One of the most liberating parts of my transition to Delhi so far has been exploring the neighborhood where R and I live and work. My first Saturday after work and street snacks, we came home to do some laundry then headed out in the afternoon to Lajpat Nagar market.
For a big city, the metro is a pretty cheap means of transportation. No bargaining with drivers. No uncertainty if you’re actually being taken to the requested location. And bonus! There is a “ladies only” car at the front of every train, and it is definitely enforced. The car is never too crowded and the air conditioning flows freely. Sure, you can still see the men’s cars packed and staring, but it beats jostling for a position among them. The metro lines are raised above the city, so the views are fantastic.
We took the metro to the market then got out to look around. After passing at least five vendors roasting corn over charcoals (I do love the popping sound it makes!), we could see allyways of tightly packed stores and entered the main lane. Every store seemed to be selling the exact same unlabled merchandise. The heat from the sun and the bodies swarming around us overwhelmed me. My attempts at bargaining were a bit interrupted by my dripping sweat and thus “whatever I’ll pay it I don’t even care just get me into the open air” mindset. Granted, I never paid the originally quoted price, but I know I still settled way too high. In the back of my mind as I did rupee conversions, I couldn’t help but think how items would be just as cheap- if not more so- back in Dallas.
The Indian women are fun to watch. They lay out whatever they’re looking at and make varying faces at the vendor, shaking their heads, shooting out their arms in wide guestures. The process seems to be drawn out and take a lot of patience. I don’t even have a clue what fair prices are yet, and my shaky if non-existent Hindi doesn’t give me much to work with.
After a few clothing items we gals needed, we decided coffee was a necessity. Funny as it seems, hot liquids actually help more in the heat. And seriously- who needs an excuse for coffee? The place we picked was on the outskirts of the crowded market area. The cool air hitting my entire body as we entered made me promise not to cringe at the menu prices. We took a seat on their urban chic chairs and ordered two lattes that ended up being about two dollars each but were quite large. The music on loop was a list of about four songs, one of which was an old school reggaeton song. I laughed watching a young Indian guy kick his foot to the beat. Outside I could see yet another corn roaster and cycle rickshaws roll by with their passengers in both saris and skinny jeans. Modern India.
We dropped off our bags on the way home and decided to walk to the nearby ISKCON Temple. To get there, we delved deep into the neighborhoood. It gets darker there, the buildings rising up closely together to block the light. Muslim men poured out of an unmarked building after a prayer service and dogs gazed sleepily up at us as we passed. Every building looks aesthetically different so that each street seems both choatic and unified within that disorder.
To get to the temple, we walked to the top of the hilltop. After a pat down by a woman guard, we were allowed inside. Leaving our shoes, the ground was immediately warm to my feet as we proceeded. The sounds of chanting grew stronger as we ascended steps to the main temple area. We stood for a moment, uncertain of where to go or where we were actually allowed to go.
I turned and the sunlight drew my attention to a group of people slowly walking around a raised statue. Many of them had hands folded and heads bowed. Some were at times prostrating themselves face down on the smooth ground. I noticed large flowers of differing colors painted on the ground, and as I followed them, I realized it was leading me in a spiral around the garlanded statue. A woman looking to be in her thirties, wearing a blood orange sari modestly around her head, came up to me whispering a sequence of words that I later saw written inside the temple. She motioned for us to repeat them. We just smiled and nodded at her.
I let myself continue the spiral, noticing that many of the painted flowers were worn down so that only one petal remained visible. My mind tried to picture all the hundreds of thousands of people who’d stepped on these same flowers, chanting the words, laying flat before the stone. What had they been praying for? What did they see in their minds as they slowly circled around? What pain were they giving up to the unmoving expression of the sculpted deity?
Finishing the path, I stepped back and saw the sun softening behind the pillars of the temple. I felt suddenly sad. I said my own prayer and reached out to the Lord, my heart feeling the weight of the lost. We all walk the same path. What’s the point of seeing if you don’t wake the sleeping?
man in thought under the temple
Walking down the grass steps, we relaxed surrounded by an assortment of fountains. A group of young Indian men took turns posing with each other dramatically, taking photo after photo, peeking sheepishly over at us. Couples sat untouching, heads leaning in close. The place was larger than I thought it would be, peaceful and dimensions away from the noise and dust of the East of Kailash streets down below.
Leaving, we decided to take a small path that ended up leading us into a huge park surrounding the temple. Families in groups enjoyed the cooler evening air, boys played cricket, friends laughed at each other’s jokes. There was no end to architectural elements, groves of trees, meandering pathways. I felt we could continue for hours without seeing everything. The city rose out of then melted back into the green haze all around us.
As it was getting dark, we thought it best to use my roommate’s incredible directional skills and head home. The street dogs started quietly appearing to claim their territories. We arrived back to the tiny streets near the apartment and night draped over the windows and bikes crowded into the allyways. Even though as a woman you have to be aware and use caution always, I didn’t feel afraid or in danger for a moment.
Exploring our neighborhood and surroundings revealed that even right outside my door, there are layers and layers to Delhi. Every snapshot scene has its own smells, sounds, and intangibles that would take days to describe. And I love every part of it.
I think back to sitting at a stoplight in Dallas suburbia. The sterile concrete, fast food chains, and unending retails stores inspiring an empty echo. It was all nice, very nice. But always the hunger cried out to be surrounded by more, by life being lived in a way that reaches so deep it touches the core of the earth. Lived in a way that electrifies every cell in your body and sheds off the superficial shell.
That is what I’m discovering in Delhi.
Dallas to Delhi 