Namaste! Assalamualaikum! That’s how one would typically greet a Hindu or a Muslim individual, respectively, in this city of Delhi. (Well, exactly what those seven are will be disclosed in due time. But for now...)
Before this trip, I never had the time to sit down and think about my 2-month South Asian escapade. What’s left to be said, if I only managed my packing the Friday night before? While awaiting take-off, I was finally given the luxury of time to let this idea sink in. I was overcome by mixed feelings, though mostly positive ones of excitement but I sometimes think I do undermine the dangers and the difficulty of adapting that I will face; starting... ohh 2 hours ago since I landed.
Upon exiting Delhi International Airport, with my dearest Mother, I inhaled air that was very starkly different – in terms of its scent, texture and weight (heavier for sure with the dirt and the dust that coloured my vision slightly brownish-orangish). Besides that, I was greeted by a million pairs of eyes. Not that I didn’t expect it, but hey, they really know how to stare at you to put it politely. Okay, it was almost gawking to say the least.
In temperatures of about 35 degrees Celsius, we were literally warmly welcomed by Salmi Chacha (Uncle Salmi in Hindi) who drove us to his place. I’ll be gratefully living in with his family at his place for 2 months.
This is me penning down my thoughts as quickly as possible, old school pen-and-paper style, simply because I just found out there is no internet at home. Because I was too overwhelmed by what was before me, I can only now barely recount some of the many things that caught my eye, given my unfortunately limited absorption capacity amidst excitement of being in a foreign land.
I saw things that I could instantaneously relate to, not because I’ve done them or been in those situations but because I’ve had my fair share of Zee TV, Star Plus and Sony Entertainment on Singapore’s cable TV: cars with baggage on the roof, lorries with people standing squashed like sardines, the dusty roads, the rather chaotic traffic behaviour – so much so that our care ride from the airport could be summed up by our quintessential Ohhhhhh’s, Eeeeeek’s and Ehhhhh’s everytime an Auto (three-wheeled taxi) swerved into our lane. Then there was a sight I vividly remember from my previous visit about 10 years ago: a 30 year-old able-bodied man selling toy Styrofoam airplanes in the middle of moving (Kamikaze) vehicles. This was followed by a handicap man without arms with a halved mineral water bottle hanging around his neck weaving through vehicles at the traffic light. The monotony (because that chaos has since almost naturally transformed into a constant) of the traffic is broken by glimpses of small cart-like stalls called Dhaba on the sidewalks selling all sorts of snacks and beverages. The sight that warranted more than a glimpse was that of a young woman beating lifelessly at the Indian drum (tabla) while her 7 year-old son performed acrobatic stunts. Once I accidentally made eye-contact, he came running to our stationary car and knocked on my window, wide-eyed, begging. Oh how can thy heard not cringe and ache at such grieve and misfortune? And I said “accidental” because the rule-of-thumb is not to make eye contact and give in to your empathetic self. I was told, “If you give 1, 10 others will come running!” And apparently, they get more aggressive when in bigger groups. At least that’s what I’ve been warned. Duly.
Then it hit me straight on my head and jolted me out of my emotional bubble: these are the inexorable realities of this city. Sad, but true.
Upon arriving at the house... Ohh the house. That deserves an entry by itself. Suffice to say, I am enthralled, pleasantly awed and so thrilled to be staying with an Indian family. Afterall, what better way is there to immerse yourself in the local culture than to live in with a typical local family?
This adventure has just begun. If you stick around long enough, it might just get twice as exciting!
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