Akshardham Tomb
The first condition of right thought is right sensation, the first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it.
- TS Eliot
The first thing you notice about Delhi is the smell. It’s a multi-layered stench of exhaust, smoke, pollution, and the unique stink of 16 million people piled on top of each other. The smell gets into your clothes, carried by the dust that coats everything. Your nose becomes filled with black grit and your eyes water. My friend Pari’s mother told me that in the past few years, winters here have been characterized by a chronic mist that settles over the city. It reminds me of TS Eliot’s Prufrockian yellow fog, equal parts smog, dust, and river mist. The sun hides sullenly and night-time driving is hazardous when the fog thickens.
The second thing you notice about Delhi is the traffic. The traffic is constant and snarls are a part of everyday life. There are no traffic rules, or if there are no one follows them. Buses, cars, trucks, auto-rickshaws, motorcycles, and bicycles weave in and out, trying to make headway. Every move is punctuated by near-constant horn-blowing, which is the way you let people know you’re coming. It’s completely nuts and I feel like I’m always on the brink of a 12-car pileup. However, it all seems to work, as I have yet to witness an accident. There are few sidewalks, and they’re mostly torn up with construction (all of Delhi is under renovation for the 2010 Commonwealth Games) or home to tent villages.
Traffic on Chandni Chowk Road in Old Delhi.
Pedestrians mix freely with the traffic, so you have to keep looking around to make sure you don’t get hit by a car or scooter. It’s hard to remember to walk on the proper side of the street so I’m forever getting honked at for going the wrong way. Maybe I just get honked at anyway.
Delhi’s a circus of sights and sounds and smells. I kinda love it. I spent the first week here tagging along with my friend Pari as she ran errands around town. I’m staying with her mother in east Delhi. After she returned to London I began to check out the tourist sites. I quickly discovered that it’s somewhat hazardous being a tourist in Delhi. For one thing, I stick out. A lot. I am usually the only Westerner in site and am a target for every tout, street hustler, and . It’s annoying as hell to be hassled every 20 feet, but it’s the way things work here. Scams abound. Westerners are advised to only use government-run tourist offices to book tours. As a result, every tourist agency claims to be “government-approved” and touts claim that the government offices are closed or don’t give tours anymore. I finally gave up on trying to find a tour of Delhi after four different places refused to give me the bus tour (the cheap option) and tried to force me to book a private car tour. I’m just going to go see things myself.
Statue of Gandhi. People feed the pigeons here.
These signs look a lot like London Tube signs. They also tell you to "Mind the Gap."
Getting around Delhi is complicated because although there is a perfectly good metro system, very few people seem to use it and no one can agree on how complete it is. Pari’s apartment is located directly across the street from the Mayur Vihar-1 Station, but even she didn’t know how well it worked. The metro is my favorite way of getting around. It’s clean, fast, and not as crowded as the public buses.
I think I must sort of look like I know what’s going on because a German tourist asked me for help on the metro. He didn’t know what line to take to get where he was going. I’ve gotten the hang of taking the metro here. I push my way to the token counter and yell my destination. I get my token and go through the ladies security entrance and reassure the guard that yes, I am a lady. Then I
A not-so-crowded car.
wait on the platform and shove, push, and elbow my way onto the train. When my stop arrives, I reverse course and shove my way off the train as people are trying to get on. Taking the escalator is my favorite part because I have to shove and elbow some more to get on and then shove the people in front of me to walk faster. I imagine I’m in DC and mentally elbow aside all the slow tourists who stand on the wrong side. I’ve gotten used to the usual crush of people on public transit and don’t mind it anymore. I just read my book and elbow my way around. It’s liberating, really.
Westerners are pretty rare on the streets and we’re all part of a secret club. We nod sagely to each other when we pass in the streets because yes, we’re cool. We’re in India.
February 13th, 2010 at 7:54 pm
Sounds like nothing’s changed since 1987…except there was no metro then, I took cheap city buses. What fun! People hanging out windows and clinging to the roof. Very few westerners at that time; got pretty lonely. I, too, was staying with the mother of an Indian friend, and she spoke English, but the culture differences were TOTALLY MYSTERIOUS.