24 Hours in India

My trip started off on a positive note - I got bumped from my flight. I say positive, because it was by choice. I was in no real rush, having booked an earlier flight because it was cheap, and when Continental waved an 800 dollar voucher for a future flight, free meals and a night at the Sheraton, I really didn't have a good reason to say no.

After loitering in my room 5 hours past check out, watching movies and ignoring the front desks frequent calls, I finally made my way to the flight (and a much better seat this time around). Ten minutes after take off, I felt better. Better about life. Conscious, alive, excited. I was in a funk for months that can only be described as employed. It was over, and I was back on the road, on my own terms.

When I stepped out of the New Delhi airport, I didn't notice. Delhi is a poorly circulated smokers living room. You don't feel the air, the outdoors because of the smog. The pollution is so thick, it is like walking through a hookah lounge at maximum occupancy, barreling through a constant stream of cob web walls, or reading a paragraph with too many analogies.

On the taxi ride to the airport, I was adjusting, acclimating, smiling at the life threatening style of driving that is Indian traffic. Where honking your horn is encouraged, utilized and abused as cars, trucks, motorcycles, bikes, and cattle weave in and out of each other. The roads are littered with unnerving street dogs roaming hungrily, vendors still slinging their goods at 10pm from makeshift huts and - well - litter. One such loitering canine made an attempt to cross the street 40 feet in front of our car. I felt the driver tap the break momentarily as the dog stopped in its place, staring us down in an unfair game of chicken. That light tap of the break was the only hesitation before the driver ran the dog over at full speed. I stopped smiling. It wasn't so much of a whimper we heard, but a howling scream. I wished the windows weren't open. Thirty seconds later, my two escorts began talking amongst themselves. I could tell it wasn't about what just happened. Another thirty seconds, and the driver was whistling casually. I felt like vomiting for the three of us. Instead, I stayed in my room all night and watched HBO India.

The next morning I met two Australians, a married couple who are joining us on our tour, and the three of us did some exploring. All three jetlagged, we weren't looking for destinations so much, but to experience Friday afternoon life in New Delhi. We went to a few well known bazars and shopping areas near Delhi's Central Park, admiring the people and animals alike lounging like death in the sun, men peeing freely against a wall while we ignored gauntlets of begging children. It was all very familiar and somewhat endearing, and I enjoyed the couple's reactions to their first day in India. Passing by construction sites, there were boys seemingly as young as 12 sawing boards and laying bricks barefoot - adjacent to a Reebok store selling sneakers for 130 dollars. We ate a vegetarian meal of fried rice, vegetables and naan bread. We bought socks.

I'm off to read about the latest scandal - in 2002, what were called the Gujarat riots took place where Muslims were massacred in this town. An undercover investigation has supposedly uncovered confessions that the chief politicians and policemen aided in these hate crimes by providing weapons, taking false statements from nonexistent witnesses and the like. Said politician is now in the Indian parliament. Many want him thrown in jail and to call these acts a genocide. His political party wants his name cleared and to discredit the journalist. There's nothing quite like Indian politics.

Until next time. I would love to hear from all of you - please be in touch.