Arrival in Delhi
I am going to write about my travels in India. What you’ll see is a patchwork of stories as told through narration, rumination, and information that may or may not be in chronological order…I haven’t decided yet how to continue. Today’s story is my arrival in India, and first impressions of Delhi.
Saturday 27 December 2008
After two long flights loaded with screaming children and minor incident with two drunk Russians involving a knife, we finally clear customs at Indira Gandhi International Airport. It is nearly midnight. Oh dear God, I think, as I try with all the concentration left in me, I am really looking forward to a warm bed. However tired, I’m alert through adrenaline, and I scan the airport, careful not to lose sight of my friend in the chaos. The air inside the airport is stale and smells musty, a sure combination pollution and the body odor of the thousands who have traveled through its doors. All around me people are sitting, standing, waiting, and carrying luggage. My stiff legs welcome the chance to dodge the piles of suitcases and the crowd of people coming and going.
Reprieve from the dry air from the plane, and stale air of the airport is not found outside in the night air, as I struggle to breathe the choking air through my nose. A slight burning sensation fills my lungs and I gasp for air. As we walk to meet my friend’s father, who not surprisingly, stands out amidst the sea of brown faces waiting for their passengers, beloved and stranger. I am in a dreamlike state, nearly in disbelief that I am actually in India. Wait. I’m in India!
I stare at the line of a hundred men of standing against a railing, some holding signs, others staring, seemingly straight through my being. This moment, I think to myself, is something to hold onto. As if in a movie, a distant Indian rhythm dances in my head and my sight turns to slow motion, passing a hundred beautiful faces with curiosity. Even the crowded airport is initially enchanting. Back from the dream, a cacophony of conversations, rumbling engines, and shrill car horns fill my ears. This, I would discover, is the discordant noise emanating from nearly everywhere Delhi.
The reunion with father was quick, as together the three of us strode through the crowds to the car where Francis, the driver, was waiting. Mother, conversation, and tea were waiting to welcome us to the residence in New Delhi.
Without regard to the poor visibility at night, my eyes are drawn out the car window to the world outside. On the road at midnight, and still there were cars and trucks crowding the road as we pass shadowy buildings. It became evident, almost immediately, that honking in India is not merely reserved in defense or anger, as it most often is in the US, it is a signal (replacing the turn signal blinker) and used liberally. Trucks are colorfully painted, and on the back have “Horn Please” written in English. And the trucks have the right of way. The rule of the road is, “might is right”.
At some point, midnight passes and it is after 1:00am on the 28th. I note in my head that back home, 13.5 hours behind and a world away, it is only noon on the 27th. It is 3am when my head finally hits the pillow—after a warm welcome at the house in New Delhi with my friend’s parents who served us tea, cookies, and generously handed out presents. I quickly fall into a comfortable, yet brief sleep. The last streaming thought before sleep was again, ” Wait. I’m in India!”
