Delhi/New Delhi: Some First Impressions

I didn’t think anything could really persuade me really to like Indian cities. In my experience they are noisy, dirty, and frenetic. Each may have its charms or interests, to be sure, but overall …. Then I came to Delhi. One of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world, Delhi has gone through many changes.  I’ve had just a brief encounter of the old and new cities with an expectation of several more days later in my trip.

The flight from Trivandrum was tedious. I’d had to get up around 3:00 a.m. to make my way from Kollam to the airport in time. Jet Airways made a stopover in Bengalaru, meaning that I had my knees pressed firmly into the back of the seat in front of me for just over four hours. Like other carriers these days, they require you to pay for the “refreshments” that come around. Once landed, however, all resentment was gone as I entered the enormous, modern domestic terminal of the Indira Ghandi International Airport. My ride to the hotel was on hand and we sped off down the highway into the city. Driving in India is worth a separate account of its own. See the relevant blog.

I’d come to India prepared for the almost tropical climate of the South. Delhi was rather cooler, with temperatures in the teens. No more sandals and t-shirts for a while! My hotel was located in what seemed to be a major shopping area for clothes, so after unpacking, I went out to find some sweater or jacket. I’m not an enthusiastic clothes shopper at the best of times, so the array of choices was almost too much to bear. Store succeeded store along the streets. In front of most of them were yet further stalls offering marked down versions of what was inside. There was everything from the most sumptuous wedding garments for brides and grooms (at least in India the groom can look just about as resplendent as the bride. What’s more, he gets to show up at the wedding on horseback) to the latest Levi and Gap products. I bought an unimaginative sweater and then just wandered the streets, taking in the sights and sounds.

The next morning I had arranged for a driver and guide in order to maximize the time. It was probably lucky that it was Sunday. Traffic and crowds were less than usual. Going by the Red Fort, we went to the Jama Masjid, or Friday mosque, built between 1644 and 1658. This is the third largest mosque in the world, following the one in Mecca (not one I’ll ever get to see), and the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. It can hold a staggering 25,000 people. You exchange your shoes at the entrance for some white slippers. Women are given a kind of voluminous, padded nightgown which covers them from neck to foot. The mosque’s design incorporates clues about Shah Jahan’s religiously tolerant views. The domes include the lotus flower, symbol of Hindu religion.

Jama Masjid
 

I decided to climb the narrow, winding staircase up the southern minaret. 121 steps later I had a magnificent view of the city. It was well worth the climb. On the main level, the white and black marble inlay of the floor sets out the precise space for prayer mats. The architect wisely provided spots for those who are either extra-long or extra-wide. Would that airlines could be as prescient!

Places for Prayer Mats

At Prayer

From the mosque I took a bicycle rickshaw through the narrow streets of old Delhi. I imagine only someone born and raised there could ever really come to know the way around. The streets we took were narrow enough, but running off them was a spider web of still smaller lanes and alleys, disappearing into shadows and turnings. Overhead was another web of wires, either an electrician’s nightmare or an ingenious, if dubious-looking solution to providing power to every part of the lattice-work of streets.

Electrician's Nightmare

Gandhi Memorial

From the tangle of old Delhi’s streets, we sped down the Rajpath or King’s Way. I’d seen this imposing boulevard on television where the country’s Republic Day celebrations made full use of its grand design. The English architect Edward Lutyens designed and built New Delhi between 1914 and 1931 when the British moved their capital from Calcutta. The design was intended to be a monument in stone to the British Raj. In the event, the British were gone by 1947 but the new republic has made the most of Lutyen’s work. The departure of the British was brought about in large measure by Mohandas K. Ghandi, the Mahatma. His memorial is eloquent in its simplicity, a fitting tribute to his own ability to speak truth peacefully to power. 

The Rashtrapati Bhavan or President’s House used to be home to the Viceroy of India. Apparently Earl Mountbatten employed hundreds of servants, including fifty boys whose task was to scare away birds from the gardens. There was no sign of any such servants, but bands of roaming monkeys seemed to have taken their places.

Presidential Palace

Monkey Patrol

After doing some shopping for gifts for people back home, my guide dropped me off at a restaurant for some lunch. This was a place offering “mixed” cuisine, i.e., served Western as well as Indian food. I can never seem to convince people here that I really do like, even prefer, Indian food , and the spicier the better. To get to the washroom, I had to pass from the main dining area through a section that was almost stygian in darkness, dominated by loud, pulsing techno-music. I could dimly discern young couples sitting in booths around this area, snogging furiously. I expect the music and especially the darkness are the draw for those who would not otherwise be able to engage in such public displays of affection. Even married couples do not embrace or hold hands in this conservative culture.

Humayun's Tomb

The highlight of the tour after lunch was Humayun’s Tomb. The tomb was built in the early 16^th century by Haji Begum, the Persian-born wife of the second Moghul emperor, Humayun. The design is a kind of proto-Taj Mahal, but it possesses its own striking beauty. Red sandstone and white marble combine to form a squat building with a bulbous dome. The tomb area is found on the upper level, reached by high, steep steps. Light filters in through high, arched entrances and latticed windows. There are several other tombs within the precinct, including one of Haji Begum herself. The lawns, trees, and fountains around the tombs provide a restful, well-proportioned, and pleasing park. Truly, a beautiful place.

Dome above the tomb

Floor detail

Couple visiting the tomb

Not just your usual walk in the park

This is a brief account of a brief visit in which the city revealed some of its most attractive features to me. I plan to be back towards the end of March before going home. I’ll look forward to seeing more of this great city, as well as having a tour of some of its sad and difficult slum areas, for the reality of Delhi includes both. 

Sacred Cows

It takes special skill to drive in India. Vehicles of every sort speed madly around. Autorickshaws, small cars, trucks, motorcycles, bicycle rickshaws, and even hapless pedestrians compete for space on the roads. And in the midst of all this frenetic activity you see a cow or two serenely standing or walking in the midst of it all.

Animals are sacred in India, but the cow stands supreme among all others. Beef, of course, is not eaten by devout Hindus who are vegetarians, but cow’s milk continues to be an important part of people’s diets, providing needed protein and calcium. When cows get old and no longer provide milk, owners simply turn them loose. To have a cow die on your property, in your care, is to incur serious religious obligations, including penitential pilgrimages all over the country, and an obligation to feed the local priests for a year. Such cows are not left to fend entirely for themselves, however. The first chapatti of the day in village households is always set out for the cows. People continue to watch out for and care for wandering cows which may be hungry.

Why cows seem to cluster around intersections is a bit of a mystery. They certainly slow traffic down.  One theory is that the congestion of gasoline and diesel exhaust fumes at intersections deters flies, making these particularly cow-friendly gathering places. That may be altogether too ingenious a theory, but it is certain that given the love and respect people pay them, these creatures will never be cowed. (Sorry. Couldn't resist milking it for all it's worth.)

Driving in India

A Short Quiz for Drivers in India.

Multiple Choice Section

1. Lane markings on roads are

a)      A make-work program for road-line painters

b)      A mere suggestion

c)       Lanes?

2. Sounding one’s horn is

a)      A warning that a vehicle is overtaking another

b)      A warning that another person or vehicle is in imminent peril

c)       Both “a” and “b”

3. This road sign is meant

a)      To be taken seriously

b)      A typical bureaucratic mistake: it should read "avid honking"

c)       To be understood as bitter, post-modern irony

4. Potholes are

a)      An unfortunate reality given the lack of public funds for infrastructure

b)      Cheaper than speed bumps

c)       Both “a” and “b”

5. To cross a street, a pedestrian should look right and

a)      Wait for a break in traffic – all day, if necessary

b)      Think about an alternate route that includes no street crossings

c)       Pray, step off the curb, run like hell --- sauve qui peut!

The stories about the challenges of driving in India are legion. Robinson Melkis, my Capuchin friend in Kollam, maintains that “If you can drive in India, you can drive anywhere.” Whether that is true or not, it must at least mean that you can fear no other situation for sooner or later you will encounter all of them in India. Part of the challenge is simply the vast and growing number of vehicles. There are thought to be some 2,000,000 cars registered in Delhi alone, along with 100,000 auto rickshaws, countless motorcycles, and unnumbered bicycles.

Unless you’re on the relatively rare divided highway, there is almost no telling which part of the road a vehicle will occupy at any time. Even on narrow roads, several vehicles may be abreast of one another, stretching across the road, with a similar line of approaching vehicles, all sounding their horns, all jockeying for position. Small wonder that I have rarely seen a car that did not have scratches or dents in the fenders or bumpers. I saw one aged Sikh powering a battered little car down the road. He had evidently solved the problem of a too-wide vehicle: all that was left of the side mirrors on both sides were holes for the mounting.

Only at night does the horn-honking quiet down. I don’t know whether it is law or custom for vehicles to honk as they overtake, but they all do it. As I’ve been driven along in an auto rickshaw on a noisy, busy street, I’ve wondered who outside the vehicle could possibly hear the squeeze-bulb horn the driver sounds.  I’ve heard louder horns on children’s bicycles.

Slow Moving Vehicle

Somehow though this huge nation moves itself around. The challenges of infrastructure only continue to mount as more and more people become affluent enough to graduate from bicycles to motorcycles and then to cars. And in addition to infrastructure, there is the growing and very real issue of decent air quality. I hadn’t been in Delhi a day before I found myself joining in the chorus of honks and coughs expressed by a respiratorily-challenged populace.

Went for a Haircut. Found Delight

When it comes to getting a haircut, I think I’m typical of most men and regard it from a merely utilitarian perspective. There’s not a whole lot of pleasure in it and the necessity of devoting the time and waiting your turn is little offset by the reading material on hand. That said, once I’ve found a barber I trust I am as loyal as Kent to Lear, or Jonathon to David. Assure me, barber, that you can produce the same effect without shadow of change or variation each and every time and I am your evermore your devoted customer.

Extended travel, however, requires a temporary, regretted but necessary faithlessness. Sooner or later the gap between the passport photo and the actual state of your unruly locks becomes too great to ignore. I’m staying at the moment in the beach town of Varkala, in the southern part of Kerala, truly one of the most beautiful regions of India or anywhere. The beach area has no barbers, however, so I hailed an autorickshaw and asked the driver to take me to a barber in Varkala town. He drove me in the several kilometres to town and escorted me to the barber shop. It’s good that he did so. There was nothing from the outside that I could see that distinguished this little hole in the wall as a barber’s. No pole, no pictures of recently groomed models in the window (not that there was a window), no sign that I could read.

The young barber was good at his trade. The scissors snipped satisfactorily. The clippers caused the outline of my jaw to reappear beneath my beard. The straight razor was mercilessly sharp: no need for a shave for a day or two after that. When he was done, he asked whether I wanted a head massage. I had no idea what that involved but thought, why not? When in Rome ….

Master of His Trade

I’d anticipated a couple of minutes of him wiggling his fingers into my skull. Instead he spent the next 15 or 20 minutes (I completely lost track of time) alternately massaging, kneading, stroking, pummeling, punching, and slapping my skull, anointing it from time to time with fragrant oil. Perhaps I should have guessed what was coming. Kerala, after all, is famous for its ayurvedic treatments and massages. Not only did he do my head, but dealt as well with my ears, brows, and shoulders. Towards the end of this extraordinary process, he ran his hands down my back to give my kidneys a little jolt. Then he manipulated my head back and forth, up and down, until – to my great surprise – he did one of those little jerk and twist manoeuvres that chiropractors perform, complete with popping noises from the cervical spine. Just as suddenly, the rickshaw driver was back, telling me for the barber that I was to leave the oil on for at least an hour before washing it out.

An hour had past. I left the shop, shorn, radiant, head fairly glowing. All this for about $5.00 Canadian. The cut was just fine. I’d go back in a moment for the head massage. 

Demure and newly shorn

Pilgrimage around Arunachala

The city of Tiruvannamalai in Tamil Nadu sits at the foot of the mountain Arunachala. This is one of the most important sites for devotion to the god Shiva. Legend has it that the gods Brahma and Vishnu as to which was the more powerful. The dispute was resolved when a column of fire shot up to the heavens from Arunachala, manifesting Shiva as the most powerful. The fiery column is the origin of the lingam (phallus) as a symbol of Shiva. Around the mountain are linga at the cardinal and sub-cardinal points of the compass.

On the occasion of a full moon, thousands of devotees gather in Tiruvannamalai to walk the 14 km. route around the mountain in honour of Shiva. Last night, I went with a group to join in this pilgrimage.

Temple at the beginning of the walk

. Devotees add their own flames to the gathering light.

Arunachala

Robot Horoscopes

So, what was it all about in the end? I'm still processing that. Can't say I did it for the sake of Shiva, but it was a close experience of sharing, at least to an extent, in a celebration of another religion. In addition to a small blister, that was a the main gift and one for which I'm grateful.