"Hi Jean!" and the other side of the tracks

Lest you think India is all about about ear cleaning and spitting, let me clear something first. India does not cease to amaze and surprise me. I went to the other side of the train tracks and saw a completely different Delhi.

Yesterday: I was at Connaught Place, which was still asleep at 9 a.m., so I ducked into a posh coffee shop and had some breakfast. It was there that I had a chance to talk to some Indians who for once were just curious and weren't trying to hassle me. We swapped cultural tales and they told me about Indian culture, about this one very spry 64 year old Indian movie legend who looked like Willie Nelson, about the song and dance in Bollywood movies, travels in northern India, and arranged marriages and how they work. It was great, I don't think I could have had this type of laid back conversation on the streets. Plus, it was then that I learned that I lived in a part of Delhi that many Indians would rather avoid, the Paharganj district where they have the Main Bazaar, because it is too busy and loud.

I went to the market and park in the Hauz Khas neighborhood, which is supposed to be where the middle-and upper-class Delhi-ites live -- the streets were much calmer and cleaner, there isn't the constant din of horns and bells as there is in my 'hood, and even the air quality seemed much improved. I was so happy to see price tags on merchandise and shopkeepers who don't stand outside to hassle you as you walk by. Price tags, I will not take them for granted again! You see, in my 'hood, you have to ask for the prices because they vary depending on what you look like. For an Asian-looking American tourist like myself, the prices are through the roof and I have to haggle like crazy. In general, I avoid shopping in my neighborhood, but I do enjoy the restaurants and internet cafes. In Hauz Khas, the prices may be a bit higher, but I can put the haggling aside and shop knowing that the prices are fair.

I took the bus to the Qutub Minar, a tomb and tower complex that was constructed by the Muslims starting around the 1100's (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qutub_Minar), despite warnings from a rickshaw driver that a woman like me should not be on a bus where there are pickpockets everywhere, and that I would be better off in a rickshaw. Luckily, a very nice young man told me which bus to take and where to go, even going part of the trip with me. On the bus, there were two small children, a brother and sister, I'd guess about 6 to 9 years old, who were adorable and could not stop staring at me. I found it amusing, but realized that they should be in school rather than riding the bus in midday on their own. Apparently, these children are quite poor, and cannot afford to go to school, which is not free. That explains the small children who sometimes come up to the rickshaw on the streets, selling flashlights or begging for money. It breaks my heart to see them on the streets like that. Often their mother is close by, maybe holding another baby. I wonder why the mothers would allow their small children to roam around a busy, and often dangerous street like that.

A man had asked me to pose for a picture with his wife at the Qutub Minar. It reminded me of how while on my China trip, one of the guys in my tour group who was African-American was often asked by the locals to pose for a picture with them. I was amused by their curiosity. Then three young girls who were with a school group came up to me, and then some boys, and before I knew it I was surrounded by schoolchildren, all scrambling to get my attention, as if I was the main attraction instead of the 900 year old tower that is the marvel of Islamic engineering just 300 feet away. It was fun. They learned my name and I took some pictures of them. I went on to the Baha'i Lotus Temple later in the afternoon, and I hear my name. It was one of the kids and they recognized me from before, and they all started calling out "Hi Jean!" It was a wonderfully unexpected surprise to see them again.

Today: It is 10 a.m. and I'm livid. I was supposed to meet at the rail station to join a walking tour led by a former street urchin this morning, but when I arrived someone pretending to be a station agent directed me away, telling me that the ticket counter was being renovated and that there is temporary counter open. I wasn't going there to buy tickets, I just needed to meet the group there and I was running late, so desperate for directions, I followed him a little ways to one end of the station. He then proceeded to tell me to go to Connaught Place to the Delhi Tourism and Transport Development Corporation, which he claims is where I need to get my ticket. The place sounds official, but I knew that it was just a private travel agency, and at that point I knew I was being hoodwinked. I was livid. Normally, I wouldn't mind the slight delay and would have been amused by the guy's failed attempt to part me with my money, but this morning's antics made me late and I missed my tour. Arrrgggghhh!

Ok, I've vented now. I'm much more comfortable in the city now, and am starting to enjoy talking to the people, the pace of life, marvel at the beauty of the art and ancient sites, and appreciate the culture, and having a pretty good time. I wish the air quality wasn't quite so bad and that people didn't honk half as much as they do, but I suppose that's part of Delhi's unique charm.