Four days in Delhi

My first few days in India were hard. The tourist sections of Delhi are crowded and filled with three types of people: tourists, very friendly people who want your money, and people who couldn't be bothered by your existence.

My taxi ride from the Delhi airport to the traveller's neighborhood of Pahar Ganj set half of the tone for my stay in India's capital. The taxi driver was exceedingly polite. He was full of information and opinions about what constitutes "real" Delhi and "real" India versus what constitutes the "fake", Westernized culture. These opinions gradually changed to recommendations about where I should stay and how I should travel, culminating in a stop at a travel agency where the agent called the hotel I had chosen and informed me that there were no rooms available. I left the travel agent and asked the taxi driver to drop me off at the hotel anyway, against his protests, where I found a room.

Pahar Ganj is a dirty strip of indistinguishable, four story buildings--hotels, restaurants, and shops--clustered for a quarter mile along a central street. What it lacks in charm and cleanliness, I hoped it would compensate with convenient and inexpensive accommodation. It is also situated next to the New Delhi train station, not so far from both the central upscale section of New Delhi, Connaught Place, and the sights and bazaars of Old Delhi. Cows and dogs wander the streets aimlessly, sometimes snacking on the piles of trash that accumulate in the less traficked areas.

While walking down the street in Pahar Ganj, tourists are constantly hailed by touts, who start friendly conversations with the intent of arranging the next leg of your journey. After an introductory several minutes of dialogue they try to get you inside of their 'office'. After the second or third repetition, this dance gets stale. There are also aggressive beggars, overbearing rickshaw drivers, and obnoxious cab drivers. Each time I encountered one of these characters, a game ensued where they argued why I should either give them money or use their services, invalidating any objection.

Sunday was the second day of the Holi Festival, which is the Hindu celebration of the arrival of spring. Unlike Thamel in Kathmandu, where the celebration seemed quite intense around the tourists, Pahar Ganj in Delhi seemed largely empty of revelers. Sitting in a rooftop restaurant, reading, I could often hear shouts of large crowds, but they always seemed a few blocks away. Their presence was evident by color everywhere: pinks, oranges, reds, and greens, splattered on streets, people, and animals.

On Monday, I set the modest goals of posting a package home and buying a rail ticket to Agra, to see the Taj Mahal. These goals turned out not to be so modest and I was relieved when I finally succeeded, eight hours later. I won't go into the details, but the impressions I took from the experience were the other important half of how Delhi affected me. In contrast with the specious camaraderie of Pahar Ganj, postal workers and train reservation bureaucrats can't be troubled about you. No one explains anything, only gestures vaguely that you should be somewhere else.

Tuesday and Wednesday, I actually got out to see some of the city. I spent Monday in Old Delhi, seeing the huge and impressive Red Fort, built by the Mughal Empire in the 17th century, Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India, Chandri Chowk, the crowded marketplace, and the Gandhi Memorial Museum. I enjoyed the Red Fort, with its high, red sandstone walls and the delicate architecture of its state buildings within. The highlight, however, was the photography collection at the Gandhi Memorial Museum, with its interpretive documents.

"In my humble opinion, non-cooperation with evil is as much a duty as cooperation with good. ... as evil can only be sustained by violence, withdrawal of support of evil requires complete abstention of violence." - M. K. Gandhi

On Wednesday, I spent almost all day at the National Museum, whose three floors are full of diverse collections. Probably half of the exhibits are closed for renovation, but I could have spent even longer perusing the open collection. The audio tour and extensive maps did a good job of framing the first civilization to inhabit the Indus Valley, the Harappans, but the rest of the museum, despite the quality of its artefacts, failed to pull together a coherent history.

By Wednesday I started to feel better about my experience in Delhi. I could recognize who wanted something from me and who was really interested in conversation for its own sake. I no longer felt guilty for evading the polite but circular and vaguely disrespectful arguments employed by people who want something. The more confidence I find in my surroundings, the more I am able to open up to the worthwhile aspects. Nevertheless, I was happy to depart on the train bound for Agra at six-fifteen on Thursday morning.