Crarzy Travelz: Subway Etiquette

First things first, I want to thank a good deal of you for your concern and advice regarding all things delhi belly. I assure you the Champak Bengla household is now outstandingly regular and healthy. I’ve even slowly been drinking more and more tap water each day as to slowly acclimate myself to India H20. Julia warns me that giardia doesn’t work that way. Pfft.

Allow me to state the obvious so that I can feel better about this blog having stated the following sentences: There is no way I can even come close to truly articulating the sights, smells, feelings, and thoughts I’ve encountered and will encounter while abroad. There’s no way this goofster blog can do justice to the realities of India, Senegal, and Argentina or my experiences with them. I mean look how many ‘z’s are in the title of the blog. Get real. Actually, I'm planning on leaving certain things out of the blog. This blog is meant to be proof that and I'm alive and an outlet for sillyness after some very heavy days. The difficult stuff is better shared in person.

Let’s arbitrarily start here: Following a very complicated and confusing lecture on the new field/mathematics of spatial syntax, the class went to India Gate/The Presidential Palace to see how space reflects power. For those familiar with spatial syntax, the space was relatively shallow at a city-wide level but showed surprising depth once the radius of measurement was restricted to 5 km, perhaps a calculated move meant to create a hierarchical space where power is expressed through exclusion. BLECH. The math and maps of spatial syntax were interesting if not totally over my head, but I think the general lack of use could also be attributed to restrictive zoning, dirt sidewalks, and the really pointy/rusty chains threatening you with tetanus if you dared crossed into the grass. It’s more of a parade space anyway. We did get some really nice pictures out of it. I will provide a link to Marshall’s flicker when he gets that going. He takes all the good pictures. I’ve decided to trust him with taking the necessary pics while I meanwhile will focus on the trivial and the silly.

Afterwards we went shopping at Connaught Place, one of the great shopping districts of Delhi which surrounds a giant roundabout built by the twirly British back in the day. Mostly we walked around aimlessly, occasionally being harassed by vendors, Liz and Marly looked for scarves and elephants. Mike and I looked for pajamas. In the end Liz got a phone and I got a sunburn. Mike found himself engaged in a conversation about Pashima. It was never made clear Pashima is a material and not a place to go on vacation. That conversation confused everybody. Later we went to Wimpy burger to get some fast food chicken sandwiches (don’t judge me). There was security guard at the door and all the patrons exuded a certain level wealth he hadn’t seen much in the market. In India, fast food seems to be a luxury for the middle/upper class. Crazy eh!? Cool observation Dylan.

Afterwards Mike and I took the new Delhi subway to get home. The trains are sparkling and air conditioned and everything ran super smooth. It’s been hailed as one of the only places where the elite and less wealthy mix in Delhi. The two cars in front are women only, which unfortunately we hear is very necessary, wandering hands seem to be all too common in Delhi. The freshness of the entire system is very apparent. Everyone pushes madly to get in and out of the subway, which is hilarious and totally unnecessary because the doors remain open for a full minute and there are tons of seats available. So after a violent rush at each station everyone stands around for a long while, breathing too hard, and looking around before the train starts moving. Also people unabashedly fart on the subway. Really Delhi!? I think as the subway gets older some sort of subway etiquette will develop and the violence and gas will stop.

A real conversation:

Dylan: 100

Rickshaw driver: 120

(Repeat 20x with both laughter and angry faces in between, no less than 5 minutes, honestly)

Dylan: 110

Rickshaw driver: Ok.

It’s not the ten rupees (24 cents). It’s the principle of the damn thing.

I got a super cheapo phone (with cricket cup and snake on it!), my number is 813-067-1811. So, you know, if you’re in India, hit me up. We’ll get some dosas or something.

Neighborhood day was a trip. My group was told to go explore Nizamuddin West for a day and report back the next day. We were provided with an awesome translator named Sushant, a map, and some advice on giving interviews. The neighborhood was a Muslim enclave partially built by a 700 year old Sufi shrine. The neighborhood was divided in half with slums, religion, vendors, and working class apartments on one half and wide gridded streets, walls, mansions, secularism, cars, and unused space on the other. Only the dogs spent time on both sides of the neighborhood. We spoke with vendors, rickshaw drivers, students (aging 5-18, the toddlers had a lot to scream about), a tv personality from the rich side of the hood, a security guard, a mosaic maker, and a large group of slum dwellers. All in all it was another 12 hour day with IHP. It was pretty spectacular. A real eye-opening experience. Details are better in person. It’s one of those things I know I’ll butcher on the internet.

Kalyani gave an impressive lecture on caste. It could have lasted a week and we would still have had questions. Learning never stops. The power in Delhi does though. Honking never stops. Rickshaw drivers do, to pee, mid ride. P90x yoga never stops. Neither does Champak’s laughter when she watches Mike and me try to do yoga.

A group of us went back to Lodi Gardens. We heard someone blasting dance remixes of a Black Eyed Peas song. Followed the music for a half mile which led us a row of houses larger than any houses I’ve ever seen before. Every house was 4+ stories and wide enough to be a hotel. Apparently some ambassador was throwing a party, we weren’t going to be able to get in.

Lecture about the Indian government. Largest democracy in the world. The two major parties have similar platforms except that one believes India should be a secular nation while the other believes it should be a Hindu nation. Hindu right argues everyone was once a Hindu, some merely converted, probably those in low castes. It’s a problem. Hundreds of millions of citizens voting on representatives to decide how to allocate resources across 1.3 million square miles (or lately to decide which big corporations should be handed billions of dollar), democrazy! Hey-O. Feel free to use that one anytime.

One unfortunate not-to-be-named roommate had scratchy balls. So we went to a busy pharmacy in the swanky Khan Market to remedy the situation. Unnamed roommate asked the man behind the counter if they had anything for jock itch. “JOCK ITCH!?!?!?” screamed the man, having not heard the term before and wondering if he had heard it right. Everybody looks. Roomie- “Yeah it’s for him” as he points at me. Thanks bro. This happened twice, no store owner has any jock itch cream, but they all gotta yell about it. We got some baby powder and I hear everything is gravy.

Had our first beer in India at an Australian themed bar at Kahn Market. Met a dude named RJ, he turned 21. The drinking age in India is 25. Nobody cares. RJ says if we devote a week of our five weeks here to partying with him, we’ll have the best week of our life. He was drunk. Henry or Marshall has his number.

John, Mike, and I went on a four hour excursion around Chittiranjan Park (where we live), GK, and GKII. At one point we emerged from a long zigzagging market to find ourselves on the edge of a super dense slum like settlement. Along the busy, cow-heavy, sidewalkless street we faced some startling dirty looks. I think it was because we were discussing whether cricket is a game or a sport.

Weekend with Champak’s family. Drinking and cards. I am a Kanasta god. We were served on by a quiet butler. We spoke of economic relations between Japan and India. Whiskey for the men. Vodka for the women. We had lots of laughs. I should have had a cigar. They’re a really nice family.

We went to a trash collectors camp today. It was a harsh punch to the gut by reality. It's great we can all lean on each other as we come face to face with things we only read about and only kind of believed.

Happy Valentine’s Day! Here are few pictures.

A bunch of clowns in Lodi Gardens.