FIRST 3 WEEKS IN DELHI

When I landed at the Indira Gandhi International airport I didn't know what to expect; I half expected a bit of chaos but then as the escalator descended towards immigration it all started to look very familiar -  high ceilinged walls covered with brass plates and protruding palms with the fingers sculpted into religious hand positions known as mudras - it brought me back to December 2010 when I made the trek to India for my friend Cauvery's wedding. I didn't think I'd be back so soon let alone for no reasons in particular other than to travel around the country. Does travelling suffice as a reason? With no exact plan and only a vague idea of what I want to do whilst I'm here, I step into the furnace like outdoors and see my name displayed on a piece of paper. I put my hand up like I'm in grade school being called out during morning attendance. The driver spots me and waves me over. The 30 second wait for my bags to be placed in the trunk and I'm already perspiring. I reach my destination which is an Indian palace like mansion in half an hour and my bags are automatically taken up to the 2nd floor where I'll be staying. This home belongs to the Kakar family who are old friends of my parents. I've known them since I think I was about 9 and they've graciously allowed me to crash at their place until I figure out where I'm going next. 

My home for the next 3 weeks. It's much, much bigger on the inside. 

Delhi on the outside looks the same as I last left it but it's the changes in people I notice. The middle class are getting richer, their cars bigger and their cell phones flashier and as a foreigner who is Indian, I'm not stared at as much - they've seen the likes of me before. Of course I am sooo 'last season' with my light weight 'non smart-phone' from Cambodia and $1 flip flops. However the array of smells and the circus that is India hasn't changed. The colours are bright and loud and the people even more vibrant. It’s impossible not to stare at all the chaos. People run and hang off honking buses, groups of children are packed in autorickshaws like sardines, families of 5 ride on motorcycles comfortably and malnourished cows roam around looking for scraps to eat as the homeless find a vacant space on the pavement to rest on. India is a country of extremes. Extreme wealth and extreme poverty co-existing right next to one another.

My first autorikshaw ride back from the aryuvedic hospital (look in the rearview mirror and you'll see my greasy head covered look)

June 7th

A week has gone by and I'm already sick. I had frequently heard of the term 'Delhi belly' and I finally know first hand what it means. I spent the better part of the last 72 hours in the washroom. I really don't know what it could be since I've been fairly careful with where and what I've been eating and drinking and since I've been travelling for so long I thought my system could fight off most bacteria. London must have softened me up. After an exhausting three days of being bed ridden I'm eager to get out of the house. I tag along when auntie heads out for some jewellery shopping at the Greater Kailash market where I find much to my liking. The next day I hit the colourful Sarojni market where the clothes are cheap and the options plentiful - my kind of place. However just half an hour of wandering outdoors at 8pm in the evening and I'm sweating. I buy two kurthis (light cotton Indian styled tops) and a pair of tights for $6 and I’m happy.

Shopping/sweating at Sarojini market

So I’ve taken my aunts advice and started aryuvedic treatment - An ancient Indian method that uses natural ingredients and methods to cure illnesses - yet another attempt at trying to cure my chronic digestive issues (a.k.a. IBS). So I'm taking some repulsive, vomit inducing herbal meds twice a day and getting shirodhara - a process of warm oil being continuously poured on the forehead for half an hour. The idea is to have the oil seep into the head and calm the nerves.

Shirodhara

 The process itself is relaxing but after three days of reeking of coconut diesel I figure it’s not helping my digestive issues so I stop. Perhaps I would have continued the treatment had it been given in a luxurious spa where the atmosphere would be soothing and comforting.  The Aryuvedic hospital in contrast is government run so cleanliness is lacklustre to say the least and after hearing Ritu scream because she saw a mouse run out of the steam bed, I decided to call it quits.  The rest of my time in Delhi is spent chilling, writing, reading, working out and checking out a few movies and restaurants. I’m living the high class life, but not for long. My journey out of Delhi is about to begin...

Free food being given out on the side of the street