English Vinglish

Delhi, Thursday 31 January 2013

It's 3.45pm here in Hindustan, and I'm in an internet cafe in an open-air shopping mall called SuperMart, less than ten minutes' walk from the apartment. It's a different mall to the one I mentioned before, the Galleria - a bit less upmarket, but still quite smart and with security guards knocking around.

The sun's finally breaking through the layer of smog that I could see lying heavily over Delhi from my seventh-floor bedroom window this morning.

I spent the morning having Hindi lessons with Rajan, and we covered a fair bit. There's another hour planned for this evening. I'd been trying to learn using the phrasebook, but it makes a big difference having someone explain things. The more I learn, obviously, the more I'll get out of my forthcoming placement and the rest of my time in India. Rajan's maids, Nargis and Mumtaz, don't speak any English, and a bit of Hindi will really help pass some time with them, though I've only two more days to go after today.

Rajan emerged this morning for the lesson looking pretty shattered. He'd hardly slept at all, he said, with the baby. He's been in touch with Manju, the volunteer coordinator in Jaipur, where I'm heading on Sunday. I was offered a choice of two placements and have chosen a project which helps women earn an income, through micro-financing so that they can start up businesses in crafts like jewellery making. That's exactly the kind of thing I'm keen to see working on the ground, so I'm looking forward to that. When I'm in Jaipur, I'll apparently be at the project for about four to six hours - mainly mornings - and then have the afternoons free to sightsee, spend more time at the project or whatever.

Meanwhile, here are a few pics of the environs...

Grover laughed his leg off when he saw there was a Dr Grover with a dental clinic here in the SuperMart mall.

My room in the apartment

My ensuite bathroom

The view from my bedroom window (and below). Here, a big office building.

A school building and its grounds.

The edge of the school again, left, and another apartment block to the right, behind our balcony.

Old Delhi

Delhi, Thursday 31 January 2013

So, yesterday it was time to hit Old Delhi. We started with the Red Fort, and it was nothing short of amazing. I'd read about it in the guidebook and knew this deserved some time. When the driver suggested meeting him again in 45 minutes, I doubled it to an hour and a half. He seemed reluctant, and I suggested that he could go off and have some lunch. He appeared happy at that, noting he hadn't had any breakfast, and we parted company.

I was at the main entrance into the fort. Picture high, red sandstone walls, disappearing off round the corner out of sight to both left and right, with a moat in front (pic below).

The Lahore Gate into the Red Fort

The Red Fort was a walled city, built by Shah Jahan, starting in 1638 and completed a decade later. (In this era in the UK, to give some context, we'd had Guy Fawkes and the gunpowder plot, and by the time work started on the Red Fort, Charles I was in power, having dissolved parliament.)

I got myself an audio guide this time, and was glad I did. It really brought the complex to life. You go in through an initial layer of security, including police holed up in a tiny sangar on the footpath, complete with rope netting around it (as seen above!). And then a scanner.

The Lahore Gate into the Red Fort complex 

Once you've breached walls, you find yourself in an interior yard, with a vast gate in front of you - the Lahore Gate. The audio guide tells me the metal-plated doors in the gateway were so heavy they had to be opened and closed by elephants. Going through the gate, you find yourself in a long covered walkway, lined by shops on either side. These shops existed back in the days when the fort was built, but at that time sold luxury goods, as only those who lived in the fort could shop there.

The complex has a number of buildings and beautiful gardens to wander around and explore. I follow the sequence of the audio guide's narratives and we visit the colonnaded hall where the emperor would hear issues raised by his subjects. Everyone else would stand, but he'd be seated on a white marble throne designed to look like he was being raised on a regal carriage. Now just bare stone, the audio guide explains how the hall would have looked back in the day. Standing there in the temperate January sun, with a lovely warm air moving slightly around you, looking into the hall and onto the gardens in front of it, it wasn't hard to picture how awesome a scene it would have been. The hall was once decorated with precious metals and jewels, the floor carpeted and the open sides shaded with sheets of billowing white cloth.

Some remaining stones decorating the halls in some of the Red Fort's buildings

The tour continued behind this hall for public hearings, and into a complex of buildings beyond. Gardens were arranged in rectangles, bordered by shallow, thin channels, which would have been running with water in the Shah's day. There are two marble buildings facing each other across a long canal channel, where the emperor's court would have sat in the monsoon season, to enjoy the gardens under cover. It was designed to be like the Islamic description of heaven. Although now the bones of its former self, it was a peaceful place, despite the other tourists kicking around, and I could imagine how idyllic a place it would have been.

The fort had its own mosque (pic below), but unfortunately it's closed to visitors now.

The mosque inside the Red Fort

And, of course, no royal city would be complete without somewhere to have a scrub. The hammams, or baths, are a long building, with a fountain in the centre. The pic below shows one end of the building, with a different type of bath behind each of the three doors. The water would have been heated by wood furnaces behind here.

The royal baths, with different kinds of baths behind the three doors

Along from the baths were the emperor's own quarters, which looked out onto the Yamuna River, which flows through Delhi. The Yamuna has since changed course and there's now a ring road behind. The emperor would appear to his subjects from this side of his palace, and in 1911 King George V followed suit. Britain had, of course, been running India for about a century by then, with their trading relationship evolving into government. There's a British garrison within the Red Fort, and the audio guide tells how soldiers were based within the imperial palace buildings, turning the white marble walls black with the fumes from their cooking fires.

It's sad to see how various marauders down the centuries progressively stripped the Red Fort of its riches. It was Lord Curzon who began preservation of the fort and other Indian heritage, when he was viceroy in India in the early 1900s. (The viceroy ruled the country as the representative of the British monarchy.)

Despite doubling the time initially suggested by my driver, I was still 15 minutes late getting back, so fascinating was this place.

And so it was on to the next site, the Jama mosque. This is the biggest mosque in India and was built by the same shah who built the Red Fort. (See the previous post for a description of some of the 'colour' that surrounded this visit!)

Me at the Jama mosque, with the minaret (tower) I went up to the far left of the building.

Inside the mosque

The view out over old Delhi from the tower (minaret) inside the mosque. 

After the drama of the mosque, yesterday's tour came to a reposing close, thanks to a visit to the Raj Ghat. It's a huge park, with pathways leading into a central walled area, within which is the black marble platform (ghat) on which Ghandi was cremated. There was what appeared to be a Christian gathering in front of it, and it was festooned with strings of flowers. Their scent perfumed the air around the ghat.

The 'ghat' or platform on which Ghandi was cremated, and a service going on in the background.

So, all in all, a better appreciation of Delhi and its history. I'm actually looking forward now to spending another day here in March, before I take my flight home, which comes as no small surprise to me.

Delhi - revisited

Delhi, Thursday 31 January 2013

You'd think that drivers hired by and well known to a volunteer agency to take you around a few sights would realise what side their bread was buttered on and not try to hand you over to scammers - but apparently you'd be wrong. Or, more to the point, I was wrong about what side their bread was, in fact, buttered on.

This week, I've had two days of sightseeing as part of my induction with the volunteer agency: the sights around central Delhi on Tuesday, and then the Old Delhi area on Wednesday.

On Tuesday, I set off with Ali, who, it appears, regularly drives for Rajan. It wasn't long before he started talking about shopping. I suspected what might be about to happen (he takes me to some place where he gets a juicy commission), and tried to explain to him, in pigeon Hindi, that I was in India for two months, travelling, and couldn't buy anything as I couldn't carry anything. (Me India - two months - no shopping - no carry.) He smiled, said, 'Oh... OK,' did a u-turn and we continued on with our sights. We were visiting a few places in the central Delhi area: the Qutab Minar, the Baha'i Lotus temple, Humayun's tomb, and India Gate. He basically took me to each place, dropped me off and I met him again after going round them. It was great. I felt like a normal tourist again, milling around with all the other foreigners.

On Wednesday, Ali was taking Rajan somewhere, so I'd a new driver, Vijay. Vijay was smartly dressed in a black suit and clearly took a lot of care with his appearance, as evidenced by his rearranging of his locks as we started out. This day's tour was a few of the sights of Old Delhi: the Red Fort, Raj Ghat (where Ghandi was cremated) and Jama mosque. More about these sights later, but to continue with the juicy commission tale... all was well until we arrived at the Jama mosque. Vijay strode forth through the jumbly bazaar leading to the entrance to the mosque, confidently manoeuvring his way through the crowds, with me trying to keep up. We arrived at the top of the expansive steps at the mosque and I left my shoes with a shoekeeper. I paid the 300 rupees entrance fee (well, as I later found out, it wasn't a fee to get into the mosque grounds, per se; it was a charge for bringing in a camera), and then Vijay's outstretched arm put me in the hands of a very professional-looking middle-aged bloke, with a laminated badge with 'Staff' and his photo on it, hanging round his neck on a lanyard. I assumed this was part of the service, for the 300 rupees I'd just paid. (You know where this is going, right?!) Anyhow, he showed me round and gave me a few facts in not-very-clear English - most of which he repeated at difference points, I suppose to make it sound as though he was imparting more information than he was. I heard at least four times that this is where the women wash before prayers.

I made clear I wanted to go up the tower, from where the guidebook said you get super views around Old Delhi and beyond. He smoothed the way with some other people hanging around at the bottom of the terrace that leads to the tower, who apparently wanted me to pay a further fee to go up there. I made clear I'd already paid 300 rupees and wouldn't be paying any more. We climbed a short spiral staircase made of stone, arriving onto a terrace. At this point, the 'guide' started talking about my entrance fee. I understood him to say he wanted paid, too. I kept pointing to the tower and we made our way across the terrace to the base of it, where, you've guessed it, there were more people hanging around, seemingly hoping to squeeze a bob or two out of me. Forget it, lads. I was in no mood for it by this stage. We set off up the 100-odd steps to the top, and the views were, indeed, superb - albeit limited by the layer of smog hanging over Delhi.

He led me back to the entrance to the mosque complex, where Vijay was waiting, and asked again for his fee. I was happy to give him a tip, as he did give me a tour of sorts, albeit not very insightful, and offered him 50 rupees. No, he wanted 250 rupees. I put the 50 back in my wallet and gave off that I'd already paid 300 and if he didn't want the 50 he wasn't getting anything. I picked up my shoes from the shoekeeper and tipped him the 10 rupees advised by Vijay, by which time the 'guide' was growling, 'OK, give me 50,' and muttered something else. I could see him and Vijay snatching some quick conversation or other. To me it was pretty clear that the deal is that Vijay hands the tourists over to this guy, and then gets a cut of whatever the guide can extort out of them.

It's the way of the world in most developing countries, I guess. But, as I think I've said before, it doesn't feel good to be handed about like a piece of meat, and it was unexpected from people hired by the volunteer agency to supposedly look after you. When I raised it gently back at the ranch, Rajan's wife explained that the drivers are from a taxi firm; they don't work directly for the volunteer agency. She said if they tried to instruct the drivers not to try to take us volunteers to carpet shops, etc, none of the drivers would come! It's such an intrinsic part of their economy and income.

Anyway, about these sights. These two days I saw a different side to Delhi. It's taken me a couple of goes at Delhi to accept it and see things that I like and enjoy about it. I think it's a place it's better to dip in and out of than come for a whole week in one stint - for me, anyway, not being a great lover of cities. It has an astounding and layered history, settled for 2500 years (according to Lonely Planet, whom I credit for most of the facts herein!). Modern-day Delhi may appear to be all one big sprawl, but there have been at least eight cities founded here over those thousands of years, as one ruler gave way to the next.

The first sight I was taken to was the Qutb Minar complex. This was a great place to begin, as it dates from the start of Islamic rule in India, and lays a foundation for some of the other sights I'd visit later. The complex includes a mosque, tombs and the ruins of a madrasa as well as the Qutb Minar itself, which is a 73m high tower, started in 1193. (At that point in the UK, we'd gone through the Norman invasion and were heading into the Crusades.)

Grover at the Qutb Minar

One of the tombs in the Qutb Minar complex

Grover again, with the tomb building behind

Beautiful parrots (parakeets?) in the grounds of the Qutb Minar

After that, it was time to switch religions and come back up to the mid Eighties. We headed for the Lotus Temple, where people of the Bahai faith worship. As Lonely Planet says, its shape is of an unfurling white lotus flower, but it was the Sydney Opera House that sprang to mind for me! It was very well organised, which helped greatly given the large crowds who'd come to visit - most visibly large school groups, with children in their various uniforms. A broad path leads up to the temple, through a beautiful park. As you get closer, you see it's surrounded by pools, like a lotus flower floating in a lake. Up the steps to the entrance, and there are stewards organising us into lines. They give us a short introduction in Hindi and English, before letting us file in. You're welcome, they said, to stay and pray or meditate as long as you wanted, in whatever religion you belonged to. My own stay was only five minutes or so - time enough to sit and have a good look around inside its equalled white and scalloped interior - as I'd arranged a time to meet the driver.

A school group visiting the Lotus temple

After the modern tranquility of the Bahai, I was taken back in time again, returning to the era of Islamic rule in Delhi. Humayun's tomb dates from the mid 1500s. Humayun was the second of the Mughal emperors, who'd come to India from Persia (Iran). It was built by one of Humayun's wives. These tombs became more and more grand as time went on, with each generation outdoing the next, until we finally ended up with the Taj Mahal in Agra, not far from Delhi. What struck me most about these Islamic buildings was how they captured and reflected light in their buildings, with intricate patterns carved into stone panels for windows (see pic below).

Humayun's tomb

We finished off with India Gate, which reminded me of Paris's Arc de Triomphe. It honours India's war dead, and is at one end of a long avenue, the Rajpath, which leads up to the parliament buildings. I didn't have time walk along it... that'll be for my return to Delhi in March.

India Gate - a memorial to India's war dead

I've noticed that the items offered by those seeking to make a living from tourists seems to be grouped - so, around India Gate the main thing you got hassled to buy was name bracelets. It's the thread and bead type. Little urchins thrust a notebook and pen at you and ask you to write a name. 'Two rupees. Two rupees,' they cry. It was such a ridiculously low amount that I thought I could certainly stump up that for a bracelet and help them earn a crust - at least they're providing a service rather than begging. And so I wrote my niece's name, Anna. The wee girl, who was probably about seven or eight, sat down on the kerb and got to work. She deftly produced the bracelet amidst a flurry of knots and beading. But then the games really began.

'Two rupees each letter!' she announced, holding out the bracelet. Hmmm. I got a feel for where this particular business model was going. With four letters, it was still only eight rupees. Bearing in mind there are 88 rupees in a British pound, we're not talking high finance here - but there's a principle of fair business at any level, surely! I protested half-heartedly, and gave her ten rupees. But no, the ten rupees disappeared into her pocket and she announced that the other beads on the bracelet also had to be paid for. 'Ten rupees more!' she chattered. I was half amused and half feeling cheated, albeit for such a low amount, and gave her some more coins. Her little chums joined in and there a bit of a commotion. An Indian tourist, an older woman, came over to facilitate. She encouraged the girl to give me the bracelet, but she wasn't happy! Anyway, I got it in the end, without parting with any more money. I'd have happily paid her 50 rupees or whatever if that had been the asking price from the beginning. But how to explain to her that it really wasn't necessary to run her wee business as a swindle...?

The little girl who made me a bracelet - serious business!

For Old Delhi, on to the next post...

The dim door

Delhi, Wednesday 30 January 2013

Yesterday morning I found my way to the address I had for the Indian coordinator of the volunteering agency. I'd asked them what the best way to get there from central Delhi was, but the question wasn't answered in their last reply, so I figured the Metro was a good bet.

The journey involved a short tuk-tuk (auto-rickshaw) ride from the Tibetan colony to the nearest Metro station and then a ride along most of that Metro line to the southern side of Delhi. The Metro is superb - the freshest, cleanest thing I've seen here. London could learn a thing or two. The station announcements are in English and Hindi and there's a panel above the doors with a moving light to show you which station you're at. It was only 27 rupees (about 30p) for the journey along most of the line, about an hour. Incredible, really.

Look familiar? They even say 'Mind the Gap'.

Platform on the Metro

On the Metro train

Thanks to the wonderful Google maps, I'd a fair idea where I was going at the other end, but no idea what the area would look like. As the Metro train left central Delhi behind, it finally came up above ground and I saw that I was in an area with a lot of upmarket shops, malls and apartment complexes, along with business parks - office towers with the names of international companies emblazoned on them: Mercedes Benz, Dell, KPMG. It had upper/middle-class India written all over it.

I found my way to the address I was looking for - a big apartment complex, complete with traffic barriers and security guards at the front and inside. It felt like an American gated community. I figured this wasn't a business/office address, then. Arriving at the right block in the complex, a guard let me in. I was looking for flat 72. I took a punt it'd be on the seventh floor. The lift opened into a corridor and I walked along until I found number 72, right at one end. It was dimly lit, although it was 10am.

Aforementioned dim corridor

I stood there in front of this dark door, thinking to myself, 'I could be sold into slavery or anything. I could knock this door and never be heard of again.' I looked at it for a few seconds... should I just do a runner? I rapped the door, of course, and a smiling Indian woman opened it. 'Rajan?' I said, the name of the coordinator. She nodded and opened the door wider for me to come in. I stepped inside just as two young American women came up the hall and into the living room. I have to say I felt quite relieved to see them. They were leaving later that day. Having had their induction week, they were off to start their volunteer stints near Dharamsala.

The coordinator appeared and greeted me. He later told me he'd been in bed until I arrived, and is adjusting to life with a one-month-old baby. He said he'd given me a different address to go to for my induction week, but it wasn't a problem - he'd take me over there later. I was a bit baffled, but on going back through old emails I saw that in his first email he had indeed given me another location to turn up at. Whoops.

While the other volunteers were packing, he quietly confided to me that he arranges volunteering in India for a number of volunteer agencies, including some of the big, well-known international ones, as well as the smaller one based in Nepal that I was using. He's from Nepal originally, and had worked directly for the Nepali organisation before coming to India. Some of the big agencies charge their volunteers quite a lot (thousands of dollars/pounds) for their volunteering experiences, but by going through the Nepali one I was essentially cutting out the middle man and therefore saving a lot of money. He asked me not to mention the difference in price to the others - why leave them feeling aggrieved? And they do get a bit more service (insurance, tours, etc) for their money - but still. I'd no problem with that. Who would it benefit for me to do that?

It was ultimately decided that I should stay at this apartment, rather than going to the original hostel address. That suited me fine. It seemed like a decent place and area. I chatted to the others for a bit - as well as the two Americans, there were three Columbians, two of whom had been studying in China for six months. There were three other women in the house, and I wasn't sure who they all were. I figured one was Rajan's wife - maybe the others were family members.

Lunch appeared, after which I tagged along with the volunteers on their last trip to the local street market and the mall, to pick up some food for their bus ride. They set off to catch their bus in the afternoon, and then there was one - me. At least I'd have a room to myself - complete with ensuite bathroom.

The Galleria Mall, near the house

Rajan apologised for the day having been a bit chaotic, with sorting out the other volunteers, and that we'd sit down after dinner for a proper chat. Then he left, along with his wife and one of the other women. I now knew, courtesy of the other volunteers, that the extra two women were his maids - two sisters. Apparently they'd normally work at several houses, making meals mainly, but Rajan had them full-time at his house. One of them also slept there. Labour is cheap, the volunteers said. I assumed Rajan must have explained all this to them. I suppose with volunteers trooping through all the time, and a new baby, he would need some help in the house.

The living room at Rajan's apartment

I spent the early evening with one of the maids, Nargis, who doesn't speak any English. We communicated a bit, courtesy of my pigeon efforts at Hindi from my phrasebook. If I understood it correctly, she has four children - two of whom are 16 and 17, and the others around 11, 12. I think they're in Kolkata (Calcutta), in the eastern part of India, where she's from. Rajan arrived back around 8.30pm and took me through what would happen during this week, along with giving me half of lesson one - about India's culture, economy, religions, etc.

So, all very informal.

Yesterday and today, I'd two days of sightseeing. More about that in the next post.

The kindness of strangers

Manju-ka-Tilla, Tibetan Colony, Delhi, Sunday 27 January 2013

So, back in Delhi, the mad metropolis. To ease myself back into Delhi, I've headed for the Tibetan Colony in the northern part of the city - a transition between Dharmasala and the city. It's a tiny area of narrow alleys, on the edge of a river, with tall buildings all feeling as though they're coming in on you. As in McLeod Ganj, all roads seem to lead to a small central square, with the temple on one side (some photos below).

Getting here was quite a journey... first a bus from the McLeod Ganj part of Dharamsala down to the main bus station in the lower part of town, then a bus to Pathankot to catch the train to Delhi. Once again, I was helped along the way by the kindness of strangers. An Indian soldier and his family, on their way back to where he's serving in Pathankot, helped me find the right bus in Dharamsala. His poor wife then spent most of the 3.5 hour journey being sick out the window.

I expected the bus to arrive into a bus station, but when it pulled up at a junction, the conductor came over and let me know this was my stop - the turning for the railway station. I got off and started walking down the road he'd indicated, and the soldier was getting into an autorickshaw. He waved me over and said they were going in the same direction. It's a good thing he did... it was quite far in the end and it was starting to get dark.

I checked which platform my train would be going from, got myself a hot cup of masala chai and sat down on the seats along the platform to take in the scene for a bit. I'd quite a long wait - it was about four hours until my train. I got about two sips before the first person came over to beg. It was an older man. Another one stopped behind to watch - I suppose he figured that if the first one was successful he'd have a go, too. It's difficult this. All the advice you read is not to give to beggars, but people have so little safety net. Sometimes the begging is organised, with the beggars themselves the victims of gang leaders. It's hard to know what to do, and it's hard to sit on a platform, staring ahead of you blankly, while someone begs in front of you.

A boy of about seven or eight got on the bus at one of our stops on the way to Pathankot, begging. He had a little bowl with what looked like oil in the bottom of it, with a few coins in the oil, and a ten rupee note in his hand. The chap sitting beside me in the bus talked to him and put a few coins in his bowl. I didn't, but for the first time thought I maybe should. The bus was about to pull off again, and the boy got off, but he came round to my window and continued calling up to me as the bus pulled off. It took me back to a quotation of the Dalai Lama's which was stuck up on the wall in the restaurant where I'd had lunch before catching the bus. It was about how some people don't even have basic food and shelter. They work from dawn to dusk and earn next to nothing, and see others living in the lap of luxury without appearing to have to lift a finger. When we don't help people, is it any wonder they become resentful and violence and hatred ensue, he said. I couldn't help wondering what that boy's view of westerners is, when I obviously had the means to give him money but didn't choose to help. We all know that supporting organisations who help reduce poverty is the best way you can contribute, but what are the chances of that boy's life being touched by a charity or organisation? They can't help everyone.

I'm hoping that spending these next few weeks with a charity organisation will help answer some of these questions.

Meanwhile, I had more help from a young woman on her way to Bangalore in southern India, with her dad. The train was about an hour delayed, and they kept me right on what was going on. They offered to share their dinner with me, and helped me find my berth on the train. 

Anyway, here are some pics of the past 24 hours or so...

My last morning in McLeod Ganj began with a walk clockwise around the whole Tsuglagkhang complex, where the Dalai Lama lives. It was all the more salient, as he apparently returned here the day before.

Looking down the valley from beneath some of the many prayer flags around the Dalai Lama's complex

 

Prayer wheels on the walk around the complex

Grover at a cafe after our walk

Decisions, decisions...

See what it says below Norling Restaurant... it's childish to giggle, but...!

The English church at McLeod Ganj

Street life in McLeod Ganj

The station name sign at Pathankot - as they are at other stations I've been through. You could be on the Tube!

The sleeper berths on the overnight train to Delhi

Me stretched out on my berth... what a kick!

View out over the river from my hotel in the Tibetan area in Delhi

One of the ways into the Tibetan area from a main road

My hotel, the New Peace House - proceeds support a monastery in Dharamsala

My room

This and the pics below are some goings on around the temple square in the Tibetan Colony...