard, dagger, and hilted sword. It's sort of like encountering a friendly Taliban. Gun shops were also pretty prevalent wherever we went, and I've never met Indian women fearless enough to brave the crazy traffic on a motorbike by themselves, salwar kamiz flapping in the breeze behind them. Forget Texas, here the phrase is "don't mess with Punjab."

Amritsar attraction #2: The Golden Temple, the holiest site for Sikhs. We woke up at four in the morning and got there by 4:30 to see the holy book, the Guru Granth Sahib, be moved from its nighttime resting place into the Hari Mandir, which is the Golden epicentre of the entire city-like compound. It seemed to be a particularly dark night when we got there. I made my way over to one side of the Amit Sarovar, which is the lake-like blessing pool that surrounds the Hari Mandir like an island. The water looked as ink black as the sky. I have an eerie image in my memory of a Sikh boy disappearing into the dark water and rising up from it again, bathed in the yellow light emitted from the temple and eyes shining. All was peaceful and silent except for the echoing blend of tabla, harmonium, and song.

And all this time, I realized later that afternoon, the border line between India and Pakistan was a mere 9km away from Amritsar. We went to Wagah at sunset, the final checkpost and site of the infamous border ceremony. One hour later I find myself trapped in the midst of something more along the lines of a halftime show than I imagined, coaxed into cheering for Hindustan and cursing Pakistan in Hindi, and simultaneously trying to ward off the suffocating advances of an old drunk man to my right with very bad breath. When the singing and dancing are over, the official ceremonies at last begin and I peer through a crowd of about 700 other people to catch a glimpse of the giant guards, complete with fanned out turbans and shiny black boots, goosestepping in perfect synchronicity with the Pakistani side. The opposing guards get so close, they could be kissing, but instead they throw out their arms in a bird-like intimidation move that seems to jeer, "I'm bigger than you!" And the whole time in the background one guard from each side is screaming something that sounds like "GOAL!" as if we're at a football match, keeping the note for as long as he can in an attempt to drown out the other side. I love how passionate each side of congregants was for their country, and how openly ridiculous the entire ceremony was.

And at the same time it was funny, because just twenty feet away from where we were sitting was a line, an arbitrary line that sixty years ago separated these two sets of people without their consent, that made it so that over here we speak Hindi and you will speak Urdu, and you will worship Allah and here our women will not have to cover their heads, and we will not identify with each other anymore because somewhere some foreign hand that had nothing to do with it took a pen and paper and drew a line that became that physical line right there.

Borders are funny things.

Mum has complained to me that my blog, extracted almost directly from my diary, isn't personal enough. So let me explain, in personal terms, for her sake: I have a line to divide my two parts. They are in constant rivalry - a shouting match where one must outlast the other in order to be heard. So, it is only quietly that I miss you (among other things), while the other side of me, the guard of my own emotions, yells selfishly into a megaphone of the things she has seen and the places she has been to. What am I to do? If I open up the gates to the other side there's no telling when the shouting match will end.

आगे समय तक - बहुत प्यार।