Delhi Blues
I was looking forward to Thursday since there was a special session scheduled with PM Manmohan Singh and Union Commerce minister Kamal Nath speaking. But it was disappointing, both men gave very Indo-centric speeches, in fact the whole conference has been indocentric, and therefore not too exciting for outsiders like myself. I had bigger fish to fry, including trying to schedule my own presentation which had still not been organized. I was told that Friday morning seems the most likely slot but suddenly at 1pm I got a text message asking if I could speak at 2pm, an hour’s notice. I hurried downstairs and got ready, but then in the last minute they realised that my topic wouldn’t fit in with that session which was focused on R&D and product development. It was looking increasingly likely that I won’t get to speak at all. I wasn’t too fussed, but I was getting annoyed at the lack of organisation. The main problem was that there were several co-organizers, each inviting their own speakers, and none managing to coordinate effectively. But most annoyingly I was told that I might speak later in the evening so I couldn’t even go out exploring as I had planned. I languished for several hours, during which time I finished the Kite Runner. The book was ok, the plot was good in general, but lacked a bit of polish, which is the usual case with a writer’s first novel. But I’d recommend it. As the evening wore on I decided to take matters into my own hands and left the hotel at 5pm.
I wouldn’t have time to go see the Red Fort and Jamamasjid so I decided to take a look at a Moghul tomb a lot closer to my hotel. Buying an entry ticket I felt like one of the tourists to Sigiriya or some such place, paying 20 times the local rate of entry. I think that should stop in SL as well, it’s simply taking unjust advantage of monopoly power. The Safdarjung Tomb was a lovely first exposure to moghul architecture. Located in the centre of a vast garden, it remains regal in its 253rd year. I love the symmetry of the building, from whichever angle you look at it, it looks the same, perfect structure. The dome on top is slightly delapitated, but the carvings remain intricate, the doors wonderfully ornate, and I felt ever so small, both physically and historically, next to its grand presence. I had gone at the right time as well, it looked wonderful in the backdrop of the setting sun, the curved arches and domes remain in fine condition, hallmarks of classic moghul architecture. When you stand in the middle of the tomb, on each of the 4 sides you get the same view through an identical series of arches in perfect harmony with one another, and when you look up you see the high roof with delicately carved designs. I spent a long time just walking inside the tomb and around it through the gardens. When I hopped a trishaw to reach the tomb the driver had asked me if I had a girl friend, which was odd bc none of the other drivers had asked me that. This was in sharp contrast to Bangkok where almost everybody from trishaw drivers to hotel bellboys asked me if I would like “lady? massage? you liiiiiiike?” Anyway what my Delhi driver meant was that everyone who goes to Safdarjung tomb is usually trying to spend some quality time with their respective lovers, much like Colombo’s equivalent of Viharamahadevi Park. They do get quite raunchy though, and the guards blow their whistles whenever something untoward is seen. I left when it got dark and walked back to the hotel. Crossing roads in Delhi is near impossible. There is a constant stream of cars which refuse to stop. I waited a good 5 mins before two army guys also decided to cross the road, and even they had to sprint at the best opportunity, so I used them as a shield, which wouldn’t have done much to stop the manic buses with ppl hanging from all corners.
I wanted more adventure for the day which had left me unfulfilled thus far. I had a quick dip in the swimming pool, bathed in the near full moon, but the atmosphere was spoilt by a small swimming class that was being conducted. After consulting my list of things to do I came across a recommended eating joint, some place called Nirula’s. Now I’ve really been looking forward to North Indian food, and have had only one memorable meal thus far. Hopping into the back of another beedi smoking tri I was on my way. The place was a major disappointment. It was an american style diner with indian food, packed with squeaky teens. I ordered what turned out to be a poor, artificial tasting thali and tea, and ruefully went through my map looking at what might have been had I gone to a different restaurant. As I walked out I passed a brightly lit restaurant called Gujrat Spice or something, blaring Hindi music and looking like great fun. I slumped into another three wheeler and headed back to the hotel.
Brooke had just got back and was keen on hooking up with some Indian girls before flying back that night. He claimed that Indian girls are “easy going”, in that “if you have money, you can get the girls maan.” Good for him I thought. It must be said, North Indian girls are extremely good looking, they have wonderful eyes, sharp features and nice hair. Lucky chaps. Unfortunately for Brooke he didn’t get lucky that night and had to settle for chatting with me, a far less pleasant option. He complained that Indian girls have beautiful faces but “unwelcoming asses”, unlike Ethiopian girls who “have the figure 8 body, nice face, and maaaan the ass..yeaaaah”. He was clearly feeling it, gesticulating with his hands, shining eyes and he kept snapping his fingers as he described le derrier of the female Ethiopian. He showed me an Ethiopian magazine given on his flight to prove to me the wonders of Ethiopian girls, but unfortunately the only girls on view were the long distance runners who he described as “not girls, they are something else.” We then spoke about the decidedly more holy subject of God. Brooke is a protestant and a very strong believer, he asked me about my beliefs and when I had explained he said “ahh so you’re a philosopher.” I took that as a compliment. He told me all about christianity, about how Jesus died to save human beings, and that without embracing and loving Him, we’re all going to go down. I asked him my favourite question, what about a really good pious man who does nothing wrong to others and lives his own peaceful life, but doesn’t believe in Jesus, does he go to hell? Brooke laughed and said that there is no such man, we’re all selfish, we’re all sinners in our own way. True I guess. Just as he was leaving he said that he hopes one day that I’d understand the truth, and take the right path. I said I hope so too. I had never had an unknown room-mate before, but I think Brooke was a really good one. He was friendly and open, asked a lot of intelligent, relevant questions, cracked jokes and he didn’t snore. I helped him with his bags, said we’ll keep in touch, we hugged and he left. It was late again so I dozed off, hoping my final day in Delhi would be more like the first day rather than the second.
