I almost didn't make it on the plane. I got to the airport early, stood in line patiently to check-in (next to me a crying baby whose mother thought the best thing to do to shut to the baby up is give it Coca Cola), took off my shoes and waived my Miranda rights and waited in line again at the gate to get my seat assignment only to be told that there is no seat for me as the flight was overbooked. The next 25 minutes were very tense but ill cut to the chase, I made it on the plane, on the last available seat that belonged to someone who didn't show up. flight was, ok.
Arrive in Delhi, pick up bag rather quickly (since it was the last one in there it came out first), step out of customs and here comes that third world smell, aaah, I have no idea what it is but there it is. Smells like food, feet and mothballs? I peek around for my hotel pick up but i don't see my name (i had also decided already that the 900 rupees the hotel wanted to charge for my pick up was too much) so i just went ahead to the prepaid taxi. the guy charges 450 rupees, walks me out to a taxi driver waiting outside in the oppressive 100 degree weather (and thats the temperature at 9:30pm) and only gives him what looked like 150 or 200 rupees (the guy behind the desk is like a slum lord for taxis, pockets more than half the money).
the driver (who was very handsome) got lost in the Defense Colony (the area i'm staying in and seemed very frustrated and started cussing me out in Hindi), we finally found the place and i gave him another 150 rupees.
sleep. wake up at 6, have an omlette and head out. my first delhi rickshaw ride was nice, cheap, with no traffic (as it was only 7am) and hassle free. my first stop is the Red Fort. massive building, not particularly well kept, lots of little pavilions inside, i do the loop, take the token pictures and I'm ready to go feeling strangely underwhelmed. I kept telling myself "I need to be excited to see this, I should be impressed." I was too distracted by feeling guilty for not being in awe.
I crossed the street (passing by urinals that have been installed on the sidewalk, reminded me of the plastic urinals installed in London streets near bars and clubs) into Old Delhi looking for Jama Masjid (India's biggest mosque). Here the streets were grim, bodies laid out on the sides the street still sleeping, people squatting down having something to eat, rickshaw drivers chatting, guys carrying boxes and bags three times their own size over their heads. smell of urine was oddly refreshing when i get a whiff of it after the constant smell of open sewer. the street itself is under attack by competing pedestrians, cyclists, rickshaws, taxis, cars, vans and trucks. I too am competing for a path to walk on, the asphalt is starting to feel very hot under my feet. it is only 9 am.
I found the mosque. it sits on a platform reached by a very tall set of stairs. entry to the mosque is free, however if you have a camera you must pay 200 rupees, and what tourist would be there without a camera. i guess it is a way of going around charging tourists for visiting a functioning house of worship. The building is beautiful but not the biggest I've seen. I boy approached me and asked where i was from, i said Egypt then he followed me around asking me for Egyptian money to add to his collection. another man followed me and insisted i see a shrine-like space in one of the corners of the mosque where apparently there are relics of the prophet. I resisted and he insisted so i went. A wooden room, box-like with some Indian motifs and painted white is built in one the corners of the building near the outer court. standing inside, and visible only from the waist up as the opening is more like a window than a door, is a bearded man. His hair is treated with henna, giving it that reddish color one sees so often on the street, his beard too has some red. Even his tongue and the inside of his lips look dyed. He proceeded to explain to me that there are five relics of the prophet that were given to Shah Jahan in the 16th century by the Ottoman Sultan. The bearded man seemed to recite something he knows by heart more than any other scripture. this was a tourist trap. but I was only invited to see this because i replied to the man that i was Muslim. this was a tourist trap targeted at superstitious Muslims who might fall to their knees and empty their pockets just to see a hair of the prophet or a stone pressed by his foot print. the authenticity of all this seemed so suspicious. yet there was something formal about this thing, i mean how could it be there if it is fake. but the guy in charge was a total sleaze. when i offered 10 rupees as a donation at the end, he looked at me and said but this is very little, as if feeling underpaid. I said that is all i have for him and he snatched the money and thew it violently to the side where i assume there was a pile of money. the whole experience was very awkward and i just wanted to get out of there.
i left the walls of the mosque thinking "what to do now," it is only 10am and the sun is beating mercilessly on my head. a group of malnourished guys and one girl were smoking pot? outside. I was already nearing the end of my day only 2.5 hours after it started. just around the corner were two music stores side by side. one was blasting the Koran and the other blasting popular Indian music. the guys working at both shops seemed to accept the fact that whatever they are blasting from their speakers can not and will not be heard for what it is because it is becoming only one part of a cacophony of sound: part Koran, part Indian dance music, and of course saturated with the honks and beeps of cars and rickshaws. this was exactly where i wanted to be, in the middle of all this.
I escaped the midday heat by going to the National Museum. This was perhaps the biggest disappointment. you would think India would have an impressive national museum but this place seems completely under-funded, dilapidated and the collection was underwhelming. the building itself was rather small and was only built in the 1960s, and looks like it hasn't received much attention since. I did however totally fall in love with their Mogul and Persian miniature painting gallery. these images were amazing, I can not describe it in words. they made me want to go to pearl river in Chinatown and pick up some fancy paper, art supplies and get busy. it was mostly the detail and the influences layered in each piece that got me. one of my favorites has a portrait of a nobleman holding an icon of Virgin Marry. Apparently this was after he was visited by a European Ambassador who had brought with him gifts including religious icons. I spent most of my time here.
Delhi is a strange city. it is so crowded on the streets, there is so much traffic but there is not much of a city. there are so many wide tree lined streets with random buildings but hardly any cohesive urban fabric. where are all these people coming from and going to?
I can't wait to ride my first Indian train tomorrow and head north.
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