When I first decided to come to India, I thought that I would be alone. I'd find a job, find a place to live, find friends in whatever way I could. But through chance, I heard of this organization, AIESEC, that arranges international student internships, and now I'm spending my days in Delhi surrounded by fellow foreigners from all over the world.
As I've described before, there are 14 people living in my flat, and at least 50 interns in other flats around our area, hailing from places like Peru, Japan, Indonesia, New Zealand, and countries from across Europe. Our living places are all within walking distance to each other, so we interact often. During the week, we regularly visit a local bar/lounge for drinks and dancing, and we like to meet for shopping and movies. On weekends, we go in groups to travel outside of Delhi; my entire next month is filled up with places we plan to see. Every night coming home from work, there are happy greetings waiting for me, and a chance for me to bounce words and laughs off of warm, genuine people.
Back home, the friends I valued most were mirrors to myself, but here, I appreciate my new friends not for our likenesses, but precisely for our differences. We all approach India from vastly different angles, but our end goals are the same. I can't count how many engaging conversations I've had that are powered solely by a common, unyielding desire to embrace the novel. I've never been around so many people who instantly understand my belief that the greatest motivators in life are states of discomfort. Not only do they thrive in strange, chaotic, uncomfortable environments, they seek them actively, without question, complaint, or fear.
The most compelling aspect about the friendships that I've found here is that despite only using a fraction of our capacity to communicate using the English language, there is a strength of understanding that can still be achieved. My realization is growing that there is vastly more to human relationships than what can be ascribed to language alone.
So, a toast to my fellow foreign friends here in Delhi. Their company is the heart and soul of life here.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Diwali, the festival of lights.
Diwali is the most important holiday for Hindus, and is celebrated across India with the same anticipation and fervor as Christmas is celebrated in the States.
We saw preparations all over Delhi begin last week for the festival. People strung colorful lights across their balconies and businesses, children tested their firecrackers to the peril of passers-by, and streamers ran in a net of criss-cross patterns above every neighborhood street. Markets were full of new vendors selling clay candle pots, sweets, and nuts, and highways became congested with families driving in from all over the country. The entire city buzzed and glowed. Myself, I felt like a child again. I urgently counted down the days until Saturday, feeling sure I would burst from excitement.
Two days prior, I went to the market and purchased my first sari, a stunning silk fabric of red, bold blue, and gold decals. I had to beg the tailor to make my matching blouse in time for the holiday, but on the day of, I walked home with the most beautiful piece of clothing I've ever owned.
One day prior, preparations in our flat began. We hung up lights, bought candles, and cleaned up the flat in anticipation of our Diwali bash.
Saturday finally came. After an entire afternoon of last-minute errands and purchases, I donned my new sari, and headed over to the home of Nikita, my Indian colleague, for a puja (ritual) with her welcoming family. The room was set up modestly, with the visual center being a small platform with icons of various Hindu deities, lit up by an arrangement of small candles.
three beautiful sisters
Nikita's three sisters and mother took turns performing the various rituals, and after observing closely, I would follow suit. The rituals included flicking holy water over the icons, and throwing rice, sweets, and flowers over them.
At one point, the sisters took out a small book of hymns, and sang together while ringing a bell to herald the goddess Lakshmi, one of the central figures of the festival Diwali.
My favorite part of the puja was storytime, when we all sat cross-legged on the floor, and listened to Nikita's mother tell a religious tale in Hindi, while Nikita translated. The puja was a celebration of the supernatural, but also of the human, the element of uniting family and friends in a warm and open environment.
What's Diwali without firecrackers? Following the puja, we joined the rest of the neighborhood to light up the dark streets, laughing and shrieking and celebrating.
The night was far from being over. Arriving back home, I found that my flatmates had moved our dining table to the balcony and set up a fantastic candle-lit family dinner. I had cooked an India-style lentil stew earlier before I left, and others had contributed a huge pot of pasta, mashed potatoes, and even chunks of goat cheese and parmesan.
At around 11pm, our friends from other flats began to trickle in, most dressed in traditional Indian clothes. Out of the six intern flats around our area, ours is the largest, so it made sense that we should host the biggest party that I've seen so far. At least fifty people packed our abode. When the last person left at after 4am, it seemed like we had exhausted all the fun that could be pumped into one night. We turned up the speakers, poured each other drinks, laid out sweets on the table, and danced and talked in a distinct state of happiness.
More pictures here.
We saw preparations all over Delhi begin last week for the festival. People strung colorful lights across their balconies and businesses, children tested their firecrackers to the peril of passers-by, and streamers ran in a net of criss-cross patterns above every neighborhood street. Markets were full of new vendors selling clay candle pots, sweets, and nuts, and highways became congested with families driving in from all over the country. The entire city buzzed and glowed. Myself, I felt like a child again. I urgently counted down the days until Saturday, feeling sure I would burst from excitement.
Two days prior, I went to the market and purchased my first sari, a stunning silk fabric of red, bold blue, and gold decals. I had to beg the tailor to make my matching blouse in time for the holiday, but on the day of, I walked home with the most beautiful piece of clothing I've ever owned.
One day prior, preparations in our flat began. We hung up lights, bought candles, and cleaned up the flat in anticipation of our Diwali bash.
lights on our balcony
Saturday finally came. After an entire afternoon of last-minute errands and purchases, I donned my new sari, and headed over to the home of Nikita, my Indian colleague, for a puja (ritual) with her welcoming family. The room was set up modestly, with the visual center being a small platform with icons of various Hindu deities, lit up by an arrangement of small candles.
Nikita's parents
three beautiful sisters
Nikita's three sisters and mother took turns performing the various rituals, and after observing closely, I would follow suit. The rituals included flicking holy water over the icons, and throwing rice, sweets, and flowers over them.am I doing this right?
At one point, the sisters took out a small book of hymns, and sang together while ringing a bell to herald the goddess Lakshmi, one of the central figures of the festival Diwali.
My favorite part of the puja was storytime, when we all sat cross-legged on the floor, and listened to Nikita's mother tell a religious tale in Hindi, while Nikita translated. The puja was a celebration of the supernatural, but also of the human, the element of uniting family and friends in a warm and open environment.
What's Diwali without firecrackers? Following the puja, we joined the rest of the neighborhood to light up the dark streets, laughing and shrieking and celebrating.
The night was far from being over. Arriving back home, I found that my flatmates had moved our dining table to the balcony and set up a fantastic candle-lit family dinner. I had cooked an India-style lentil stew earlier before I left, and others had contributed a huge pot of pasta, mashed potatoes, and even chunks of goat cheese and parmesan.
At around 11pm, our friends from other flats began to trickle in, most dressed in traditional Indian clothes. Out of the six intern flats around our area, ours is the largest, so it made sense that we should host the biggest party that I've seen so far. At least fifty people packed our abode. When the last person left at after 4am, it seemed like we had exhausted all the fun that could be pumped into one night. We turned up the speakers, poured each other drinks, laid out sweets on the table, and danced and talked in a distinct state of happiness.
More pictures here.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Weekend in Amritsar.
Friday night
Nine of us booked a last-minute overnight ticket to Amritsar for the weekend. For Rs300 ($7), we got a 9-hour trip on a decent sleeper bus with bunk beds, two people per bed. That's what was supposed to happen anyway.
What actually happened is that I was aroused at 3am telling me that our bus had malfunctioned. We were shepherded out in the pitch-dark middle of nowhere, and then were shepherded back on another bus -- except that this bus had no available seats, let alone beds. We spent the rest of the night trying (failing) to sleep on the floor.
Saturday afternoon
Amritsar was noisy, crowded, and hopelessly dirty. Navigating through the narrow streets was a constant, perilous struggle to avoid being run over. Delhi is spacious in comparison, and trust me, that says something.
We started off the day with a gigantic brunch. Between four of us, we shared dhal makhni, aloo ghobi, tawa paneer, and mushroom mutter. Seeing how much we enjoyed ourselves, the restaurant owner added in a complimentary and delicious Amritsar special aloo parantha.
Having eaten to the point of bursting, we jumped in a taxi and drove 24km to the India-Pakistan border in a town called Wagah.
Every day around dusk is a ceremonial closing of the border gate, displaying goodwill (or, I guess, tolerance) between the two countries. Before the ceremony, as the grandstands filled up on both the Indian and Pakistan sides, Indian pop songs blared over the loudspeakers, and impromptu dance parties formed as volunteers ran back and forth waving the Indian flag. The word "peprally" comes to mind.
The actual ceremony was bizarre, almost comical, and certainly entertaining. The border security force of each country went through a series of drills -- chanting, marching in sync, stamping their feet hard on the ground, kicking their heels so high they almost knocked off their colorful hats. It was a distinct show of bravado that incited nationalistic fervor on both sides of the gate.
Saturday night
After street food for dinner (gol gappas and fried potato "sandwiches"), and some drinks in the hotel, we went to see the Golden Temple in its nighttime splendor.
It was obvious how the temple got its name. Where the Taj Mahal was breathtaking in its white glow, the Golden Temple, religious center of the Sikh faith, was dazzling in its gold. The temple rises out of an artificial lake, connected to land by a narrow causeway. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. Even visitors without an ounce of religion in them can't fail to be stunned by the sight of gold reflected off water.
Sunday afternoon
Breakfast of yellow dhal, tomato uttpam, and a terrific malai kofta that tasted of coconut.
We returned back to the Golden Temple to see its transformation in the daytime. Shoes off, headscarf on, we pushed our way through the impossibly long line to get inside the temple. I will forever regret not being allowed to take pictures inside. All the windows were thrown open, illuminating the intricate and colorful marblework. Sikh elders sang, played instruments, and read texts in the middle of the space while raking in the huge sums of donations from worshippers. People sat all over the floor, reading texts and absorbing the music.
Characteristic of every Sikh temple is a langar, or communal kitchen, in keeping with the Sikh belief of equality for all mankind. The one at the Golden Temple serves tens of thousands of meals per day at no cost, for anyone who wants it, regardless of age, class, gender, or religion.
The huge meal hall was totally covered with people sitting and eating side-by-side on the floor. We were served portions of black and yellow lentils with roti and rice, with volunteers coming by frequently for refills. The massive tasks of cooking and clean-up were done by assembly line with remarkable efficiency and speed. For a great description of langars, read here.
Following the Golden Temple, we headed to the much smaller Hindu Matha temple, which is modelled off a woman's reproductive organs. The place was a literal maze through the different anatomical parts, decorated with symbolic representations of phalluses and uteruses. Hindu women come here if they want to conceive.
Sunday evening
For dinner, I had goat brain curry, a north Indian special. Yes, it sounds exotic and all, but the taste and texture were quite normal. Creamy, spicy, bold - quite like any other Indian dish. Dinner was followed by a brownie a la mode, with liquid chocolate poured over it in a sizzling pan.
After killing more time in Amritsar, we boarded our Rs150 busride back (damned if they don't give us a refund for making us sleep on the floor on Friday!) and made it home the next morning.
More pictures here.
Nine of us booked a last-minute overnight ticket to Amritsar for the weekend. For Rs300 ($7), we got a 9-hour trip on a decent sleeper bus with bunk beds, two people per bed. That's what was supposed to happen anyway.
on the top bunk of the bus
What actually happened is that I was aroused at 3am telling me that our bus had malfunctioned. We were shepherded out in the pitch-dark middle of nowhere, and then were shepherded back on another bus -- except that this bus had no available seats, let alone beds. We spent the rest of the night trying (failing) to sleep on the floor.
Saturday afternoon
Amritsar was noisy, crowded, and hopelessly dirty. Navigating through the narrow streets was a constant, perilous struggle to avoid being run over. Delhi is spacious in comparison, and trust me, that says something.
We started off the day with a gigantic brunch. Between four of us, we shared dhal makhni, aloo ghobi, tawa paneer, and mushroom mutter. Seeing how much we enjoyed ourselves, the restaurant owner added in a complimentary and delicious Amritsar special aloo parantha.
Having eaten to the point of bursting, we jumped in a taxi and drove 24km to the India-Pakistan border in a town called Wagah.
Every day around dusk is a ceremonial closing of the border gate, displaying goodwill (or, I guess, tolerance) between the two countries. Before the ceremony, as the grandstands filled up on both the Indian and Pakistan sides, Indian pop songs blared over the loudspeakers, and impromptu dance parties formed as volunteers ran back and forth waving the Indian flag. The word "peprally" comes to mind.
The actual ceremony was bizarre, almost comical, and certainly entertaining. The border security force of each country went through a series of drills -- chanting, marching in sync, stamping their feet hard on the ground, kicking their heels so high they almost knocked off their colorful hats. It was a distinct show of bravado that incited nationalistic fervor on both sides of the gate.
Pakistanis in dark suits on the other side of the gate
Saturday night
After street food for dinner (gol gappas and fried potato "sandwiches"), and some drinks in the hotel, we went to see the Golden Temple in its nighttime splendor.
It was obvious how the temple got its name. Where the Taj Mahal was breathtaking in its white glow, the Golden Temple, religious center of the Sikh faith, was dazzling in its gold. The temple rises out of an artificial lake, connected to land by a narrow causeway. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. Even visitors without an ounce of religion in them can't fail to be stunned by the sight of gold reflected off water.
Sunday afternoon
Breakfast of yellow dhal, tomato uttpam, and a terrific malai kofta that tasted of coconut.
We returned back to the Golden Temple to see its transformation in the daytime. Shoes off, headscarf on, we pushed our way through the impossibly long line to get inside the temple. I will forever regret not being allowed to take pictures inside. All the windows were thrown open, illuminating the intricate and colorful marblework. Sikh elders sang, played instruments, and read texts in the middle of the space while raking in the huge sums of donations from worshippers. People sat all over the floor, reading texts and absorbing the music.
walking into the Golden Temple
Characteristic of every Sikh temple is a langar, or communal kitchen, in keeping with the Sikh belief of equality for all mankind. The one at the Golden Temple serves tens of thousands of meals per day at no cost, for anyone who wants it, regardless of age, class, gender, or religion.
The huge meal hall was totally covered with people sitting and eating side-by-side on the floor. We were served portions of black and yellow lentils with roti and rice, with volunteers coming by frequently for refills. The massive tasks of cooking and clean-up were done by assembly line with remarkable efficiency and speed. For a great description of langars, read here.
Following the Golden Temple, we headed to the much smaller Hindu Matha temple, which is modelled off a woman's reproductive organs. The place was a literal maze through the different anatomical parts, decorated with symbolic representations of phalluses and uteruses. Hindu women come here if they want to conceive.
doesn't it look like the inside of a (woman's) body?
Sunday evening
For dinner, I had goat brain curry, a north Indian special. Yes, it sounds exotic and all, but the taste and texture were quite normal. Creamy, spicy, bold - quite like any other Indian dish. Dinner was followed by a brownie a la mode, with liquid chocolate poured over it in a sizzling pan.
After killing more time in Amritsar, we boarded our Rs150 busride back (damned if they don't give us a refund for making us sleep on the floor on Friday!) and made it home the next morning.
More pictures here.
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