It all...somehow...works
Welcome (Back) to India
Welcome (Back) to India
Descending through a thick blanket of clouds, I mean fog, ummm…maybe it’s pollution, I couldn’t see India but my senses knew it was there.
Walking briskly towards the ever mounting immigration line, I could have been anywhere in the world. Modern, air-conditioned and brimming with every walk of life, culture and nationality, New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport hardly prepares you for what lay on the other side of the arrivals lounge.
Clearing the final customs check I strode towards the exit with a mixture of emotion. Traveling to India 6 years prior, I knew what lay on the other side of those giant glass doors. A slap of reality that can hit harder than a 10-ton lorry truck!
First to attack my senses was the heat. Even at 5am, the dry heat of summer struck my drowsy pupils like a thousand tiny needles. I desperately wanted to limit their surface exposure to this unexpected assault, but wide eyes were necessary if I were to see through the fog that hung in the air like a filmy residue. Sucking in my first breath of the dense, grey atmosphere, the most unpleasant shock of all infiltrated my nose.
It was the raw smell of humanity. Sweat, urine, stale air, exhaust and rotting trash all coalescing into this somehow, acceptable odor. But don't dismay. For every unsavory smell, there is a cornucopia of uniquely delightful aromas just around the corner. The spicy bouquets of mouthwatering curries, the sweet scent of chai and the soothing fragrances of jasmine and rose incense all united in an effort to keep the balance.
Walking briskly towards the ever mounting immigration line, I could have been anywhere in the world. Modern, air-conditioned and brimming with every walk of life, culture and nationality, New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport hardly prepares you for what lay on the other side of the arrivals lounge.
Clearing the final customs check I strode towards the exit with a mixture of emotion. Traveling to India 6 years prior, I knew what lay on the other side of those giant glass doors. A slap of reality that can hit harder than a 10-ton lorry truck!
First to attack my senses was the heat. Even at 5am, the dry heat of summer struck my drowsy pupils like a thousand tiny needles. I desperately wanted to limit their surface exposure to this unexpected assault, but wide eyes were necessary if I were to see through the fog that hung in the air like a filmy residue. Sucking in my first breath of the dense, grey atmosphere, the most unpleasant shock of all infiltrated my nose.
It was the raw smell of humanity. Sweat, urine, stale air, exhaust and rotting trash all coalescing into this somehow, acceptable odor. But don't dismay. For every unsavory smell, there is a cornucopia of uniquely delightful aromas just around the corner. The spicy bouquets of mouthwatering curries, the sweet scent of chai and the soothing fragrances of jasmine and rose incense all united in an effort to keep the balance.
“Taxi, taxi”. The vultures were descending. I needed to move quickly.
Avoiding eye contact like the plague (which somehow signals to drivers your need of their services), I plowed through the wall of eager chauffeurs.
Mercifully, I didn’t have far to go. Adjacent to the concrete sandwich of pick up lanes was the metro station. Or should I call it the graveyard? Dozens of bodies lay motionless on the cool, tiled floor. Had these poor souls missed a connection from the night before? Upon further investigation I realized many of the people lacked shoes, others lay covered in remnants of tattered clothing and still others slept blissfully unaware of the swarms of flies that had taken up residence above their heads. I guess these bodies are of a recurring nature.
Avoiding eye contact like the plague (which somehow signals to drivers your need of their services), I plowed through the wall of eager chauffeurs.
Mercifully, I didn’t have far to go. Adjacent to the concrete sandwich of pick up lanes was the metro station. Or should I call it the graveyard? Dozens of bodies lay motionless on the cool, tiled floor. Had these poor souls missed a connection from the night before? Upon further investigation I realized many of the people lacked shoes, others lay covered in remnants of tattered clothing and still others slept blissfully unaware of the swarms of flies that had taken up residence above their heads. I guess these bodies are of a recurring nature.
Weaving through the corpse-like frames, I headed towards an escalator marked with a yellow ticket icon. Surely there would be more activity below.
Stepping off the escalator my gaze was met by a handful of other weary travelers in search of the same coveted voucher. I eventually found the ticket counter but like the lobby upstairs, nobody was home. Only a handwritten sign that read, “Closed”.
Hot on my frustrated heels was an overzealous taxi driver. Worse than a broken record, he kept repeating, “Counter closed madam. Need taxi”. Tired and on my last nerve, I snapped at him, "Get lost." Luckily, a slightly more honest taxi driver heard the exchange and came to my assistance. He informed me there was an open counter two levels down.
Stepping off the escalator my gaze was met by a handful of other weary travelers in search of the same coveted voucher. I eventually found the ticket counter but like the lobby upstairs, nobody was home. Only a handwritten sign that read, “Closed”.
Hot on my frustrated heels was an overzealous taxi driver. Worse than a broken record, he kept repeating, “Counter closed madam. Need taxi”. Tired and on my last nerve, I snapped at him, "Get lost." Luckily, a slightly more honest taxi driver heard the exchange and came to my assistance. He informed me there was an open counter two levels down.
Appreciative of his assistance, I placed my palms together and gave a slight bow of my head. He only laughed and wagged his head in acknowledgement.
Moving into the basement of the building, I found a, be still my heart, manned security checkpoint. Placing my backpacks on the aging conveyer belt I lined up behind two other men and walked through the machine. Each of these men, along with the security guard, looked at me funny but I didn’t think much of it. After all, I’ve come to expect inquisitive stares whilst in India.
In this instance, they had reason to stare. I was going through the wrong security line. I forgot there are 2 lines in India. One for women and one for men. Collecting my bags from the other side, I returned through the security machine and moved 8 feet to the right to pass through the correct checkpoint. A woman with more wrinkles than was deserving of her age, stepped out from behind a thick red curtain. She gave me a tired once over and motioned me inside. Half expecting a strip search after my recent security folly, I was relieved to see the magic security wand materialize from her bag. Passing over my torso, head and limbs with little to no enthusiasm, she declared, “Tika” (okay).
Moving into the basement of the building, I found a, be still my heart, manned security checkpoint. Placing my backpacks on the aging conveyer belt I lined up behind two other men and walked through the machine. Each of these men, along with the security guard, looked at me funny but I didn’t think much of it. After all, I’ve come to expect inquisitive stares whilst in India.
In this instance, they had reason to stare. I was going through the wrong security line. I forgot there are 2 lines in India. One for women and one for men. Collecting my bags from the other side, I returned through the security machine and moved 8 feet to the right to pass through the correct checkpoint. A woman with more wrinkles than was deserving of her age, stepped out from behind a thick red curtain. She gave me a tired once over and motioned me inside. Half expecting a strip search after my recent security folly, I was relieved to see the magic security wand materialize from her bag. Passing over my torso, head and limbs with little to no enthusiasm, she declared, “Tika” (okay).
One open ticket counter and 60 rupees ($1) later, I was on my way to the city.
Like the airport, the metro was clean, modern and air-conditioned. Reveling in the fresh, cool air I relaxed ever so slightly for the 20 minute journey. I knew the most challenging leg of the trip was still ahead.
Swallowed whole by the steady stream of passengers pouring out from the metro car, I bounced between adults and children, briefcases and roller bags. A young couple from Punjab approached and asked if I needed directions. When I mentioned the train station, the girl quickly reached into her knock off Fendi and pulled out a bright pink, bedazzled I-phone. Swiping and clicking the screen with a well-practiced touch she sang out moments later, “You leave from Ek Platform” (Platform 1). We will walk with you.”
Like the airport, the metro was clean, modern and air-conditioned. Reveling in the fresh, cool air I relaxed ever so slightly for the 20 minute journey. I knew the most challenging leg of the trip was still ahead.
Swallowed whole by the steady stream of passengers pouring out from the metro car, I bounced between adults and children, briefcases and roller bags. A young couple from Punjab approached and asked if I needed directions. When I mentioned the train station, the girl quickly reached into her knock off Fendi and pulled out a bright pink, bedazzled I-phone. Swiping and clicking the screen with a well-practiced touch she sang out moments later, “You leave from Ek Platform” (Platform 1). We will walk with you.”
Only located a few hundred meters across the street, the train station is so close…yet so far. Rickshaws, taxi drivers, buses and porters all rush to win your business while you do your best not to get hit by oncoming traffic. Weaving through the chaos and congestion, haze and horns, can be overwhelming. The best advice is to simply choose your line and walk with confidence.
Nearing the towering, timeworn structure, memories of 12-hour train delays and camping on less than hygienic concrete floors came rushing back. Hopefully today’s journey would not be a repeat of 6 years ago.
Joining the cue for the security screening, I waved goodbye to my friends, and prepared for battle. You see, in India there is no such thing as a line. Only a multiple person wide snake of a thing, where elbows and pushing determine you’re overall progress forward.
A taste of what awaited me on the platform, I recalled. But where was the wall of people pushing for entry into each railcar? And where were the giant bags and tattered cardboard boxes of personal belongings being shimmied overhead and slotted into the quickly filling berths?
My car, C3, was boarded in a, dare I say it, calm and stress-free manner. This was the benefit of business class. I had an assigned seat and therefore no need to push my way into a railcar in an attempt to claim a coveted window seat. This ticket was quite a luxury I must admit, but for only $5 USD more, I rationalized that some things are certainly worth it – especially after 32 hours of travel and counting.
Chugging away from the station, I took in the sights of inner city Delhi. An interesting mix of businessmen in fancy BMW’s, families on hardly street legal motorcycles and vegetable peddlers pushing their carts to market. Everyone was on the move, in one way or another.
As we moved further out of Delhi, the setting became much more rural. Men in loosely wrapped cotton clothing carrying buckets of water from community wells, women in beautiful sarees beating the day’s laundry against defenseless rocks and innumerable cows chomping on trash. And then I saw it. One of the most common occurrences during Indian train travel, especially at 7am. People doing their morning business in a most public of manners.
To understand this action, one must first understand that for those who do not have a toilet in their house, or in their neighborhood, the safest area to relieve yourself is near the train tracks. This cuts down on the spread of disease within a community.
Normally there is a level of discreteness. Backs turned towards the track, bums hovering inches above the ground and no eye contact. A “la la la…you can’t see” me mentality. But for one man, shame was his pride. Squatting a few feet form the tracks he faced the train with a smug expression. Balanced overtop a rather healthy display he had no need to avert his eyes as the train passed. Instead he made eye contact with everyone he could as if to say, “What? When you gotta go you gotta go.”
Cleaning the dumbfounded look off my face just in time, I turned to greet the train attendant who wagged his head happily and offered chai and cookies. Settling back into my seat for the 5-hour journey to Rishikesh, my final destination, I chuckled to myself, “It all…somehow…works.”
Cleaning the dumbfounded look off my face just in time, I turned to greet the train attendant who wagged his head happily and offered chai and cookies. Settling back into my seat for the 5-hour journey to Rishikesh, my final destination, I chuckled to myself, “It all…somehow…works.”