May 26, 2009

[Wandered around Delhi, random acts of kindess led us to a travel agent, booked a trip to Kashmir/through India, toured the city, joined travel agent and family for dinner.]

Today was a very busy, exciting, and exhausting day. We started the day out with a walk around town and headed along a busy road to Connaught Place. There, we strolled through the park, watched a family playing cricket, and stretched in the shade of a small tree. From there, we began walking towards Central Delhi. We made a wrong turn and stopped to check the map. A man with his wife stopped and asked if we needed directions. (Quite a change from New Jersey where no one was helpful). He also asked if we needed train tickets and gave us directions to a circle down the next road. We followed his directions and ended up at a circular building. There another kind, cheerful man stopped to help us and said we were not at the right place for tickets. He then walked with us for about ten minutes, asking questions until we were led to the India Tourism office.

Let the story begin….

Walking into the office, we were greeted by a kind, joyful man. He showed us into his office, an opaque walled cubicle, and introduced himself as Shafi Shalla. When we told him our itinerary and that we would like to book train tickets, he immediately recommended that we escape the 45 degree heat (113 degrees Fahrenheit) and spend time in the mountains. He then told us about his family’s houseboat in the glorious mountain town of Srinagar. The town, he said, was the most beautiful place on earth and that overcrowded trekking in Nepal could not compare. We then spent hours looking over pictures of Srinagar and letters from past customers. We entered into a long discussion of life over a delicious cup of Chai tea (maybe the best cup ever). He carried on about the value of family and religion. His parents are the most important thing in his life. He would do anything for them, and now sends them money to live on. He said that the worst thing a person can do is leave or disrespect their mother after everything she has done for them. His soft voice, pure heart and playful eyes instantly gained our trust. This open, joyful welcoming man was truly a diamond in the rough. A jewel in the pained city of Delhi.

He spoke of Srinagar as a paradise city tucked away in the untouched Himalayan mountains. He spoke of his loving family and wise father, whom we would instantly adore. He showed us pictures of his daughter, just three years old, living so far away in Srinagar with their mother. He said he misses his wife not so much (arranged marriage) but his daughter was his world. He spoke of all the amazing people he has met in his life. The author of Be Here Now is a good friend and many famous people he wouldn’t name. A Harvard professor once offered to get Shaffe a scholarship, but he declined as his mother didn’t want him to be so far from home.

And so before we knew it, we had fallen in love with Shafi, with India, and were trusting the fates that our changed itinerary and expense were well worth the trip to Sringagar. And as Shaffe said, nothing happens by chance, it’s always fate. When you are joyful and open, life brings you joy and vice versa. Do not worry. Do not think too much. Just trust, love, and open yourself. This is the way to live.

And so, several cups of incredible tea, bottled water, and Indian omelets later (onion seasoned omelets on white bread), we were sent on our way with a whole new itinerary.

Vakesh, our new driver, waited for us outside to take us on a car tour of Delhi. His gelled hair, tight pants, and blue button up shirt as well as his humble yet sexual swagger reminded me of a young Latin American. Much of Delhi and Indian culture reminds me of latin America. The upbeat, rhythmic music, bright colored and busy architecture and clothes, religious focus, as well as the overall light and positive outlook of people living with so little.

With his Bollywood tunes a-bopping, we headed down the busy streets with wide eyes, full bellies, and a new lightness about us. Before the first destination, Max discovered a raunchy romance novel tucked away in the seat pocket. He began reading pages of Sexcapades as I squirmed uncomfortably at the filthy storyline. Max then explained to Vakesh that he liked his book. Vakesh nodded, a bit confused before realizing that Max meant his book. His eyes grew wide in realization and a sheepish grin covered his face. He, too, squirmed in his seat, wiped his face, and laughed “My book”. He explained that the book “make him happy though he don’t know why. And he cannot understand much of the words, but reads it anyways.” There it was, the ice had been broken. Vakesh was our new friend. To change the subject, we explained that Vakesh looked like Prince (whom he had not heard of) and showed him a pic on the iPhone. This boosted his confidence back up a bit.

Our first stop was Humayan’s Tomb, a magnificent red fortress with fountain and tree lined lawns, few tourists, fake tour guides, and a sweltering mid-afternoon sun. Though amazed by the beautiful architecture, I could barely stand the brilliant sunlight beating down on us. After grabbing an ice cold Mirinda (an orange soda, my new favorite drink) we wandered through

the gated and walled tomb, amazed by the ancient architecture, photographing everything in sight.

Next, Vakesh drove us to the great Qutb Minar, a soaring victory tower built to proclaim the arrival of Islam in India. Gazing on the sandstone tower amid hoards of people in the blazing sun, we decided we’d had enough of this touristy business and wanted to do some shopping. Vakesh, however, told us that he wasn't allowed to take us shopping and it took a bit of convincing and promising that we wouldn't tell his boss to get him to go.

Vakesh drove us to the Crafts Museum, where high quality, inexpensive traditional clothing was made and sold. Stores in India, though are nothing like those in America. Upon entering the red carpet-lined room, I noticed a quiet white bearded man smoking casually with his legs crossed in observance. We were warmly welcomed, and a boy my age began pulling clothing off the shelves for me. Unfortunately, the colors and styles in India are not made for a white girl’s frame or skin tone or personality. Needless to say, the entire glass countertop was covered in dresses before I decided on a gold tunic, tight pants and shawl. We were then escorted upstairs to try on Saris, the more exotic Indian dress. The shop boy showed me the complicated process of wearing a sari and we posed for a photo together. However, tired of the pressure to buy and truly uninterested in the bizarre colors, we left the second shop empty handed.

Next, we were driven to the beautiful Lotus Temple, where we waited in the car for a bit, too early to enter. Vakesh purchased a coke for us, knowing that we’d be ripped off if we bought one ourselves. He refused the offer for us to buy him one also. Sweet Vakesh. As we waited in line I watched families interact, throw trash on the ground, and push past each other to get a good place in line. We waited too long to hop in line ourselves and ended up at the end of the very long walkway up to the temple. When we got near, we were expected to leave our shoes behind. Remembering Slumdog Millionaire, though, we opted to tie them to our bags and hope no one noticed. We finally made it to the marble white stairs, which led up from pools of pale green water. We stole a peak inside of the pew-lined building before being refused entry due to our hanging shoes. We then sat with our hot feet in the pool’s cool water for a bit, copying the rest of the families. The beautiful white lotus towered above us as a powerful symbol of world peace and beauty. Truly a treat!

Next, Vakesh explained that the beautiful Red Fort was not much different from the Taj Mahal, also built by the "Moghuls", and he would take us to free places instead. So we went to a beautiful yellow and red temple where we were refused entry, most likely because my ankles showed and Max was in shorts. So we purchased some ice cream instead and relaxed for a bit out front.

Vakesh then drove us to the beautiful India Gate and around the Parliament and Prime Minister’s Home, where parking was not allowed and we watched from the car. Vakesh then brought us to another shopping location, where he most likely received a commission. His primary motivation was, of course, glimpsing me in a beautiful Sari. We looked at incredible Kashmir carpets, which were unfurled before us, tasted and smelled delicious teas (my favorite being Kashmir tea) and tried on shawls. We also visited a craft shop and examined wood carvings and paintings. The ploys of the shop owners weren’t able to take us over, though we did purchase one beautiful silk scarf.

We were then driven back to the office where we waited with Shaffe before being invited back to his home for dinner. We enjoyed an incredible meal of chicken, vegetables, and rice on the floor of his living room, where we ate with our hands (which is surprisingly much more efficient and adds to the taste experience). His kind and very friendly nephews (whom he lets live with him) joined us and spoke of their aspirations to go to school in America. We enjoyed watching a soccer game with them… and suddenly the world seemed a lot smaller. ;)

Perhaps I should take a moment here to explain what driving is like in India. Insane. Absolute insanity.

Years ago, I remember thinking that NYC and NJ drivers were out of their minds, but in India it’s downright terrifying. Imagine motorcycles and bicycles. Now imagine bicycles pulling enormous loads on carts behind you. Now imagine small doorless cars, giant buses, trucks, and thousands of small SUVs and sudans. And now, if you can, imagine that there are no rules. You feel like driving in the right lane? (Remember traffic here is the opposite). No problem. Someone will honk at you when they’re coming to get you out of the way. Feel like stopping in the middle of the road? No problem. Everyone will honk and go around you. Thank God for the honking. They honk for everything, at every car, to let them know you are near, going around them, or just for the heck of it. Miraculously, though, there are no bouts of road rage. These rabid drivers are peacefully zipping about in the chaos, following their own foreign method and the insane Indian driving ethos. Oh and don’t forget—there are also cows, dogs, and cats all in the road as well, peacefully ambling about.