People wrapped in musty, lice-infested blankets found corners, crevices and curbs in which to sleep. A woman on a major thoroughfare was warming herself over a flame filled metal trash can. It was clear that in the cold, dry night air of Delhi, it felt good to her. Most of the other street residents of Delhi we saw were not so warm or happy looking.
In Old Delhi, on the tiny street of the famous restaurant where we went to dinner, men sat against the walls of buildings, huddled in their blankets - not begging, just being. The bustling neighborhood went about its business. The squalor around them is part of the intricate weave of life in Delhi.
On those streets, in that part of town - if a child came up to me begging, I'd immediately take him or her to get food. There's no doubt people there are hungry. We saw an old, worn-out man go by in a old metal wheelchair-like device where he self-propelled himself by rowing with his arms. Another passed by whose hands were completely deformed and limp. These aren't things I've seen in quite this way anywhere else. Not even in other parts of India.
But a quick ride up the street back toward New Delhi and the world of large buildings, naval academies, large business towers, shopping centers, and public works reemerges. The men rowing their wheelchairs down the street are just a block or two behind the facades.
Delhi is a strange mix. It's the India I had imagined and never found until the very end of our trip.
Of course, big cities everywhere are concurrently the essence of a country, and a complete distortion. New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and Washington DC help define America and form much of the image we send to the world. At the same time, they are a few small segments of American life, not at all representative of how most people live.
The same is true of Paris and France, Bangkok and Thailand, Istanbul and Turkey, London and England....and the list goes on.
So Delhi with its difficult-to-decipher accents, large population of turban-wearing Sikhs, extreme wealth literally intertwined with destitution and squalor are everything I imagined I'd find. And I have. Only now, having seen so much of India, I'm able to not react with horror and shock - but to know that this is not the heart of India, just one jarring aspect much as there are parts of my own city that make my heart ache.
Of course, we play our part in the strange menagerie of Delhi, just by being here. Our nice American/European-style hotel is in itself an interesting phenomenon. We have discovered that we are one of the few foreign couples staying here. Most of the hotel is filled with Indians here on business, visiting family or traveling. We stay among India's middle to upper-middle class. It's fascinating.
This is our second time in a hotel with primarily Indian guests. In Mumbai, our hotel also catered to Indian business travelers and overseas Indians returning home to visit family members. We were fascinated by the constant buzzers going off at the front desk - people calling the bell-boys to get this and deliver that.
Here too, service seems to be everything. Each floor of the hotel has an attendant standing, waiting to serve - around the clock. At first, I thought there was just a staff member standing around, taking a break. Emily thought he might have been a security guard.
We figured it out conclusively when we called the front desk to see if we had a phone message and the man at the desk promptly hung up on me. We heard a nearby phone immediately ring and within seconds, the guy who had been standing around our floor was ringing our doorbell asking what we needed. Unfortunately, his English wasn't so good and when I asked, "Do you know if we have a telephone message waiting for us?" he responded, "Twenty minutes...just twenty minutes...." and ran off.
That's the other interesting thing. For a hotel of such nice quality in a big city like Delhi, there's a surprising lack of English among the staff. When I finally made my way down to the front desk in my ongoing quest for a phone message - we were expecting a call from Air India with new flight confirmation numbers - the gentleman there didn't even respond to my question, but grabbed a phone and made a call.
He then handed me the phone. The man on the line said, "Just one minute...hold on just one minute sir..." and then hung up.
A minute later, the hotel manager walked in the door of the hotel and asked me if everything was okay, was there a problem with our room? I explained that everything was great and that I just wanted to know if we had a phone message or not. He said something in Hindi to the five desk staff standing around and they all went "ahhhhh" at which time they told the manager who then told me that in fact, there was no message.
Apparently, the hotel is so predominantly Indian that staff are not required to have much English skill.
At all hours of the day, the phone in the little cubby-office down the hall rings for the attendant who is asked to get this and that. The hotel provides 24 hour room service and it's clear that people use it.
The morning breakfast buffet has eggs and toast, but mostly southern Indian breakfast specialties. It's a spicy way to start the day. Emily loves it, but it would give Wilford Brimley an ulcer. Even the hard-boiled eggs are sprinkled with masala seasoning.
Yesterday, we took to using the hotel restaurant on the roof-level to enjoy some chai and sunshine while we worked. Throughout the afternoon, groups of Indian businesspeople having meetings and families having lunch came and went. Orders were given in commanding style and waiters were exceedingly quick and deferent. One business meeting was particularly loud and made it hard to think with their booming conversation in English. My favorite line was, "I opposed the marriage completely. They were completely inappropriately suited. But the family did not listen...."
In our modern, comfortable room that meets American standards in every way possible, there's no feeling that we're even in India. We work easily. We sleep extremely comfortably. Our shower has hot water and pressure that would make a low-flow shower-head using, energy saving Californian cry tears of joy at the sheer indulgence.
But a step out the door, our attendant is waiting. Down the elevators, out the door and around the corner - so is all the best and worst of India.
*We regret the lack of photos today. Please excuse the inconvenience.
Sent from my iPad
In Old Delhi, on the tiny street of the famous restaurant where we went to dinner, men sat against the walls of buildings, huddled in their blankets - not begging, just being. The bustling neighborhood went about its business. The squalor around them is part of the intricate weave of life in Delhi.
On those streets, in that part of town - if a child came up to me begging, I'd immediately take him or her to get food. There's no doubt people there are hungry. We saw an old, worn-out man go by in a old metal wheelchair-like device where he self-propelled himself by rowing with his arms. Another passed by whose hands were completely deformed and limp. These aren't things I've seen in quite this way anywhere else. Not even in other parts of India.
But a quick ride up the street back toward New Delhi and the world of large buildings, naval academies, large business towers, shopping centers, and public works reemerges. The men rowing their wheelchairs down the street are just a block or two behind the facades.
Delhi is a strange mix. It's the India I had imagined and never found until the very end of our trip.
Of course, big cities everywhere are concurrently the essence of a country, and a complete distortion. New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and Washington DC help define America and form much of the image we send to the world. At the same time, they are a few small segments of American life, not at all representative of how most people live.
The same is true of Paris and France, Bangkok and Thailand, Istanbul and Turkey, London and England....and the list goes on.
So Delhi with its difficult-to-decipher accents, large population of turban-wearing Sikhs, extreme wealth literally intertwined with destitution and squalor are everything I imagined I'd find. And I have. Only now, having seen so much of India, I'm able to not react with horror and shock - but to know that this is not the heart of India, just one jarring aspect much as there are parts of my own city that make my heart ache.
Of course, we play our part in the strange menagerie of Delhi, just by being here. Our nice American/European-style hotel is in itself an interesting phenomenon. We have discovered that we are one of the few foreign couples staying here. Most of the hotel is filled with Indians here on business, visiting family or traveling. We stay among India's middle to upper-middle class. It's fascinating.
This is our second time in a hotel with primarily Indian guests. In Mumbai, our hotel also catered to Indian business travelers and overseas Indians returning home to visit family members. We were fascinated by the constant buzzers going off at the front desk - people calling the bell-boys to get this and deliver that.
Here too, service seems to be everything. Each floor of the hotel has an attendant standing, waiting to serve - around the clock. At first, I thought there was just a staff member standing around, taking a break. Emily thought he might have been a security guard.
We figured it out conclusively when we called the front desk to see if we had a phone message and the man at the desk promptly hung up on me. We heard a nearby phone immediately ring and within seconds, the guy who had been standing around our floor was ringing our doorbell asking what we needed. Unfortunately, his English wasn't so good and when I asked, "Do you know if we have a telephone message waiting for us?" he responded, "Twenty minutes...just twenty minutes...." and ran off.
That's the other interesting thing. For a hotel of such nice quality in a big city like Delhi, there's a surprising lack of English among the staff. When I finally made my way down to the front desk in my ongoing quest for a phone message - we were expecting a call from Air India with new flight confirmation numbers - the gentleman there didn't even respond to my question, but grabbed a phone and made a call.
He then handed me the phone. The man on the line said, "Just one minute...hold on just one minute sir..." and then hung up.
A minute later, the hotel manager walked in the door of the hotel and asked me if everything was okay, was there a problem with our room? I explained that everything was great and that I just wanted to know if we had a phone message or not. He said something in Hindi to the five desk staff standing around and they all went "ahhhhh" at which time they told the manager who then told me that in fact, there was no message.
Apparently, the hotel is so predominantly Indian that staff are not required to have much English skill.
At all hours of the day, the phone in the little cubby-office down the hall rings for the attendant who is asked to get this and that. The hotel provides 24 hour room service and it's clear that people use it.
The morning breakfast buffet has eggs and toast, but mostly southern Indian breakfast specialties. It's a spicy way to start the day. Emily loves it, but it would give Wilford Brimley an ulcer. Even the hard-boiled eggs are sprinkled with masala seasoning.
Yesterday, we took to using the hotel restaurant on the roof-level to enjoy some chai and sunshine while we worked. Throughout the afternoon, groups of Indian businesspeople having meetings and families having lunch came and went. Orders were given in commanding style and waiters were exceedingly quick and deferent. One business meeting was particularly loud and made it hard to think with their booming conversation in English. My favorite line was, "I opposed the marriage completely. They were completely inappropriately suited. But the family did not listen...."
In our modern, comfortable room that meets American standards in every way possible, there's no feeling that we're even in India. We work easily. We sleep extremely comfortably. Our shower has hot water and pressure that would make a low-flow shower-head using, energy saving Californian cry tears of joy at the sheer indulgence.
But a step out the door, our attendant is waiting. Down the elevators, out the door and around the corner - so is all the best and worst of India.
*We regret the lack of photos today. Please excuse the inconvenience.
Sent from my iPad
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