First Day in Delhi

Dear all,

I arrived at New Delhi airport at around 3:30am on 17th September 2013. Entry to the country was swift - the queue for immigration of foreigners was empty.

The first thing I noticed about India (because in the end all airports look roughly the same) was that all the vehicles had helpful driving instructions written on their rears. They read "Blow horn", "keep distance" and "use dippers" (also "dipers", "dipppers" and a few other variations). These were sometimes accompanied by "Namaste", decorations and colourful pictures, often the Elephant God Ganesh. The advice went unheeded everywhere.

The driver of my prepaid taxi (you pay the guy at a booth and he gives you a slip good for one journey to your required destination) was a young man who didn't speak much English and didn't know where the Civil Lines suburb of New Delhi was. He called up the B&B to which I was headed several times to better his understanding of the streets. Eventually we arrived at a dark, shut doorway. A man appeared and offered to take my backpack. I didn't know who he was so I kept it. Another man appeared, more smartly dressed this time. I followed both of them inside. The second man yelled up at a room, a door was unlocked, and I was led to my marble bedroom. I was shown the air conditioner controls and given the wifi password (he was certainly familiar with the priorities of travellers) and left in peace.

The next morning, over an expansive breakfast at 10, I met the lady whom my taxi driver had disturbed and worried so many times. Not sure of the proper etiquette in India, I stood up when she introduced herself. She was Shalini Sham Nath, of Sham Nath Villa, of Sham Nath Marg (road), of Civil Lines District, the area of Delhi where the British Military Officers resided when they were in power in India. After independence Shalini's husband's grandfather helped write the new Constitution, and Shalini's husband's father was the Mayor of Delhi. It appeared that the transfer of power from Upper Class British to Upper Class Indian had been fairly seamless, the majority of Indians remaining fairly non-plussed at their change of masters.

I was also introduced to Seema. To her surprise and amusement I stood up again when she was introduced as I took her to be Shalini's daughter (she was her housekeeper). I wasn't quite sure how to behave in this house, especially towards the countless servants (countless because I was unable to count them) who would mop the marble floors while squatting, guard the door and gatehouse, fetch pens and such like for Shalini, and occasionally even drive guests places.

For breakfast that morning, and every other morning during my stay, I had coffee, juice, fresh papaya, a banana, stuffed Parantha, chapatis, pilau, some mango pickle, muesli, and toast with Marmalade from Bhutan. I often didn't manage to consume it all to the best of my satisfaction but always gave it my best effort.

After my late breakfast I arranged for dinner that evening then planned an easy first introduction to India. I had been warned by many of the heat, the crowds, the traffic, the bad hygiene and general intolerable so-called "assault on the senses". To the best of my knowledge my senses had never yet been assaulted (one at a time previously, but never all at once) so I was curious to find out what this would be like. However my (somewhat) cautious nature led me to take Seema's advice and restrict myself to a short stroll around the local neighbourhood for now.

I left Sham Nath villa. It wasn't so bad. The traffic was no busier or more chaotic than parts of China, the heat was tiring but tolerable, and nobody was trying to pickpocket, scam or poison me yet. I wandered, not the object of too much attention, waving to students and children more than adults as is my wont, all in all feeling reasonably at ease. I headed down some side lanes, admiring the trees, the school uniforms, the coal fired cast iron chapati and dhal stands.

Before long I felt I had exhausted the possibilities of my immediate vicinity so I headed to the metro. To my pleasure, on the steps of the metro I found boys sitting playing chess. To the best of my recollection I have never seen this in the UK. True, it's colder, but it's still unfortunate.

I employed the same strategy as in Beijing - I would find the centre as soon as possible. On my inadequate-but-still-better-than-Chinese tourist map "Central Secretariat" looked good. There was Government buildings nearby and also a long stretch of green.

Navigation was easy because everything was in English. After my bag had been scanned and body checked, on the metro itself I was the object of some stares, as in Beijing, but they quickly lost interest.  I emerged onto a busy highway, in sight of some snack stands and a stretch of gardens.

I wanted to buy water but was as yet unaware of the appropriate price for water. If they wanted to rip me off they would get away with it. Granted, this had also been an issue throughout China and I hadn't let it stop me getting ripped off then but I had felt more relaxed and careless there, when I existed within a jovial group.

I headed east through the gardens towards "India Gate". Like the locals, I didn't use gates or paths but simply stepped over hedges and fences where it suited me. I was developing a new rule - "what they do, I can do". It was a surprisingly liberating philosophy as in general Indians appeared to be fairly free and easy with their manners, eating and sleeping habits and approach to getting from A to B. I've never been fond of eating tidily or waiting for the green man so this would suit me fine.

The gardens were hot but shady. There was a varied mix of people on the grass. There were some families, some couples, some people who appeared to live under a tree, a few dusty old women sleeping beside a pick axe or a broom and a few little boys and girls scurrying round with bags of flowers, poppadoms or soft drinks. A boy with soft drinks approached me. First I ignored him but he pulled my arm. He offered me a bottle of coke for 100 rupees. I gave my standard response to the first  price offered - "No no no, too much, too much". He replied,  "80! 60! Ok 30!". I still wasn't interested. Then he held the bottle against my arm. Unexpectedly, it was cold. I was sold.

After what seemed like quite an extended hot walk, alleviated by coke-a-like, I reached India Gate. This was a large stone arch. I'd seen them before but this was in Delhi. I observed the tourists, all Indian except for four white tourists. I smiled at them, like I smile at anyone I feel some affinity with for assorted arbitrary reasons, but they didn't smile back.

I was messing around with exposure settings that day, following some technical advice from Mika, the guy travelling with three cameras, hence the over dark tone of the shot.

I decided to walk to Connaught Place, another centre. I stopped for lunch at a street food stall in a quiet spot and ate crunched up Samosa with dhal and sauce. It cost 10 rupees - 10p. It was hot, spicy and delicious. I ate it at the side of the road with my fingers and a wooden stick and watched a too skinny guy wearing the remnants of ankle and wrist shackles get shooed away by a vendor from the spot where he had chosen to squat. He moved a few feet away from the stall in question and squatted by another tree.

I was tired of walking so I decided to try a tuk tuk - another first experiment best undertaken early. "Connaught Place?". "80!". "Too much, too much! 30!". "40!". I assent and get in. He drives for roughly two minutes and stops. I paid 20 or 30 rupees / pence more than I should have but this was an acceptable loss.

At Connaught Place I note approvingly that there is a western looking cafe then a young man in a Manchester United shirt introduces himself to me. He is pleased to meet me, he says, and is looking to practice his English. I ask him how long he has been learning and he tells me one year. It strikes me that he is surprisingly fluent for only one year's study but I let it pass.

I tell him this is my first time in Delhi. He helpfully mentions that there is a tourist information office nearby and offers to take me to it. I conclude that since I have no other plans I may as well, I can ask many questions about the city.

At the office say thank you and goodbye to the young man and go inside. I am offered a chair and fresh lime soda. A little suspicious by now, I ask whether this is free and am assured that it is, though this is unsettlingly accompanied by a sly half smile.

A tipsy Korean girl appears and offers me the agent and I some of her vodka. We accept. My tourist information agent on hearing that I am here for six days, tells me that there is not much to see in Delhi, that I can see it all in two days, that instead I ought to take a a three day trip to a sacred town in the foothills of the Himalayas to do "spiritual stuff". He jots down some train times and other notes. The Korean girl suggests we go to a bar later then disappears. Finishing up my vodka and lime soda I tell the agent I'll think about it and ask if I can take the notes away with me. He refuses.

Outside I find the Man U shirt wearing young man skulking and looking despondent and anxious. I realise his game now. He's seeking commission kickbacks for sales of expensive trips to tourists. I think he realises its a long shot but expensive trips like that may be worth some skulking for him. On ascertaining I haven't bought anything he asks in a dejected tone whether I would like to go to a shop that he knows. I feel sorry for him.

It is now approaching 4pm. I feel that I have engaged in sufficient exploration and tiring activity for one day so I head home, that is, I head to my comfortable air conditioned room where my backpack and iPad reside. On my return I meet Shalini. She asks about my day, seems impressed by the ground I have covered and tells me that dinner is at 8, that I am invited to join herself and her husband for dinner in her home, that the other guests will also be joining us. I am surprised and pleased at this inclusiveness and welcome. When I spent several hours choosing this B&B two months ago I looked for a large number of bedrooms as well as a high TripAdvisor rating, figuring that this would increase my chances of dining and making friends with other guests during my stay. This time I had correctly predicted my future preferences. I was prepared for a week exploring and eating alone, and also looking forward to the quietness, the break from the need to go along with the activities and chat of others, but the evenings were a different matter, the truck had given me a taste for beers drunk slowly with good food and sporadic insights into other lives.

Shalini volunteers to send a Chai up to my room for me while I am relaxing and awaiting dinner. I go up and it arrives around 5pm. During the week this becomes a regular routine, though I am not asked. Instead, the gatekeeper or other persons unknown keep tabs of when I have returned from my daily rambling and it always arrives while I am lying on my bed, making plans online. It is a good routine.

I look at my stained shorts and decide to change into trousers. At 7:55pm I go downstairs and sit for a while. Another guest appears and we chat. A servant appears and beckons to us both. We cross the courtyard and enter another house. It is very similarly furnished to the guesthouse though the furniture is perhaps more ornate, and there are more hangings and paintings on the walls. We are greeted by Shalini, now beautifully dressed in a gold trimmed Sari, and I am introduced to her husband Arun. I feel glad I changed out of my shorts, Again I try to remember British manners and wait until she has sat before I sit down.

There are four other guests, two men and two women, some of whom are surprised to be eating in Shalini's home tonight instead of the usual table used for breakfast. Shalini explains that she likes to have company once in a while, and besides this was the best opportunity for her to introduce them to me. I gather that all four of them have been staying for some weeks. There is a Sociologist from Turkey (the man I came in with), a German Anthropologist working at the University of Frankfurt, a Romanian Anthropologist working at Oxford, and a German fashion development director who works for Zara and liaises with Indian suppliers. I wrongly assume that the two Germans are a couple but it doesn't matter since I don't say anything that relies upon this assumption.

Shalini takes charge of the conversation and directs questions to each of us in turn, keeping it moving between different subjects, never letting it get bogged down in subjects of marginal interest. When I am asked about my travels I keep it concise though fall over once again on the confusion generated by calling it a truck. I really should just refer to it as a bus to save misunderstanding but it's really not true.

I try my best to sum up my impression of the people, government and current developments that I observed in China, wanting to communicate something that they may not already be aware of. I don't wish to make any vacuous, sweeping statements like "China is quickly becoming very developed" to a group of academics. I'm not sure I succeed but I do pass on my slight disappointment at finding cities of millions in the middle of the desert where I had hoped for backwater market towns. They are impressed by my travels though the man from Turkey wonders why I would engage in such a journey. We talk further and I mention my background in Philosophy, whereupon he says, "Aha! It's because you're a Philosopher! I'm a Philosopher too!". He turns out to be an expert in Hume.

During the conversation snacks are handed round by Shalini's servants, consisting of tasty Indian food and chicken nuggets. Neither Shalini nor Arun eat meat but they included the nuggets as they understand their guests sometimes like to.

We help ourselves to a variety of vegetarian curries and dhals, biryani and chapatis. Despite going back for seconds I don't escape Shalini's exhortations to please have more. I have my dessert and the dessert of the Romanian lady who doesn't like sweet things. We drink beer from glasses and we understand that it is time to retire when they cease being refilled.

Stephen