Diary from New Delhi
Tuesday morning, 20 September
There is something a bit self defeating about a guy who stares at you and then, while staring, picks his nose. Perhaps, however, I'm missing the real message. In which case, that's egg on my face, isn't it? This has happened three times in the last 24 hours. It makes me want to laugh out loud. Instead, I hide behind my sunglasses and push my lips together firmly.
First on the list of To Do's Now That I'm in India was to sort out my local ISP. Find one. Get me hooked up. The choices are slim here, there are not very many ISPs at all (though according to the folks from the India Internet World conference, six new ISPs have launched in the last year. To me, this is very few in a country this size.) I'd already decided before I had arrived that I would give Satyam Online a whirl. Rather than the ever present government VSNL service. Such customer service, Satyam had the installation kit couriered to my hotel within two hours of calling their main number. We'll see if I can actually get online. That's today's To Do.
I'm dreading having to try for Internet access over the next few months. No, no, I agree with you, there are Internet cafes at every corner. But they're of little use when you're needing to load stuff up onto the web. Of course, I think I'm just looking for something to stress about. It's only as much of a pain in the arse as I make it. So I tell myself.
I needed some clothes that didn't scream backpacker. I went to Anokhi--they have a store on Union Street and over in North Berkeley-- and was promptly sorted. I'm now the proud owner of two Punjabi outfits with long, long scarves to match. I feel very elegant. And I can tell you, I'm far more comfortable wearing those than big, baggy travel clothes. If nothing else, sweat patches hide because of all the patterns on the material. Bonus. I blend in, sort of. When someone would ask, umm, so why ARE you REALLY going to India? I'd reply with some proper response. The real truth was that I've always wanted to see all the fabrics. For real. In the real. They're yummy. They have not disappointed. I can barely stand it they make me so happy.
I wandered over to Old Delhi yesterday afternoon. Of course, hiding my map. I'm nothing short of paranoid about showing I have a map out in public. Not because I want to pretend that I really know where I'm going (well, maybe just a little, Miss Wishes She Knew It All) but because I figure you might as well have a sign that says Come Rob Me Now. The truth is, I ended up in Old Delhi. The Delhi of upset tummy, Delhi Belly. It's not like you can't tell. New Delhi is beautiful; it's highly organised. Long wide avenues, beautiful planting, roundabouts, the British leftovers at their best. Raj pudding. Old Delhi is chaos. Tiny alleys with cars, cattle, and every other moving thing you can imagine. It's a whirlwind and a claustrophobic one at that. Grannies sleeping in doorways (on their backs only, I noticed), kids spinning cartwheels down mounds of sand, kids spinning backflips at your feet to divert your attention and then grab your backpack. We looked in my backpack together. Nothing but my notepad, not worth stealing.
Our photo editor, Laura, was in New York City this summer during that heat wave. She put ice cubes down her bra to cool off. At least, that's what she said in her diary. Her brother got all hot and flustered and said that she was tarnishing the family name with her bluntness. But I hear you, Laura. I can't stop thinking about those ice cubes. I keep my wallet down my sports bra and it's hot! Sticky icky, I should be on an ad for Clearasil's toning liquid. Who hasn't looked at their dirty cotton wool pad after cleaning their face with a sense of pride when the cotton wool is black? You'll never be disappointed here. I'm mildly concerned that I'm in zit territory. All this heat and muck in the air.
Delhi feels like it's about to explode. Old and New. I think the heat intensifies this feeling, this energy (ohhh, help, how Californian), too. Add in the fact that horns and bells (from the bikes) are beeped every few seconds from each moving vehicle and my nerves are raw. But in a brilliant way.
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