(c) 2009 Todd Sykes.
India is a place that tries your patience. It’s no wonder they invented yoga.
The country introduced itself to me on Thursday, around midnight, after I’d landed from Bangkok. Even at the start of that tomorrow, Delhi was absolutely electric. People are everywhere. They’re asking you questions: “Do you know your way, ma’am?” “Miss, taxi, TAXI?” “Where are you from?” “Where is your husband? Have you lost your husband?” “Need good hotel, miss?” My first impression of Delhi is largely formed by the clamor of these eager questions and, in their background, distant bhangra, jingling bangles and, of course, horns. I’ve never, ever, ever heard such loud of frequent car horns… and I do live in NYC.
Less than 12 hours after I arrived, I was at a train station (with an escort/bodyguard, courtesy of my hotel) waiting for my ride to Rishikesh. I don’t know that I needed someone with me, but certainly didn’t mind having him around. This isn’t one of those places where you argue on that sort of thing. There are metal detectors at restaurants. The day I got here, President Obama cracked down on outsourcing. Getting a SIM card requires an application and passport review – all for government identification and tracking. I wear dark sunglasses to avoid eye contact with men, which could be perceived as flirting. Most of the time, I wear a scarf and have a husband. I don’t particularly feel at home yet.
My vigilance is a natural result of the nature of Delhi, and perhaps of India as a whole. This is a whole ‘nother planet. It’s pure intensity. It is as in-your-face and busy as any land I’ve ever seen. I’m not changing my address, but I do like it here.
In contrast to the caution, the local people I’ve actually met have been terribly gracious, and despite the difficulties of Indian travel, already I’m addicted to exploring here. I’m obsessed with the constant flurry of images, with the diversity of the people – their shapes, sizes, colors, voices and saris, their shared quality of complete calm amidst all of the activity.
And it’s not just in Delhi. I’m in Rishikesh now, settled into my temporary ashram home, and find it to be similarly rambunctious. It’s cool at night and cold in the morning, perfectly sunny in the afternoon. The streets are wet and people swim in the Ganges. The community is alive, with bright market shops and constant chanting and cows lazily walking the narrow, cobblestone and concrete paths. Flies are everywhere. People are standing, sitting, walking, laughing, fighting, sleeping, in the streets.
I’ve also found that you have to ask five different people for directions anywhere. Everyone is so friendly, but it’s always “Yes!! Go this way, then that, through the big gate, you know the one? Good, the big gate, but not the very big gate, now, in back, on the side, hmm, maybe other side, by the fruits stand” (because there’s only one??) “then like this [enter random hand gesture] and down street, and back, there you will find XYZ!” Time doesn’t seem to matter and my cell phone only works for 3 minutes at a time. In the internet café the computers all shut down and restart randomly. Whenever I ask someone about the regularity of this, they smile and say, “Yeah, this is India.” I think, “isn’t India the country handling all of the US’ technology?” I’d be completely confused and overwhelmed all of the time if I didn’t surrender to it.
At the ashram itself, there are a lot of foreigners. I’m not sure what to think of them yet. Half of them look like Jesus. Already I’ve met a ton of enlightened people with gurus and lamas and divinity of all forms, but I’m a skeptical yogi and though I don’t really buy it most of the time, I don’t judge. They all look pretty damn happy, and no one’s hurt. If I’m flanked in between, on the one hand, a patchouli-laden guy who’s spiritual teacher has sent him on a quest for the next 40 years to love every thing, and on the other, a woman who wears 12 rings and 7 scarves and stops mid-sentence to meditate, so be it. I don’t have television anyway.
