Just a quick disclaimer: I haven't been able to get to a computer until today, so this is a post that I wrote in my room a few days ago, so its dated. I'll catch up to myself in the next couple of days, I'm sure... so enjoy!
I have now been in Delhi for 48 hours. 48 hours -- and already many stories to tell... I made my first major mistake before even exiting the plane, I left my wallet. I took it out to give my American coins to the UNICEF bag before we landed, and my charitable heart set me up! Luckily, there was only about $15, my student IDs (I'm very sad about my Irish immigration ID being sacrificed to the travel gods), and my VISA and debit cards. Nothing too valuable that cannot be replaced, except, perhaps, my pride. I had met a nice teacher from Oak Park in the customs line who took pity on me when I could not find anyone waiting for me from CNI (Church of North India). They told me the following day when I arrived at the headquarters that someone had been waiting until 1 am, but neither Karen (the teacher) nor I could find him. So, Karen, the loveliest person in the world, invited me to stay with her at her hotel, and I accepted. It was on the way to the hotel that I discovered my wallet was gone, and I preceded to freak out!!!! I called my mother, who had been delayed at the airport and thus actually able to answer my phone call (thank you Providence). Over the next few hours (the middle of the night in India), her assistant, Beth (who will forever be known in my heart as TOTALLY AWESOME AND WONDERFUL BETH) had gotten CNI phone numbers and wired me $500.
That night I couldn't sleep, which was particularly unfortunate since I hadn't gotten any sleep my last night in the States or on the 15.5 hour plane ride from Chicago to Delhi (over Russia, go figure). Karen fell asleep quickly, so I spent most of the night reading in the bathroom.
I'd like to take a short detour from the thus-far unfortunate story of my arrival in India to talk about the book I've been reading. It is called "Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything across Italy, India, and Indonesia." Ever since I told my therapist about my trip this summer, she has been pushing me to read this book by Elizabeth Gilbert. It chronicle's "Liz's" year of self-discovery (four months in each place) after a very messy divorce (she was 24 when they married and 34 during this book). I thought my therapist wanted me to read it because I was traveling to India, but about half-way through the 2nd "book" (on India), I realized her REAL intentions in recommending the title: THIS WOMAN IS ME!!!!! I first read the wisdom (from the ancient Indian Yogic text The Bhagavad Gita): it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else's life with perfection. No kidding. I came to India (rather than my mother's beloved Congo, which had been in the running as I applied for this international travel grant) to be my own person in a developing country... and lost my wallet... talk about living an imperfect destiny! I suppose I will come to terms with this, eventually... though a huge part of me wishes I were in Congo right now: I would have much preferred the 3000-person procession that my parents received last month at the airport than my missed one-man 'welcome' committee. Alas, better to live out my own destiny imperfectly... There was another phrase the author used along the lines of her verbal 'tap-dancing' for social approval... but this is not a therapy session, it is a blog entry about my first two days in Delhi. I shall continue my tap-dance now...
I arrived at CNI and was given a room with a broken air conditioner (or so I thought for the first two days I was there, then I realized that one has to turn ON the electricity outlet... I'm seriously not making this stupidity up, folks!!!... the AC works now, needless to say). The sheets are beautifully soft from age, and the 'shower' is no more than a faucet sticking out of the wall at about the waist (did I mention that I saw the LARGEST cockroach of my life in that bathroom?). So, my 'delicate' sensibilities are being beautifully tested already, thank you!
After lunch, I finally dozed into a lovely sleep and decided to ignore the dinner alarm. Around 9:30 pm, I received a knock on my door. It was the cook with a tray full of a GORGEOUS dinner (it was an hour and a half since the close of the kitchen, and they are very strict about eating hours at CNI headquarters). This was the turning point -- the kind gesture of a bearded cook who brought me a dinner tray of naan, mutton, fried veggies, and fresh cucumbers! I almost cried -- well, I did cry after I closed the door -- at his gesture of kindness! He brought me a tray of tea this (Sunday) morning as well... at 6:30 am (!)... luckily I am still adjusting to the time and had been awake since 4 am.
At 9, I left for church at CNI's 'Free Church' (a former Methodist congregation in Delhi). There was a group of Canadian Presbyterians there (students) who I talked to after worship. I must admit that church put me in a better mood, but I found myself envious of the Canadians and their three-week (only!) programmed 'study' trip of CNI. Oh to have a chaperon! The service itself was interesting. CNI has a Book of Worship, published on the denomination's 'Silver Anniversary' in 1995. The sermon was given by a layperson (which is totally awesome), and the hymns were 'standards' from the red Methodist hymnal ("Master Let Me Walk with Thee" was my favorite of the morning). There was even a 'youth' praise band who closed their 3-song contemporary selections with "Open the Eyes of My Heart, Lord". It was hard to tell if my fellow-worshippers were uncomfortable with my semi-evangelical, LaSalle-esque openned-to-the-heavens palms during this song... they are Methodist-bred, so I assume probably so. There was no communion, which I missed, but the service was very lovely and a welcomed time of much-needed extroversion (even if I only talked to the Canadians, it was something!).
When I introduced myself to the presbyter after church, he invited me to "offer the Message" in August when I return to Delhi before flying home to the States, since I am a theology student. I just may do that (if I get a little more brave by then). Of course, the most charming thing about this presbyter is that he broke into "Ooooooooklahoma" when I told him which state I was from (he went to theological school in Virginia, you see). I am happy to return to the 100-person congregation of semi-Methodist Church of North India Christians in August. It is the most comfortable I have been in India thus far.
After lunch, I met Dan McNamara (a friend from div school in Chicago, for those who don't know Danny Mac) at the Imperial Hotel for tea before we embarked on an afternoon excursion through Delhi. It was so wonderful to see a familiar face, and one who spoke some Hindi! Another small tangent (though this one is actually about India, not my overall existential well-being): I know that people are speaking English to me, and I know that I am speaking English back, but I am concerned that somehow we are not speaking the same language at all! I am certain that my ear will get better at deciphering the Indian-English dialect, but I am not convinced that I will ever be able to find a way to make myself understood in this country. Maybe it will be better in Kolkata (Calcutta), though I do not know why it would make a difference someplace else in the same country. Of course, there is a HUGE difference between the Scotish brogue and a British accent. Fingers crossed that Delhi doesn't equal the Brits in this scenario...!!!
Right, so tea with Dan... we met up around 3 pm at this fantastic hotel (http://www.theimperialindia.com/home.htm) and then proceeded to spend the afternoon walking around Delhi. New Delhi seems a little more maneuverable (there's a park at the center of things, to which I may return later in the week for people watching). Old Delhi was a trip. We got off the Metro and were in a different world... THIS was a world of overwhelming poverty. I have tried to prepare myself to be devastated, but to ignore the poverty in India (Westerners often freak out at first). Everyone I know says that a) you can't trust half the 'beggers' in Indian cities, and b) if you give to one, a crowd will surround you (no good situation at all!). Taking that into consideration, I have been able to outwardly ignore circumstances that would normally break my heart, a reality which breaks my heart in a different way. In Old Delhi, however, the dogs were the piece to finally overwhelm me. They turn my stomach, because I know that they are starving and sickly and will give me some deplorable disease myself if I so much as look at them too long. Then there is the smell of urine. It is more assaulting than the dogs and utterly grotesque. My eyes may be able to overlook the destitution here, but my nose refuses to ignore it. I felt sick to my stomach for the first time in Old Delhi, and I largely suspect that it was not the food finally catching up with me.
Dan and I visited a Sikh Temple. We removed our shoes, washed our feet, covered our heads, and made our way inside. A fantastic old Sikh guided us through, all the while Dan saying to me "I don't think this breaks any of the commandments" or "You don't have to do the kneeling if you don't feel comfortable with it." I waited until after we left to explain that respecting (by going through the motions of) another religion was not a problem for "my version" of Christianity. It was a beautiful temple, and I enjoyed listening to the reading of the Guru Granth Sahib (the sacred book of Sikhism). We sat -- I prayed -- for a while, then headed back to Connaught Place for dinner. We ate south Indian food at the Banana Leaf (very tasty), but we were both so incredibly beat by 7pm and decided to call it a night. We shook hands at the Metro and said good-bye. My auto rickshaw nearly got lost on the way home, but I managed to find CNI nevertheless.
To be honest, I am not certain whether I am better at ease or more terrified to venture into the city after having gone out with Dan... though here I am, sitting at a small internet cafe in Connaught Place, so I guess I made it out, and on my own, eventually (two days later!)
I have now been in Delhi for 48 hours. 48 hours -- and already many stories to tell... I made my first major mistake before even exiting the plane, I left my wallet. I took it out to give my American coins to the UNICEF bag before we landed, and my charitable heart set me up! Luckily, there was only about $15, my student IDs (I'm very sad about my Irish immigration ID being sacrificed to the travel gods), and my VISA and debit cards. Nothing too valuable that cannot be replaced, except, perhaps, my pride. I had met a nice teacher from Oak Park in the customs line who took pity on me when I could not find anyone waiting for me from CNI (Church of North India). They told me the following day when I arrived at the headquarters that someone had been waiting until 1 am, but neither Karen (the teacher) nor I could find him. So, Karen, the loveliest person in the world, invited me to stay with her at her hotel, and I accepted. It was on the way to the hotel that I discovered my wallet was gone, and I preceded to freak out!!!! I called my mother, who had been delayed at the airport and thus actually able to answer my phone call (thank you Providence). Over the next few hours (the middle of the night in India), her assistant, Beth (who will forever be known in my heart as TOTALLY AWESOME AND WONDERFUL BETH) had gotten CNI phone numbers and wired me $500.
That night I couldn't sleep, which was particularly unfortunate since I hadn't gotten any sleep my last night in the States or on the 15.5 hour plane ride from Chicago to Delhi (over Russia, go figure). Karen fell asleep quickly, so I spent most of the night reading in the bathroom.
I'd like to take a short detour from the thus-far unfortunate story of my arrival in India to talk about the book I've been reading. It is called "Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything across Italy, India, and Indonesia." Ever since I told my therapist about my trip this summer, she has been pushing me to read this book by Elizabeth Gilbert. It chronicle's "Liz's" year of self-discovery (four months in each place) after a very messy divorce (she was 24 when they married and 34 during this book). I thought my therapist wanted me to read it because I was traveling to India, but about half-way through the 2nd "book" (on India), I realized her REAL intentions in recommending the title: THIS WOMAN IS ME!!!!! I first read the wisdom (from the ancient Indian Yogic text The Bhagavad Gita): it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else's life with perfection. No kidding. I came to India (rather than my mother's beloved Congo, which had been in the running as I applied for this international travel grant) to be my own person in a developing country... and lost my wallet... talk about living an imperfect destiny! I suppose I will come to terms with this, eventually... though a huge part of me wishes I were in Congo right now: I would have much preferred the 3000-person procession that my parents received last month at the airport than my missed one-man 'welcome' committee. Alas, better to live out my own destiny imperfectly... There was another phrase the author used along the lines of her verbal 'tap-dancing' for social approval... but this is not a therapy session, it is a blog entry about my first two days in Delhi. I shall continue my tap-dance now...
I arrived at CNI and was given a room with a broken air conditioner (or so I thought for the first two days I was there, then I realized that one has to turn ON the electricity outlet... I'm seriously not making this stupidity up, folks!!!... the AC works now, needless to say). The sheets are beautifully soft from age, and the 'shower' is no more than a faucet sticking out of the wall at about the waist (did I mention that I saw the LARGEST cockroach of my life in that bathroom?). So, my 'delicate' sensibilities are being beautifully tested already, thank you!
After lunch, I finally dozed into a lovely sleep and decided to ignore the dinner alarm. Around 9:30 pm, I received a knock on my door. It was the cook with a tray full of a GORGEOUS dinner (it was an hour and a half since the close of the kitchen, and they are very strict about eating hours at CNI headquarters). This was the turning point -- the kind gesture of a bearded cook who brought me a dinner tray of naan, mutton, fried veggies, and fresh cucumbers! I almost cried -- well, I did cry after I closed the door -- at his gesture of kindness! He brought me a tray of tea this (Sunday) morning as well... at 6:30 am (!)... luckily I am still adjusting to the time and had been awake since 4 am.
At 9, I left for church at CNI's 'Free Church' (a former Methodist congregation in Delhi). There was a group of Canadian Presbyterians there (students) who I talked to after worship. I must admit that church put me in a better mood, but I found myself envious of the Canadians and their three-week (only!) programmed 'study' trip of CNI. Oh to have a chaperon! The service itself was interesting. CNI has a Book of Worship, published on the denomination's 'Silver Anniversary' in 1995. The sermon was given by a layperson (which is totally awesome), and the hymns were 'standards' from the red Methodist hymnal ("Master Let Me Walk with Thee" was my favorite of the morning). There was even a 'youth' praise band who closed their 3-song contemporary selections with "Open the Eyes of My Heart, Lord". It was hard to tell if my fellow-worshippers were uncomfortable with my semi-evangelical, LaSalle-esque openned-to-the-heavens palms during this song... they are Methodist-bred, so I assume probably so. There was no communion, which I missed, but the service was very lovely and a welcomed time of much-needed extroversion (even if I only talked to the Canadians, it was something!).
When I introduced myself to the presbyter after church, he invited me to "offer the Message" in August when I return to Delhi before flying home to the States, since I am a theology student. I just may do that (if I get a little more brave by then). Of course, the most charming thing about this presbyter is that he broke into "Ooooooooklahoma" when I told him which state I was from (he went to theological school in Virginia, you see). I am happy to return to the 100-person congregation of semi-Methodist Church of North India Christians in August. It is the most comfortable I have been in India thus far.
After lunch, I met Dan McNamara (a friend from div school in Chicago, for those who don't know Danny Mac) at the Imperial Hotel for tea before we embarked on an afternoon excursion through Delhi. It was so wonderful to see a familiar face, and one who spoke some Hindi! Another small tangent (though this one is actually about India, not my overall existential well-being): I know that people are speaking English to me, and I know that I am speaking English back, but I am concerned that somehow we are not speaking the same language at all! I am certain that my ear will get better at deciphering the Indian-English dialect, but I am not convinced that I will ever be able to find a way to make myself understood in this country. Maybe it will be better in Kolkata (Calcutta), though I do not know why it would make a difference someplace else in the same country. Of course, there is a HUGE difference between the Scotish brogue and a British accent. Fingers crossed that Delhi doesn't equal the Brits in this scenario...!!!
Right, so tea with Dan... we met up around 3 pm at this fantastic hotel (http://www.theimperialindia.com/home.htm) and then proceeded to spend the afternoon walking around Delhi. New Delhi seems a little more maneuverable (there's a park at the center of things, to which I may return later in the week for people watching). Old Delhi was a trip. We got off the Metro and were in a different world... THIS was a world of overwhelming poverty. I have tried to prepare myself to be devastated, but to ignore the poverty in India (Westerners often freak out at first). Everyone I know says that a) you can't trust half the 'beggers' in Indian cities, and b) if you give to one, a crowd will surround you (no good situation at all!). Taking that into consideration, I have been able to outwardly ignore circumstances that would normally break my heart, a reality which breaks my heart in a different way. In Old Delhi, however, the dogs were the piece to finally overwhelm me. They turn my stomach, because I know that they are starving and sickly and will give me some deplorable disease myself if I so much as look at them too long. Then there is the smell of urine. It is more assaulting than the dogs and utterly grotesque. My eyes may be able to overlook the destitution here, but my nose refuses to ignore it. I felt sick to my stomach for the first time in Old Delhi, and I largely suspect that it was not the food finally catching up with me.
Dan and I visited a Sikh Temple. We removed our shoes, washed our feet, covered our heads, and made our way inside. A fantastic old Sikh guided us through, all the while Dan saying to me "I don't think this breaks any of the commandments" or "You don't have to do the kneeling if you don't feel comfortable with it." I waited until after we left to explain that respecting (by going through the motions of) another religion was not a problem for "my version" of Christianity. It was a beautiful temple, and I enjoyed listening to the reading of the Guru Granth Sahib (the sacred book of Sikhism). We sat -- I prayed -- for a while, then headed back to Connaught Place for dinner. We ate south Indian food at the Banana Leaf (very tasty), but we were both so incredibly beat by 7pm and decided to call it a night. We shook hands at the Metro and said good-bye. My auto rickshaw nearly got lost on the way home, but I managed to find CNI nevertheless.
To be honest, I am not certain whether I am better at ease or more terrified to venture into the city after having gone out with Dan... though here I am, sitting at a small internet cafe in Connaught Place, so I guess I made it out, and on my own, eventually (two days later!)
3 comments:
Bethany,
First of all, thank you. I thought this was just going to be an ordinary morning, filled with mindless emails and a plastic baggie of pretzels, but I was wrong. Dead wrong.
Losing your wallet in India. I can relate to this on a much deeper level. Why is there so much shame involved in being a forgetful person?? We like to keep it interesting. So, I don't pay attention to where I drop my collection of financial assets when I walk out the door, sue me.
Eat, Pray, Love. What a fantastic read. And, I'm barely literate. You're absolutely right about living your own imperfect destiny. I love Liz's fumbling journey of self discovery. She makes me feel less neurotic and also inspires me to travel like you are!
B, you never disappoint in the storytelling department. You infuse your true self in every word. I cannot wait to hear more about your fantastic journey. You are fabulous in every way, and I'm smiling at the mere thought of you squatting in the shower to clea your bits and pieces.
I'm sorry you weren't able to sleep on the plane. I can only imagine the hot mess of a dream you would have had on that flight.
All my love,
Kris Angarola
p.s. my boyfriend's sister's cousin's uncle's friend's exchange student's father said he waited for you at the airport until 1 a.m. Where the heck were you?
Bethany--I totally remember Connaught Place and the difference between old and new delhi. I have to say though, I never had an experience remotely similar to being surrounded by a crowd of poor, I frankly don't think people are that interested in you. But you do kind of have to face the fact that the money that allows you simply to be there is more than many in the crowd around you could expect to see in...I don't know how much time.
You should check out this beautiful Mosque built by Akbar (Taj Mahal, anyone?) in old delhi--it's called Jama Masjid, and then the markets around it are filled with basically everything imaginable. :) I think the mosque is built in the same red stone that the Old Red Fort is.
There's also the Gandhi memorial + museum, I think in new delhi. The government buildings were pretty neat to see too.
Can't wait to hear more! Post pictures! -Jordan
Bethany - you bring back a lot of good memories - Free Church, Imperial Hotel, Connaught Place. Delighted to hear you're planning Darjeeling, and delighted that the bishop thinks you (and he) can get there. The press makes that sound a little uncertain, but they do love tourists there. I hope the next few days are easier than the first two. All the senses will be stimulated to the max, the nose among them. Brian Grant
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