It’s been nearly a year since I was last in India, which is long enough to relish the novelty of it once again. Minutes after clearing immigration I was bound for New Delhi Station in a black-and-yellow Ambassador and not much traffic to contend with at 1:00am. I could smell that it had just rained and the balmy wind in my face set me adrift in nostalgia. That very moment and nothing more captivated me and I was overcome with content.
It’s great to be back on the subcontinent and I shall reiterate my love for India, which strikes a lovely balance between progressiveness and integrity, which is another way of saying that India has its own style (a diminishing commodity among its peer group). It’s the little things that make me smile: men holding hands, the chai-wallah tune, beedis in the air, unguarded curiosity, head wagging, etc.
My friend Nivi was late to lunch, citing rain and traffic, which I found to be preposterous for someone who lives in Delhi. The next day I read the breaking news in the Hindustan Times: “Rain Lashes Capital, harasses commuters”. The whopping 2.1mm of rain recorded in Delhi that day made great press for the traffic police: “‘We had deployed personnel in different areas of the city. We managed to bring the situation back to normal by late afternoon,’ said a senior police officer.” Whenever I think of Indian police I picture WWI-era rifles and a group of men sitting around sipping chai.
India is wonderful, but India is easy. To spice things up, today I plan to ride the Grand Trunk Highway to the Pakistan border, and walk across into the Land of the Pure, and thus commence the next chapter of adventure and discovery.
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