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!!