Deepakanova

I saw this etched into one of the step wells of Mehruali. Leaving the ethics of tagging on a 700 year old ruin aside, I first thought Deepak only double arrowed Soma because a heart was too strong in a city where many marriages are arranged. But then I thought of the movie ‘Me and You and Everyone We Know’ and how a similar symbol was used to signify pooping back and forth forever, an idea one of the characters thought was outstandingly romantic. Then I thought that was stupid. THEN, and this is the ‘then’ that matters, I harkened back to the Logic class I took over the summer and considered the symbol in the language of sentential logic. The double arrow designates a bi-conditional translating to English as “if and only if”, so maybe: ‘Deepak if and only if Soma’. Pause. Sigh. Holy shit, if that’s not the most beautiful tiny passionate tag, than I don’t know what is. It’s a whole lot dreamier than a lame heart and certainly more meaningful than pooping back and forth (though not necessarily less relevant-see first post).

Wednesday off. So Tuesday night I met up with Shane near his house in North Delhi. Had some Afghani chicken on the suggestion of Matt, an impressively-bearded friend of similarly-bearded Jacob Sadowski. Got the house tour from Jilly, who apparently is in the same sorority as Sarah Inkelis and is often confused for her. And then went drinking with the guidance of Nick,  dj guru extraordinaire. All Berkeley people, all in Delhi, all shoved into a single rickshaw while its monsooning on everyone. It was a squishy ordeal, but we finally arrived at My Bar. It’s called My Bar, it’s not mine personally, but I still sound really obnoxious when I describe to everyone in IHP that My Bar is the best and cheapest bar in Delhi. We had unreasonably cheap beer and even more unreasonable 24 rupee party shots, which we think may be one part whiskey, one part vodka, one party Delhi tap water, and totally responsible for the state of our physical health on Wednesday.

Champak is teaching me to cook Indian breakfasts. I’m making everyone pudas when I get back.

For market day, my group was sent to Chandi Chowk market to find and research the complex relationship between the formal and informal markets. We were given 100 rupees to buy things and engage shopkeepers on the touchy subject of their legal status. We found a dude selling pirated movies and songs from his laptop in a legally rented stall in a government approved market. Illegal formal? We spent all of our rupees on 35 of his favorite India songs and tried to get him to dance with us. He declined, but laughed at our dancing attempts before trying to jack up the price for his songs. Nay nay we shouted, 1 gb for 100 rupees, no takebacks sucka.

Our translator was Sushant. I had been with him for neighborhood day but he was much easier to work with then. This trip he chose a place for us to eat and then told us he hated the place, the food was terrible, and everyone in the restaurant was a jackass right after we’d ordered our food. He led us into alleys that led nowhere, refused to admit he had no idea where we were going, wouldn’t answer our questions for him, wouldn’t translate some of our questions for shopkeepers, and was hardcore creeping on the girls. Too touchy feely they said. Here’s a snip of a conversation he had with Avery.

Sushant: Where do you live?

Avery: Uhh…around.

Sushant: I live one kilometer from there, you should come over, we can go buy scarves together.

I dropped the water bottle Maya gave me in front of a flower stop. The bottom broke open. My laboriously filtered water was depurified by the dirty ground. The little kid in charge of sweeping the area in front of the store was pissed, he began furiously sweeping flower petals at me until I apologized and walked away. My b lil guy.

My black and white phone has snake. I have extremely nimble thumbs. I have the highest snake score ever recorded (unverified). Mike wants to beat my score. He has fat slow thumbs. Mike is very frustrated with life. 

Friday we took a tour of the Salaam Balak Trust and the neighborhood they serve. They round up abandoned or runaway kids in the New Delhi railway station and give the kids who can’t or don’t want to go home an education and a place to live until they’re 18. It’s really feel good work and it’s no surprise its merited visits from Obama and other world leaders and receives millions of dollars in donations from big name corporations. What they do makes a huge impact on thousands of children’s lives and there needs to be a million more organizations just like this one. That said, there’s no controversy in helping kids, it’s kind of boring.

Skylar, Brandee ,Henry,  Bianca, Rachel, Mike, Melanie, Marshall, Marly, Liz, and I walk into a bar. Everybody has a good time. Is that a joke? No, it’s a Friday.

Mike and I went on a run. Nobody runs here. Everybody stares at runners. Especially if they’re white.

Saturday we went to 4 clubs in an hour. Everything was crazy expensive. We should just go to My Bar. Shut up about your bar already. No it’s called My Bar. Yeah shut up.

This is my last week at Champak’s. We started making plans for our separation. I’ve only known her for two weeks and I already know it’s gonna be tough to leave. She thinks maybe we can meet up in the US this summer. I could meet her daughters. That would be great. Five weeks per city on IHP’s super packed schedule is perfect to grasp a thorough introduction to the major issues of these metropolises. It’s not, however, even close to a satisfactory amount of time with the people we meet.

For Crarys and tennis enthusiasts everywhere. A clay court! In Delhi! And one court is empty for you and me!