"A man walks down the street, it's a street in a strange world, maybe it's the third world, maybe it's his first time around...

...He doesn't speak the language, He holds no currency, He is a foreign man, He is surrounded by the sound, The sound, Cattle in the marketplace, Scatterlings and orphanages..."

Now, what I just did was called a "gimme"...It should be nearly impossible for even the musically illiterate to NOT know this extended lyric (alot of negatives in that sentence, huh?). I just couldn't decide which portion of the song to include because soooo much of it was applicable. As though this man (another clue) had actually been to Old Delhi.

And that's the topic of our lesson today, children...Old Delhi.

People and more people...and then even more people coming out of shops and alleyways and on rooftops and on rooftops on top of rooftops. Dark stretches of side street that branch and cut deep into the heart of Old Delhi. Corners and caves of neon...vendor after vendor plying the same trade, selling the same goods...spices, jaleebi, knock-off clothing, saris, Indian wedding attire, silver, trinkets, antiques and all manner of useful or useless crap.

Every step along the main street, Chandni Chowk, must be measured and placed deftly or you'll find your feet covered in nameless liquids and liquids with names you wish you didn't know. Chandni Chowk is one wide sidewalk...pedestrians, cattle, tuck-tucks, rickshaws, cars and buses all share this famous stretch of Old Delhi. From Chandni Chowk you can veer off onto a side street and then cut down seemingly infinite alleyways lined with shops and guest houses and mosques. We found ourselves, kids and all, dodging rickshaws and workmen laden with loads of clothing along the alleyways...smoke and stench and incense. Noise, noise and more noise...people screaming, horns blaring from the motorcycles and scooties speeding at you from behind, vendors hawking their wares..."Buy an Indian helicopter?!?!" which is followed by a demonstration of a toy helicopter, an Indian helicopter, that lifts gracefully, spins and plummets to its doom.

Vertigo sets in when you look skyward while cutting through the alleyways. Telephone wire, electrical wire, wire and clotheslines strung among the buildings. The buildings rise only four or five stories, but when you're on street level, among the teeming and pulsing crowd, the buildings may as well be skyscrapers. Each turn and every bend looks the same. Direction is complicated. It seems like all roads double-back on themselves... everything repeats as though Delhi-6 is a person with an unfortunate stutter.

Of course nothing was the same though, nothing. So many people, individuals, waking in Old Delhi to make their day. Each shop a separate ledger. Old Delhi requires focus and full attention. Old Delhi requires you to filter out what you don't immediately need...the senses that aren't asked to provide input are put away.

The kids found themselves dodging hand after hand outstretched to pinch their tiny cheeks. Eli began to defend himself, smacking down the fast-approaching pincers. We walked with the kids marching between us, their hands in ours. Alise was snuggled against Julie, coiled deep into the sling. Old Delhi is a sensory ambush. Old Delhi comes at you from all angles and it comes with everything. It "Brings It!" It is exciting and unfamiliar. It is tense and exhilarating. Old Delhi has a rhythm that even the whitest of white men (read: me) can find and dance to.

More importantly, Old Delhi is home to the Ghantewala, the oldest sweet shop in Delhi..over two hundred years old. We stopped and sampled the delicacies...delicious. Salted cashews and burfees and sohan halwa (which Julie devoured). The story goes...'Ghanta' in Hindi means huge bell. Well, when the emperor's procession would wander down Chandni Chowk, the emperor would stop for the sweets at this particular shop. The emperor's elephant, too, would be fed. The elephant developed a sweet-tooth, and so, procession or not, the elephant would stop in front of the shop and shake its massive, decorated, bell-laden head until it was offered a treat. Once satisfied, the elephant would move along.

That's Old Delhi, but none of these words do it justice. It is a beautifully ugly dog. It is life, brutal and vibrant. Next time, Julie and I will venture there without the kids...it's just too crowded. We didn't take the camera this time because we could only defend so much...next time, though, next time. You'll see...oh, you'll see.

Delhi...OUT!!!!

"Leave me nothing I don't need at all..."

Have I (read: I) had an "Alanis" moment (...Thank you, India...)?

Nope.

Have I realized the extent of my (read: our) wastefulness? The degree of extravagancy?

Indeed.

It's hard not to. Every weekend in Rockville...neigh, multiple times a week, we found ourselves at Target. We could stroll the aisles for hours and we did. We purchased. We consumed. We loved it...who am I kidding? We miss it.

BUT.

Here, in Delhi, we're without that luxury...and believe me when I say this, it is a huge luxury. You know something? Half of half of what we bought we never needed because here we've realized we aren't missing it. The "stuff," the clutter, the things...ash and dust. Memories of the "western" life. Looking around though...at folks, at children who have nothing...and I mean nothing, barely life to cling to...it is all just stuff.

Even here we find ways to add to our collection of things, as though we'll have it buried beside us in our great tombs. We're consuming half as much here and still there is leftover. Old habits die hard...and some won't die because we won't let them. Ugly truth.

Just thoughts and observations though, nothing more. It's really just eye-opening...to be presented with SO much reality and to realize the extent to which we've been part of so many problems.

Good luck with that song lyric, by the way. If you Google it, then you're cheating. If you know it outright, then you're cool as Hell.

Delhi...OUT!!!

"This could be Heaven or this could be Hell..."

Having a very Bohemian Sunday here in Delhi...cruising, frozen yogurt, a little skateboarding and football (soccer, but when in Rome) and Regina Spektor playing onto our veranda (patio, but when in Rome).

I've (read: we've) decided to run a series of entries that directly reference lyrics from popular songs. It will be the task of our readers to respond with the lyric's origin. Get it right and....well, good on you. Get it wrong and you'll lose our respect forever. This is our first and how absolutely appropriate...this place could be Heaven or it could be Hell. Like any other city or moment or situation (think about it), Delhi really could be Heaven or it really could be Hell, depending on the day, our mood, the kid's moods, the weather, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. The difference here in Delhi is that the city nearly has a will of its own...and from moment to moment offers evidence of its nature, good and/or bad.
Delhi offers so much and then takes so much from you. It is cosmopolitan in one breath and a Sally Struthers commercial begging to "Save the Children" in its next breath. Julie read about a frozen yogurt joint in Defence Colony (*remind me to relate a funny about "Defence") called Cocoberry (similar to that new joint in Georgetown), so we ventured to check it out. It was tucked away in a market, hiding among buildings that have seen better days (or maybe not). Parking was a feat of patience and chance, and we were fortunate to find a spot where a self-empoyed parking attendant didn't ask for our keys (keys? sure, and here's the bomb to boot). Cocoberry outside: Purgatory. Cocoberry inside: Heaven. That's the way many of the restaurants are...to include Intermezzo, the small cafe we visited for lunch. You don't know what to expect when you walk through the doors...but we're usually pleasantly surprised (except for the bathrooms...bathrooms at most restaurants: Hell or nearly...I never knew Eli could handle inverted urination, until Delhi).

That's Delhi...Heaven, Hell or someplace in between...Purgatory. Getting anywhere is usually Hell...torturous and frustrating and exhaustingly repetitive (is that the same bull?!) We arrive and think "Crap, the magazine rated this restaurant/cafe/ice cream parlor five stars...is this the right place?" It is Purgatory...lost souls wandering about, in and out of squalid alleyways, begging in front of Benneton and "5-Star" restaurants. Step through the door and there are pearly gates, winged cherubs and harps....and glorious air-conditioning (because either Heaven is always mild or it had better be air-conditioned).

Moments in Delhi can be broken down similarly...which is why many comment that life in Delhi always runs at about 70%. Want a cookie from Mrs. Kaurs Cookies? Okay....here! Initial taste...why does this taste like dirt or sand or something that shouldn't be in my mouth? Once you get past that, the taste settles in and you're reminded of a real cookie, with chocolate and butter and sugar and the rest of the team. Cookie...70% From our last post...India Gate, a perfect example of "moments." From moment to moment....Heaven, Hell or Purgatory...nice breeze, warm sun....and then the smell of raw sewage....70%. Drifting along with my kids in a "bicycle" boat...kids laughter, couples strolling, balloons, ice cream and naked people bathing in a fountain or boatsmen ramming paid customers (Arghhh...comin' aboard!!)...70%. Heaven, followed by Hell, followed by Heaven...the tally sheet usually equals 70%.

In the end, 70% ain't bad. That's a "C." Passing grade. So Delhi isn't a Type-A personality, so what?! Delhi isn't about overachieving, it's about good enough.

Delhi...OUT!!

*During Republic Day, the area of India Gate was surrounded by a heavy fence...to keep the crowds out or in, who knows? All along the fence, the entity responsible for its erection (haha) had been painted...Ministry of Defence!! HAHAHAHA. Ministry of De-fence!! Get it?!?!

India Gate

March 1st at India Gate, a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The temperatures are supposed to rise twice this week above one hundred, but today it was pleasant, with a nice breeze and plenty of sun (always plenty of sun). India Gate, two long city blocks away from our house, is located in the heart of New Delhi, and is as close to the National Mall in D.C. as anything in Delhi gets (so far as we know). The "mall" stretches from the India Gate, a large arch (like the Arc De' Triomphe in Paris and its doppelganger in NYC) to Indian Parliament and along the way are stretches of green space, large trees, and waves of hawking vendors. Below the arch is an eternal flame...dangerous, really, considering how thick the stench of sewage can occasionally get around India Gate. Not today though, at least not much of it...the breeze saw to that...the sweet, merciful breeze.

We found a nice spot of shade near the "reflecting pool," spread a blanket, and set about repelling the hundred or so beggars, chip vendors, and balloon salesman working the area.

(You, the reader, may occasionally find our (read: my) responses to the countless beggars and the poor as being callous...you might be right, but you're also not here. Upon arriving in India I thought how could I not help, how could I not give even one rupee...well, to continue with the callousness, allow me to paint a picture. A cow... thirsty, very thirsty and very hot, finds itself standing before a river in South America...the cow thinks "Me thirsty, me hot, me wade into water...drink and cool. Awesome" (The cow is a big fan of Tarzan). The cow slinks into the water...it drinks, it cools itself in the river. Then, the cow MOOs loudly in response to a sharp pain in its hind quarter...then another, then another...soon, blood in the water, lots of blood....the cow thrashes, tries to make it to the riverbank. It's too late...the cow's legs have been eaten away from under it. The piranhas have swarmed. They have their meal. The cow now sinks below the water. The piranhas have won...Ergo, one rupee to one beggar equals a nibble to a lone piranha...callous, perhaps, sad, definitely...but true nonetheless.)

Again, a digression. The blanket spread, the kids sun-screened, trip-wires and booby traps laid, I take the kids over to the "reflecting pool" for a little boating. Numerous row boats and "bicycle" boats dot the pool...I opt for the "bicycle" boat. While that means a little extra work on my end, because Olivia and Eli can't reach the pedals, at least we don't have a man rowing our boat with the typical Indian disregard for all things safety-related (No offense to those Indian individuals who are the exception...but the "rowers" were broad-siding other boaters like they were the ramming ship in some miniature armada). We pedaled about the pool for a bit, drifted for some of it, and often fought with the rudder. I cussed in English, but I think the boat only responded to Hindi. The kids seemed to enjoy it and marveled at the kids (and one adult) that used the pool as a bath. I'm not sure how many times I had to tell Olivia to avert her eyes...three boys, naked and splashing in the "reflecting pool." That may happen at the National Mall, but if it does, I'm sure it happens at night when there isn't a soul around to complain about the naked bits.

The kids eventually tired of the boat, so we docked and returned to our blanket. I then ventured off to retrieve ice cream for the family. Three ice cream vendors later, I was successful. The first guy didn't actually sell any of the ice cream featured on his sign. The second guy, even though he'd advertised the prices of his goods, quoted me double for the ice cream I'd selected. Of course, he tried to explain why my ice cream might cost more...it was extra creamy, it was especially cold, it was manufactured most recently, and so on. All I heard was "It's because you're white." Life is tough for a white man just trying to get by here in Delhi...I tossed the bag of ice cream back to the vendor, called him a thief, and walked away. The third vendor actually sold what he advertised at the prices he advertised it, so he won. When I returned to our blanket, I found my family surrounded by young girls selling henna and pleading for money, food, anything. Again, not to sound callous (See above), but while we could spare the money and the food it just wasn't a good idea. If one of the girls receives anything, then a call goes out, like a war cry or a call to battle on an ox horn and a stampede would ensue. I finally deterred all but one of the girls, apparently the queen, and rightfully so, as she proved a tough cookie. I tried shooing her, ignoring her, pleading with her, discussing politics with her, but she just stood, waiting, calling me "Cheapest Daddy." Eventually she wandered off, perhaps finally realizing that there were easier targets or maybe just better things to do with her time.

Olivia, Eli and I kicked the soccer ball around for a bit. We snacked, enjoyed the breeze, and watched the people watch us. Life in a fish tank. People approached and asked to take pictures of the kids, which happens often, and they were refused. The kids started to tire, so we decided to call it an afternoon. We headed home.

Sometimes, I think, I paint a rather frustrating picture, and while things here can be frustrating...VERY frustrating, I describe those bits because they're often, and very obviously, the most humorous bits. India is not the U.S., and its culture is as different from ours as is the quality of Richard Dean Anderson's exemplary show MacGyver and his paycheck "Stargate: SG-1." Night and day. That's what makes India, India. It's frustrating, but it opens your eyes to so many things. So many things you might regret seeing, but you've seen nonetheless. India Gate was and is chock full of the "typical" India...which is why we'll continue to spend time there, assuming it's not 120 degrees in the shade.

Delhi....OUT!!