Life in Varanasi.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
A Nightmare
April 10, 2010
The next 2 days Atish and I spent with Niharika at the new library in the slum community and at the Swechha office teaching a group of children dance and songs. I plan to write about those experiences and my observations of Atish’s interactions with the children when I write an entry about our work with Swechha/Pagdandi.
It was important to Atish to visit the state of Gujarat during his first trip to India, the state where his family is originally from. And so, despite warnings from everyone about the heat, we booked one-way tickets to fly to Ahmedabad from Delhi. The plan was to travel throughout the state of Gujarat then up through Rajasthan to return to Delhi by train, during the month of April. Atish and I were both not feeling well when we boarded the plane in Delhi, it had been something we had eaten/drunk. But we weren’t at all prepared for how quickly and violently “Delhi Belly” could strike.
During the 1.5 hour flight Atish and I alternatively complained of stomach pains and light-headedness. When we landed Atish looked pale and weak and I summoned the strength/adrenaline to show some enthusiasm and energy to get us through the airport. At the baggage claim Atish left to use the toilet. I got the bags and waited nervously for him. When he returned he looked like he could faint, it was clear he was losing fluids fast. We got on an autorickshaw to our hotel, the driver ripped us off majorly having noticed we were in no position to hang around and haggle. As we checked into the room I ran around to fill out the paper work downstairs and buy water. When I returned to the room I found Atish throwing up into a bucket. I was scared and panicked but I tried to calm him and ease his discomfort. He was shivering, said he was cold, his stomach was cramping. All I could think to do was get antibiotics in him as quickly as possible, but his stomach was empty and he also had to drink water. I prepared a bottle of water with ORS (electrolytes) and gave him an antibiotic to take. He took it and drank a little and lay down. I waited and watched.
When I’ve had traveller’s diarrhea (a topic of discussion which can’t be neglected when honestly writing of one’s travels in India) taking antibiotics have stopped it immediately. I hoped the same would happen for Atish, but was worried because I had never been so sick and thrown up before. Within 5 minutes he was sick again, losing the water he had drunken and more. My heart was racing as I leaned over to look in the bucket… red. “That’s bad, right baby?” he asked me weakly. “Ok, we’re going to a hospital right now,” I announced. I quickly gathered our money belts, water, biscuits, sweaters, and helped Atish downstairs to the reception desk, less than half-an-hour after we arrived. Blood in stool or vomit was very bad.
The hotel manager still wanted me to fill out the details of Atish’s visa, and he still had to sign he told us. “We need to go to a hospital right now,” I said, “Please, do you know a good private hospital in the city?” The men consulted in Hindi for several minutes while I watched Atish from the corner of my eye and tried to understand what was going on. “Please, it’s urgent, we need to go now. Do you know a private hospital; otherwise we will leave now for the government hospital.” Finally they seemed to come to some agreement and one of the men took us down to the street. He hailed a rickshaw and got in with us, directing the driver to a nearby clinic. He led us upstairs the old building to a tiny office where a single nurse was asleep. “Can we see a doctor? Is there a doctor here? Do you speak English?” I asked her, pleading with her to make eye-contact with me and acknowledge the urgency of Atish’s condition. She casually motioned for us to sit down and went to take his blood pressure.
Atish had lost so much fluid and he looked so weak. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I spoke to the nurse in a constant flow of words I hoped she would understand, sick, vomited, blood, do you understand blood? Dehydrated, weak, cold, water, he needs water, maybe an IV, there was blood, is there a doctor here? She walked around the desk and place a call. The doctor will be here in 10 minutes she announced. “Does the doctor speak English?” I asked. Without answering she left the room. I was so frustrated. I didn’t know anything about this clinic. The sign outside had said something about maternity care. If we couldn’t communicate here maybe we should leave right away and find a different hospital, the government hospital mentioned in the lonely planet? Would it be so much worse or better? I knew nothing of health care in India except for a horror story my mother had told me about her experience having her stomach pumped in a public hospital in Bangalore, it didn’t comfort me.
I tried to tell Atish everything was going to be fine, just breathe deeply, hold on, the doctor was on his way. He kept his head in his hands. Incredibly, the doctor did arrive in 10 minutes, telling me they took us seriously. And more incredibly he spoke perfect English. He examined Atish and said he was to be admitted for the night. They would put him on an IV and run a blood test. They had a single private room in the clinic with two beds, I could stay the night with him and watch him. The room had AC and a bathroom attached with a western toilet. They would run out and get us toilet paper, soap, snacks, bottled water. Atish was to drink as much ORS as possible. They injected antibiotics through the IV tube in his wrist.
Before Atish left Seattle my father had made him promise to take me to a doctor to ask about my persistent cough I had since Sarnath. There in the private hospital, looking paler than I knew possible, lying with an IV in his arm, Atish asked for the doctor. “Doctor, will you please look at her? She has a cough.” We both laughed. The doctor was confused. Then I knew Atish was going to be ok.
The care was amazing and I was so grateful to the doctor and his staff for their help. I knew Atish would recover, but I still felt stressed that night after I made sure Atish was comfortable. I’ve never seen him look so miserable and so weak. I wondered how we would fair in Ahmedabad in the heat. And after the whole ordeal I didn’t feel so well myself, the adrenalin was wearing off, I felt dizzy. We had so much to see and do in Gujarat, now we had lost a whole day and surely would need several more to recover. I drifted into a restless sleep. Waking up every half-hour or so I would check on Atish, when I was asleep I dreamed of my mother’s illness.
By morning Atish looked a bit better but I now had diarrhea as well. I hadn’t eaten a proper lunch or dinner the day before, and hadn’t had breakfast, I felt extremely weak. The doctor examined me and concluded that Atish had dysentery, I had traveller’s diarrhea, we were both weak from the infection and had to eat a lot of fruit, biscuits, yoghurt, and drink water for several days before we would feel well again. I nursed Atish and he nursed me. There aren’t many things that can bring people closer than 24 hours in a hospital together in a foreign country. We told each other we were going to be fine, that this was just one of those experiences when travelling, and soon we would continue our trip. When we left the hospital we were a little stronger physically but a lot stronger emotionally.
By the end of our hospital stay at 7pm that evening Atish had been given 6 IV bags of saline and sucrose solutions. His blood test came back, everything was normal except he had been extremely dehydrated when admitted, close to renal failure. It was terrifying to think that it had all happened over the course of about 3 hours after leaving Delhi. If we had taken a train instead of flying we would have been isolated and lost without access to medical facilities.
Atish and I never asked the doctor how much the private room cost to stay in, or what the doctor fees were. We wondered if the price would be ridiculously high, if the doctor would take advantage of our situation. He knew we were American and that Atish was a professional. So when it was time to see the bill we were ready for anything and resigned to pay it, after all, it would be worth it considering it was all very necessary. We were shocked by the total… 4,100 rupees. The total came to less than $100US. This included staying in the private room, all nurse costs, medicine fees, doctor fees, snacks and water. No wonder people leave the USA for medical procedures. We gave the doctor $100US, he would have quite a tip when he got it changed to rupees. We left 500rupees for the wonderful nurses. In all, it was an extremely positive experience all things considered.
Over the next 3 days we drifted between subdued bouts of energy and periods of weakness. It was frustrating and sometimes scary when we would lose our appetite or need to return to the hotel to rest. How were we going to travel like this? Where should we go? Should we head back north to the mountains where it was cooler? Should we go south to the Portuguese island, Diu? The heat was unbearable and it made recovering and regaining our appetite difficult. And Ahmedabad is not a great place to be sick. But little by little each day we got stronger and regained the enthusiasm to leave Ahmedabad.
It was an ominous beginning to our trip and it definitely set the pace for the rest of our travels. For the next month we never felt completely healthy and the heat held us back from exploring during the day. We managed to go to many places and enjoyed ourselves, but we learned our lesson to avoid India during the hottest months of the year.
The next 2 days Atish and I spent with Niharika at the new library in the slum community and at the Swechha office teaching a group of children dance and songs. I plan to write about those experiences and my observations of Atish’s interactions with the children when I write an entry about our work with Swechha/Pagdandi.
It was important to Atish to visit the state of Gujarat during his first trip to India, the state where his family is originally from. And so, despite warnings from everyone about the heat, we booked one-way tickets to fly to Ahmedabad from Delhi. The plan was to travel throughout the state of Gujarat then up through Rajasthan to return to Delhi by train, during the month of April. Atish and I were both not feeling well when we boarded the plane in Delhi, it had been something we had eaten/drunk. But we weren’t at all prepared for how quickly and violently “Delhi Belly” could strike.
During the 1.5 hour flight Atish and I alternatively complained of stomach pains and light-headedness. When we landed Atish looked pale and weak and I summoned the strength/adrenaline to show some enthusiasm and energy to get us through the airport. At the baggage claim Atish left to use the toilet. I got the bags and waited nervously for him. When he returned he looked like he could faint, it was clear he was losing fluids fast. We got on an autorickshaw to our hotel, the driver ripped us off majorly having noticed we were in no position to hang around and haggle. As we checked into the room I ran around to fill out the paper work downstairs and buy water. When I returned to the room I found Atish throwing up into a bucket. I was scared and panicked but I tried to calm him and ease his discomfort. He was shivering, said he was cold, his stomach was cramping. All I could think to do was get antibiotics in him as quickly as possible, but his stomach was empty and he also had to drink water. I prepared a bottle of water with ORS (electrolytes) and gave him an antibiotic to take. He took it and drank a little and lay down. I waited and watched.
When I’ve had traveller’s diarrhea (a topic of discussion which can’t be neglected when honestly writing of one’s travels in India) taking antibiotics have stopped it immediately. I hoped the same would happen for Atish, but was worried because I had never been so sick and thrown up before. Within 5 minutes he was sick again, losing the water he had drunken and more. My heart was racing as I leaned over to look in the bucket… red. “That’s bad, right baby?” he asked me weakly. “Ok, we’re going to a hospital right now,” I announced. I quickly gathered our money belts, water, biscuits, sweaters, and helped Atish downstairs to the reception desk, less than half-an-hour after we arrived. Blood in stool or vomit was very bad.
The hotel manager still wanted me to fill out the details of Atish’s visa, and he still had to sign he told us. “We need to go to a hospital right now,” I said, “Please, do you know a good private hospital in the city?” The men consulted in Hindi for several minutes while I watched Atish from the corner of my eye and tried to understand what was going on. “Please, it’s urgent, we need to go now. Do you know a private hospital; otherwise we will leave now for the government hospital.” Finally they seemed to come to some agreement and one of the men took us down to the street. He hailed a rickshaw and got in with us, directing the driver to a nearby clinic. He led us upstairs the old building to a tiny office where a single nurse was asleep. “Can we see a doctor? Is there a doctor here? Do you speak English?” I asked her, pleading with her to make eye-contact with me and acknowledge the urgency of Atish’s condition. She casually motioned for us to sit down and went to take his blood pressure.
Atish had lost so much fluid and he looked so weak. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I spoke to the nurse in a constant flow of words I hoped she would understand, sick, vomited, blood, do you understand blood? Dehydrated, weak, cold, water, he needs water, maybe an IV, there was blood, is there a doctor here? She walked around the desk and place a call. The doctor will be here in 10 minutes she announced. “Does the doctor speak English?” I asked. Without answering she left the room. I was so frustrated. I didn’t know anything about this clinic. The sign outside had said something about maternity care. If we couldn’t communicate here maybe we should leave right away and find a different hospital, the government hospital mentioned in the lonely planet? Would it be so much worse or better? I knew nothing of health care in India except for a horror story my mother had told me about her experience having her stomach pumped in a public hospital in Bangalore, it didn’t comfort me.
I tried to tell Atish everything was going to be fine, just breathe deeply, hold on, the doctor was on his way. He kept his head in his hands. Incredibly, the doctor did arrive in 10 minutes, telling me they took us seriously. And more incredibly he spoke perfect English. He examined Atish and said he was to be admitted for the night. They would put him on an IV and run a blood test. They had a single private room in the clinic with two beds, I could stay the night with him and watch him. The room had AC and a bathroom attached with a western toilet. They would run out and get us toilet paper, soap, snacks, bottled water. Atish was to drink as much ORS as possible. They injected antibiotics through the IV tube in his wrist.
Before Atish left Seattle my father had made him promise to take me to a doctor to ask about my persistent cough I had since Sarnath. There in the private hospital, looking paler than I knew possible, lying with an IV in his arm, Atish asked for the doctor. “Doctor, will you please look at her? She has a cough.” We both laughed. The doctor was confused. Then I knew Atish was going to be ok.
The care was amazing and I was so grateful to the doctor and his staff for their help. I knew Atish would recover, but I still felt stressed that night after I made sure Atish was comfortable. I’ve never seen him look so miserable and so weak. I wondered how we would fair in Ahmedabad in the heat. And after the whole ordeal I didn’t feel so well myself, the adrenalin was wearing off, I felt dizzy. We had so much to see and do in Gujarat, now we had lost a whole day and surely would need several more to recover. I drifted into a restless sleep. Waking up every half-hour or so I would check on Atish, when I was asleep I dreamed of my mother’s illness.
By morning Atish looked a bit better but I now had diarrhea as well. I hadn’t eaten a proper lunch or dinner the day before, and hadn’t had breakfast, I felt extremely weak. The doctor examined me and concluded that Atish had dysentery, I had traveller’s diarrhea, we were both weak from the infection and had to eat a lot of fruit, biscuits, yoghurt, and drink water for several days before we would feel well again. I nursed Atish and he nursed me. There aren’t many things that can bring people closer than 24 hours in a hospital together in a foreign country. We told each other we were going to be fine, that this was just one of those experiences when travelling, and soon we would continue our trip. When we left the hospital we were a little stronger physically but a lot stronger emotionally.
By the end of our hospital stay at 7pm that evening Atish had been given 6 IV bags of saline and sucrose solutions. His blood test came back, everything was normal except he had been extremely dehydrated when admitted, close to renal failure. It was terrifying to think that it had all happened over the course of about 3 hours after leaving Delhi. If we had taken a train instead of flying we would have been isolated and lost without access to medical facilities.
Atish and I never asked the doctor how much the private room cost to stay in, or what the doctor fees were. We wondered if the price would be ridiculously high, if the doctor would take advantage of our situation. He knew we were American and that Atish was a professional. So when it was time to see the bill we were ready for anything and resigned to pay it, after all, it would be worth it considering it was all very necessary. We were shocked by the total… 4,100 rupees. The total came to less than $100US. This included staying in the private room, all nurse costs, medicine fees, doctor fees, snacks and water. No wonder people leave the USA for medical procedures. We gave the doctor $100US, he would have quite a tip when he got it changed to rupees. We left 500rupees for the wonderful nurses. In all, it was an extremely positive experience all things considered.
Over the next 3 days we drifted between subdued bouts of energy and periods of weakness. It was frustrating and sometimes scary when we would lose our appetite or need to return to the hotel to rest. How were we going to travel like this? Where should we go? Should we head back north to the mountains where it was cooler? Should we go south to the Portuguese island, Diu? The heat was unbearable and it made recovering and regaining our appetite difficult. And Ahmedabad is not a great place to be sick. But little by little each day we got stronger and regained the enthusiasm to leave Ahmedabad.
It was an ominous beginning to our trip and it definitely set the pace for the rest of our travels. For the next month we never felt completely healthy and the heat held us back from exploring during the day. We managed to go to many places and enjoyed ourselves, but we learned our lesson to avoid India during the hottest months of the year.
Atish’s Welcome to India
April 8, 2010
The expectations and wait of 3 months made for a very anxious several hours as I waited at the hotel for Atish’s plane to land and him to reach the hotel. When the phone call came from reception that my “friend” had arrived my heart pounded and my hands began to shake, “send him up please” I said. I ran down the hall to meet him at the lift. A minute later I heard the lift rattling up to the 3rd floor. On tip-toes I tried to peer through the little window. The door opened and the bell boy first backed out carrying a large box that contained the school supplies the Irvings had donated for the Pagdandi school. After an eternity Atish emerged from the lift with a silly grin. I can’t describe how I felt at that instant I saw him. It was a peculiar combination of an entirely new thrill and something so comfortingly familiar. How do you greet your boyfriend you haven’t seen in 3 months when meeting in a world with zero PDA between the opposite sex? (Indian men share more physical affection between friends in public than couples in America.) Atish’s answer was to extend his hand for a handshake. But considering it was 2am and the only person around was the bellboy I couldn’t accept it. I threw my arms around him and nestled into his neck. The poor bellboy was mortified and scurried off to the room with the bags.
At breakfast the next morning I think we were both still a little shocked to be in each other’s (non-virtual) company. While I wanted to share Atish’s enthusiasm I couldn’t help feeling stressed and slightly miserable. Somehow I was going to have to ditch Atish at the hotel, leaving him on my own and parting from his affection, the idea broke my heart. Why had I ever thought this scavenger hunt was a good idea? I didn’t want Atish to spend his first day in India alone! I didn’t want to run out on him! “So, what are we doing today?” he must of asked me three times during breakfast, “You’ll see,” I always replied, “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” I felt horrible. I talked Atish into taking a shower after breakfast to “wash the airplane off.” As soon as I heard the water begin to run I pulled out the lengthy letter I had written the previous evening. I left it with several hundred rupees on the bed for him to find. My hands and knees were shaking as I packed my backpack and quietly closed the door behind me. I dashed out of the hotel and headed for the nearest metro station. I was eager to put as much distance between me and the hotel, I was afraid Atish would run out after me or I would weaken and go back. I felt horrible!
The letter I left him detailed the risks I was putting him through. I told him numerous times to drink a lot of water. I told him that he had to call me as soon as he wasn’t enjoying himself anymore, if anything went wrong, if he was stressed. It would only work if he had a good time, if not it wasn’t worth continuing. I told him not to spend more than 80 rupees on any of the auto rides. And he had to text me every time he found a letter so I could keep track of him. Then there were directions to the first letter, “a sweets vendor near the entrance to the largest mosque in India.”
I reached CP and passed some time continuing my hunt for suitable flip-flops. I sent a text to Atish, “Do you hate me? I’m so sorry!” The reply came, “I love you!” I laughed, so far so good. Of all places I ended up settling into the McDonalds in CP, an interesting place to people watch, and waited to hear progress from Atish. The first letter took surprisingly long to find. Jama Mosjid is walking distance from our hotel so I was surprised when the first text came after more than 1.5 hours... But he found the letter and was on his way to Pahar Ganj! I couldn’t believe it, it was actually working! I texted Niharika to tell her our success.
I wasn’t completely surprised when Atish called me frustrated to say that the music shop in Pahar Ganj was closed. I relayed the message of the missing letter to Atish, “Hanuman Mandir?” he asked. Yes, a Hanuman Mandir… Half an hour later another phone call came, “I can’t find the flower vendor!” He described the temple he was at and it became clear that Niharika was right, there are a lot of Hanuman Mandirs in Delhi, including several around CP. He was at the wrong one. I didn’t actually know the proper name of the correct Mandir to tell Atish, so I told Atish he needed to try another one and pretended I needed to get off the phone for some reason. Crossing my fingers I hoped he would succeed on his next try and headed out to find a ride to India Gate to wait for Atish to arrive. Amazingly, Atish texted me soon after to say he was on his way to pray in the temple and then would be headed to India Gate. He had found the correct Hanuman Mandir, the flower vendor, and the last letter!
I waited at India Gate and eventually saw him walking towards me. I hid behind a bush and took some pictures of him searching for his next clue. We found each other and sat in the shade so I could hear all about his adventures and encounters in the past several hours. Turns out I wouldn’t have to take him to see the Red Fort… (read Atish’s blog to hear his side of the story: http://atishkalyan.blogspot.com/). Atish’s introduction and exploration of India had begun and I couldn’t wait to share the rest of it with him.
The expectations and wait of 3 months made for a very anxious several hours as I waited at the hotel for Atish’s plane to land and him to reach the hotel. When the phone call came from reception that my “friend” had arrived my heart pounded and my hands began to shake, “send him up please” I said. I ran down the hall to meet him at the lift. A minute later I heard the lift rattling up to the 3rd floor. On tip-toes I tried to peer through the little window. The door opened and the bell boy first backed out carrying a large box that contained the school supplies the Irvings had donated for the Pagdandi school. After an eternity Atish emerged from the lift with a silly grin. I can’t describe how I felt at that instant I saw him. It was a peculiar combination of an entirely new thrill and something so comfortingly familiar. How do you greet your boyfriend you haven’t seen in 3 months when meeting in a world with zero PDA between the opposite sex? (Indian men share more physical affection between friends in public than couples in America.) Atish’s answer was to extend his hand for a handshake. But considering it was 2am and the only person around was the bellboy I couldn’t accept it. I threw my arms around him and nestled into his neck. The poor bellboy was mortified and scurried off to the room with the bags.
At breakfast the next morning I think we were both still a little shocked to be in each other’s (non-virtual) company. While I wanted to share Atish’s enthusiasm I couldn’t help feeling stressed and slightly miserable. Somehow I was going to have to ditch Atish at the hotel, leaving him on my own and parting from his affection, the idea broke my heart. Why had I ever thought this scavenger hunt was a good idea? I didn’t want Atish to spend his first day in India alone! I didn’t want to run out on him! “So, what are we doing today?” he must of asked me three times during breakfast, “You’ll see,” I always replied, “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” I felt horrible. I talked Atish into taking a shower after breakfast to “wash the airplane off.” As soon as I heard the water begin to run I pulled out the lengthy letter I had written the previous evening. I left it with several hundred rupees on the bed for him to find. My hands and knees were shaking as I packed my backpack and quietly closed the door behind me. I dashed out of the hotel and headed for the nearest metro station. I was eager to put as much distance between me and the hotel, I was afraid Atish would run out after me or I would weaken and go back. I felt horrible!
The letter I left him detailed the risks I was putting him through. I told him numerous times to drink a lot of water. I told him that he had to call me as soon as he wasn’t enjoying himself anymore, if anything went wrong, if he was stressed. It would only work if he had a good time, if not it wasn’t worth continuing. I told him not to spend more than 80 rupees on any of the auto rides. And he had to text me every time he found a letter so I could keep track of him. Then there were directions to the first letter, “a sweets vendor near the entrance to the largest mosque in India.”
I reached CP and passed some time continuing my hunt for suitable flip-flops. I sent a text to Atish, “Do you hate me? I’m so sorry!” The reply came, “I love you!” I laughed, so far so good. Of all places I ended up settling into the McDonalds in CP, an interesting place to people watch, and waited to hear progress from Atish. The first letter took surprisingly long to find. Jama Mosjid is walking distance from our hotel so I was surprised when the first text came after more than 1.5 hours... But he found the letter and was on his way to Pahar Ganj! I couldn’t believe it, it was actually working! I texted Niharika to tell her our success.
I wasn’t completely surprised when Atish called me frustrated to say that the music shop in Pahar Ganj was closed. I relayed the message of the missing letter to Atish, “Hanuman Mandir?” he asked. Yes, a Hanuman Mandir… Half an hour later another phone call came, “I can’t find the flower vendor!” He described the temple he was at and it became clear that Niharika was right, there are a lot of Hanuman Mandirs in Delhi, including several around CP. He was at the wrong one. I didn’t actually know the proper name of the correct Mandir to tell Atish, so I told Atish he needed to try another one and pretended I needed to get off the phone for some reason. Crossing my fingers I hoped he would succeed on his next try and headed out to find a ride to India Gate to wait for Atish to arrive. Amazingly, Atish texted me soon after to say he was on his way to pray in the temple and then would be headed to India Gate. He had found the correct Hanuman Mandir, the flower vendor, and the last letter!
I waited at India Gate and eventually saw him walking towards me. I hid behind a bush and took some pictures of him searching for his next clue. We found each other and sat in the shade so I could hear all about his adventures and encounters in the past several hours. Turns out I wouldn’t have to take him to see the Red Fort… (read Atish’s blog to hear his side of the story: http://atishkalyan.blogspot.com/). Atish’s introduction and exploration of India had begun and I couldn’t wait to share the rest of it with him.
Setting up the scavenger hunt…
April 6, 2010
“So you are sure you want to do this to him? I’m not trying to change your mind; I just want you to know the risks. People die from the heat in India.”
Niharika was trying to reason with me, though also acknowledging a stubbornness we share. I had been planning this welcome for Atish since before I left Seattle and the 44C / 110F weather wasn’t going to stop me. It was the morning we were headed out to set everything up, the initial steps had already been taken. I appreciated Niharika’s concern for Atish and listened respectfully, but my decision was made, Atish’s first day in India would be spent searching the city for letters to eventually find me.
Allow me to explain my idea and reasoning… As I was preparing for my trip Atish and I would often discuss how exciting his arrival in India and traveling together would be. I tried to imagine that first day of stepping onto the street in Delhi with him and watching his initial impressions of India. But I knew that I would be too excited, wanting to show him everything and tell him everything I knew about Indian society and life. Ideally, a proper first experience in India is by yourself, without a guide, to allow your own eyes, ears, mouth and mind to make its own opinions about the diverse sensory overload that invariably occurs. I didn’t want Atish to initially see India through my eyes but I also couldn’t imagine leaving him on his own the day after he had arrived, our first day together after 3 months. And so the idea of setting up a scavenger hunt evolved. I wasn’t sure it would work, but I did know that if it could work India would be one of the only places that would see it through.
The idea was to leave letters for Atish with directions to the next one, starting at the hotel room. Each letter would be left with a street vendor or shop keeper that would be promised an NRI (non-resident Indian) would be arriving the next day to claim the letter in exchange for a tip of 100 rupees. The idea was romantic but the reality was risky. It’s easy to get ripped off in Delhi and it’s easier to get heat-stroke. Atish would be arriving from cold Seattle weather, he would be jet-lagged, and unfamiliar with Delhi. He would be spending hours outside in the sun and heat, did I want to risk heat-stroke on his first day? I came to the conclusion that there were enough precautions that could be taken, I would fully inform him of the risks, he would take auto-rickshaws between locations, and if something went wrong he could always just call me. I wanted to go through with it.
Niharika and I decided on 4 locations: A street vendor somewhere near the main “Jama Mosjid” mosque, tourist bazaar Pahar Ganj, a popular Hindu temple, and the classic India Gate. In order to set up the route we would have to go backwards, leaving each note with its handler. I would meet Atish at India Gate so our first stop was the temple. We chose the main Hanuman Temple of Delhi near Connaught Place (CP). I sat with Niharika on a bench to write the last letter Atish would find. It only said “India Gate.” Niharika sketched a rendition of India Gate on the letter. The simple act of writing and sketching in front of the temple drew the attention of many men and children, we were eager find our letter handler and move on. The temple was surrounded by beggars lining the ground near the entrance way, Prasad and flower vendors, and mendi artists.
We chose a vendor who looked kind to approach but quickly found out he wouldn’t be there tomorrow, Wednesday. Neither would the next vendor we approached. We tried a flower vendor who was very sweet. Niharika explained that Atish was coming to India for the first time. He was an Indian from America and we wanted to make sure his first experience was enjoyable so we were setting up places for him to go. It was important he get the letter. He said he would be there tomorrow and would happily give the letter to Atish. He also said on his own accord that he would make sure to send Atish into the temple with some flowers to offer Lord Hanuman. He placed the letter in his money box, we thanked him and left for our next destination.
I had never been to Pahar Ganj and I probably won’t go back. It is an area near the New Delhi railway station where most foreigners find budget accommodation and as a result the main street is filled with shops selling crafts and souvenirs for tourists and plenty of pushy touts trying to get your business constantly. Niharika and I pushed forward through them all to reach a place for lunch, Sam’s Café. There on the rooftop I wrote the letter that would direct Atish to Hanuman Mandir. I didn’t want to be too direct so I told him to go to the popular temple near CP that was dedicated to the god that helped Ram rescue Sita. It was a blatantly clear clue but I wanted to at least not make it too easy by writing Hanuman’s name. I wrote that he would find a flower vendor across from the entrance with his letter. Niharika pointed out that there are numerous Hanuman Mandirs in Delhi and numerous flower vendors at each mandir, how would he find the right one? I didn’t have an answer for that. The purpose of the scavenger hunt was not only to see the sights but to also encounter the challenges of getting around the city on his own, surely he’d manage… Niharika rolled her eyes, “As you wish,” she replied.
We chose a music shop directly across from Sam’s Café to leave the letter. Entering the shop Niharika did all the talking in Hindi to the shop owner. After she gave him the letter she told me that he wasn’t happy about the whole thing. He said that tourists were always asking for things, not respecting their time, but he would take the letter because she had asked him nicely in Hindi. I was apprehensive that he was so negative about the idea. And I was surprised to hear that he had encountered similar requests. Really? Were there other foreigners setting up scavenger hunts for their friends in Delhi?
Next was Jama Mosjid. We spent some nice time enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the mosque and then found a sweets vendor across from one of the 3 entrances to the mosque. He was also a gracious letter handler. He said he didn’t understand what we were doing but he would happily hold the letter until Atish would arrive. The letter contained directions to the music shop and directions to have lunch at Sam’s Café before continuing.
Pleased with our success we headed back to home in Malviya Nagar. Niharika was instrumental to setting the whole thing up, it wouldn’t have been possible with her excellent communication / translation skills. I still had to pack up my bag and write the last/first letter for Atish that would be left at the hotel room. But the hardest part was yet to come. How would I leave Atish alone to find the first letter?
“So you are sure you want to do this to him? I’m not trying to change your mind; I just want you to know the risks. People die from the heat in India.”
Niharika was trying to reason with me, though also acknowledging a stubbornness we share. I had been planning this welcome for Atish since before I left Seattle and the 44C / 110F weather wasn’t going to stop me. It was the morning we were headed out to set everything up, the initial steps had already been taken. I appreciated Niharika’s concern for Atish and listened respectfully, but my decision was made, Atish’s first day in India would be spent searching the city for letters to eventually find me.
Allow me to explain my idea and reasoning… As I was preparing for my trip Atish and I would often discuss how exciting his arrival in India and traveling together would be. I tried to imagine that first day of stepping onto the street in Delhi with him and watching his initial impressions of India. But I knew that I would be too excited, wanting to show him everything and tell him everything I knew about Indian society and life. Ideally, a proper first experience in India is by yourself, without a guide, to allow your own eyes, ears, mouth and mind to make its own opinions about the diverse sensory overload that invariably occurs. I didn’t want Atish to initially see India through my eyes but I also couldn’t imagine leaving him on his own the day after he had arrived, our first day together after 3 months. And so the idea of setting up a scavenger hunt evolved. I wasn’t sure it would work, but I did know that if it could work India would be one of the only places that would see it through.
The idea was to leave letters for Atish with directions to the next one, starting at the hotel room. Each letter would be left with a street vendor or shop keeper that would be promised an NRI (non-resident Indian) would be arriving the next day to claim the letter in exchange for a tip of 100 rupees. The idea was romantic but the reality was risky. It’s easy to get ripped off in Delhi and it’s easier to get heat-stroke. Atish would be arriving from cold Seattle weather, he would be jet-lagged, and unfamiliar with Delhi. He would be spending hours outside in the sun and heat, did I want to risk heat-stroke on his first day? I came to the conclusion that there were enough precautions that could be taken, I would fully inform him of the risks, he would take auto-rickshaws between locations, and if something went wrong he could always just call me. I wanted to go through with it.
Niharika and I decided on 4 locations: A street vendor somewhere near the main “Jama Mosjid” mosque, tourist bazaar Pahar Ganj, a popular Hindu temple, and the classic India Gate. In order to set up the route we would have to go backwards, leaving each note with its handler. I would meet Atish at India Gate so our first stop was the temple. We chose the main Hanuman Temple of Delhi near Connaught Place (CP). I sat with Niharika on a bench to write the last letter Atish would find. It only said “India Gate.” Niharika sketched a rendition of India Gate on the letter. The simple act of writing and sketching in front of the temple drew the attention of many men and children, we were eager find our letter handler and move on. The temple was surrounded by beggars lining the ground near the entrance way, Prasad and flower vendors, and mendi artists.
We chose a vendor who looked kind to approach but quickly found out he wouldn’t be there tomorrow, Wednesday. Neither would the next vendor we approached. We tried a flower vendor who was very sweet. Niharika explained that Atish was coming to India for the first time. He was an Indian from America and we wanted to make sure his first experience was enjoyable so we were setting up places for him to go. It was important he get the letter. He said he would be there tomorrow and would happily give the letter to Atish. He also said on his own accord that he would make sure to send Atish into the temple with some flowers to offer Lord Hanuman. He placed the letter in his money box, we thanked him and left for our next destination.
I had never been to Pahar Ganj and I probably won’t go back. It is an area near the New Delhi railway station where most foreigners find budget accommodation and as a result the main street is filled with shops selling crafts and souvenirs for tourists and plenty of pushy touts trying to get your business constantly. Niharika and I pushed forward through them all to reach a place for lunch, Sam’s Café. There on the rooftop I wrote the letter that would direct Atish to Hanuman Mandir. I didn’t want to be too direct so I told him to go to the popular temple near CP that was dedicated to the god that helped Ram rescue Sita. It was a blatantly clear clue but I wanted to at least not make it too easy by writing Hanuman’s name. I wrote that he would find a flower vendor across from the entrance with his letter. Niharika pointed out that there are numerous Hanuman Mandirs in Delhi and numerous flower vendors at each mandir, how would he find the right one? I didn’t have an answer for that. The purpose of the scavenger hunt was not only to see the sights but to also encounter the challenges of getting around the city on his own, surely he’d manage… Niharika rolled her eyes, “As you wish,” she replied.
We chose a music shop directly across from Sam’s Café to leave the letter. Entering the shop Niharika did all the talking in Hindi to the shop owner. After she gave him the letter she told me that he wasn’t happy about the whole thing. He said that tourists were always asking for things, not respecting their time, but he would take the letter because she had asked him nicely in Hindi. I was apprehensive that he was so negative about the idea. And I was surprised to hear that he had encountered similar requests. Really? Were there other foreigners setting up scavenger hunts for their friends in Delhi?
Next was Jama Mosjid. We spent some nice time enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the mosque and then found a sweets vendor across from one of the 3 entrances to the mosque. He was also a gracious letter handler. He said he didn’t understand what we were doing but he would happily hold the letter until Atish would arrive. The letter contained directions to the music shop and directions to have lunch at Sam’s Café before continuing.
Pleased with our success we headed back to home in Malviya Nagar. Niharika was instrumental to setting the whole thing up, it wouldn’t have been possible with her excellent communication / translation skills. I still had to pack up my bag and write the last/first letter for Atish that would be left at the hotel room. But the hardest part was yet to come. How would I leave Atish alone to find the first letter?
Hot feet
April 1, 2010
I slept decently that night on the train. I woke up in the morning having to badly use the loo. I wriggled out of my silk liner and climbed down to my shoes. Where were my shoes?
I had chained my bag the night before below the lower birth and left my Teva flip-flops tucked to the side. A 10-second debate in my head on whether to bring my filthy flip-flops into my bed with me for the night had ended with me deciding that every other passenger had left their shoes free on the floor, I should do the same. And now, as I looked around for my comfy, brown, trustworthy Tevas I still saw every other passenger’s shoes abandoned on the floor, but mine were nowhere to be found. They stole my flip-flops!!! Why? Why would someone do that to a person on a train, they didn’t even know I had another pair of shoes with me, I could have been shoeless!
“Someone stole my shoes.” I said to the woman in the lower birth. “No, that wouldn’t happen, they must be here,” she replied casually. I didn’t reply with my thought of, “This is India, of course it would/did happen! But why mine?” In a dance of frustration of being robbed and having a full-bladder I wrestled my sneakers free. Of course I knew why mine had been stolen, because they were “western.” They were unique and someone took a fancy to them. Of course I hadn’t thought that my foam, simple Tevas were such a commodity when I had left them with fancy slippers, sneakers, and business shoes lying on the floor around them. But apparently they are more valuable, because all the other shoes had survived the night on the floor of the train.
I reached Delhi and found an auto-rickshaw to take me to Niharika’s. I was excited to see her again after 2 years since my time in Uttarakhand. It took an hour to get to Niharika’s neighborhood, Malviya Nagar, I had no idea Delhi was so enormous. And it was even hotter than UP.
When Niharika and I embraced in front of her house it occurred to be suddenly that I really barely knew her. We had spent time together in Sonopani and I conducted a dance workshop with her at the NGO AAROHI (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YiQ01cUZG0), we had shared personal stories, and we had stayed in touch with occasional emails. But when I saw her again I remembered that we had not had the time to develop a close friendship or any deep trust. I had travelled across India to work and stay with her and she was opening her home to me for a week, how would it go?
Within minutes of putting my pack down in her beautiful, simple 2 bedroom apartment we were catching up on each-other’s lives. It was the girl talk I had been missing for 3 months. She told me about her boyfriend, I told her about mine. We talked about our families, school, work, home, hair, clothes, travel, plans, plans, and more plans for the next week and 2 months. But before I knew it I had freshened up and she whisked me off to the Swechha office (http://www.swfc.org.in/).
Sunny, Niharika’s co-worker, was attending a meeting about an upcoming protest being organized by the Bhopal Gas Tragedy victims against DOW Chemical Company. It would be interesting for me to tag along. Tired and hungry, I agreed the meeting would be interesting without knowing what Bhopal was and got into the car with Sunny.
It was mostly curiosity that motivated me to attend the meeting. What happened in Bhopal and why was there a protest being organized, and who was this Sunny character? In the less than one hour that we had to chit-chat Niharika confided in me that her wonderful, relatively-new boyfriend was her co-worker and no one at work could know about it. I was eager to meet him.
The Bhopal meeting was extremely interesting, though mostly in Hindi. I had known nothing about the Bhopal Gas Tragedy until Sunny filled me in on the horrific industrial accident that occurred in the 1980s, an accident whose repercussions are still affecting the health of thousands in Madhya Pradesh. DOW chemical company inherited the responsibility of compensating the victims sufficiently, something that has still not happened. An international march was being organized in April by Al Gore’s NGO, named Live Earth. The hundreds of 6km marches were an effort to bring awareness to the scarcity of clean drinking water all over the world. Ironically, Live Earth’s single sponsor was DOW Chemicals, a company responsible for the pollution of water sources in numerous developing countries. But today corporate responsibility is a hot topic and huge companies like DOW are “taking action” to make a difference. A million dollars spent on organizing marches is a drop in the bucket for a company like DOW, but acknowledging the responsibility for thousands of victims of an industrial accident would be a headache for them… And so I learned that the Bhopal movement had plans to hold their own march in Delhi, registered with Live Earth under the pseudonym “Hindustan Sea Turtle Alliance.” They would show up in sea turtle t-shirts, set up booths and gather people, then strip to show their Bhopal shirts and flip their posters and signs to show their true message, DOW cannot hide their mistakes and responsibility by throwing an international party celebrating cleaning drinking water. I supported the ideas and was sorry that Atish and I would not be in Delhi on the day of Live Earth to join the “Hindustan Sea Turtle Alliance” in their mission. I was sworn to confidentiality that no one would hear about their plans until after the date, it was too risky if DOW were to catch word of the mischief.
In the car Sunny and I discussed my travels and India. He told me about his work with Swechha and the huge issues behind the Commonwealth Games soon to be held in Delhi, we talked about religion and the government in India. By the time we returned to Niharika’s place I had learned that Sunny was an excellent listener, intelligent, socially aware and active, and a musician, check, check, check, and check; I approved.
My time staying with Niharika was extremely enjoyable, even though I was still fighting off a cold, cough, and general weakness. She proved to me a most gracious host. I was fed and watered, taken to nice restaurants and given home cooked meals. We went for the delicious, famous chicken shwarma in New Friends Colony. She took me shopping for kurtas (traditional long dress shirts). She arranged all the plans perfectly so that I could teach a wonderful series of dance workshops with a group of girls (more on that later!). We went to an excellent play with famous Bollywood actors. She tagged along with me to check out the local salsa scene. And last but certainly not least she enthusiastically helped me to set up the scavenger hunt for Atish which I had been planning in my head for months. Over the course of that week our friendship was built on shared stories and experiences, advice and thoughts shared. By the end of that week it didn’t feel as though we had barely known each other 2 years ago, but more like old friends reunited. We booked train tickets to Sikkim for a two week adventure together in May that we both looked forward to.
All the while, I desperately tried to find replacement flip-flops in Delhi to provide my sweaty feet some relief. It was surprisingly difficult to find a suitable pair. There are shoe stores everywhere, but I can’t wear plastic between my toes, I get blisters (I tried too, and I got blisters!). Even after nearly 10 different stores in different parts of Delhi I hadn’t found a pair of foam flip-flops with cloth straps that fit me. Alas, I surrendered to wearing my hiking shoes and having hot feet.
If the phrase having “cold feet” is not being sure of something or wanting to quit a commitment, then is having “hot feet” wanting to see something through, eager for the final outcome or a new beginning? I eagerly awaited the arrival of Atish and our time together, so when the day finally came when I would be packing my stuff from Niharika’s and waiting for Atish’s flight to land I could hardly believe it. After 3 months of traveling through Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, and India, Atish and I would be in the same place, together. And so, in the 109 F weather in Delhi I headed off the Hotel Tara Palace in Old Delhi where Atish would meet me in the evening.
I slept decently that night on the train. I woke up in the morning having to badly use the loo. I wriggled out of my silk liner and climbed down to my shoes. Where were my shoes?
I had chained my bag the night before below the lower birth and left my Teva flip-flops tucked to the side. A 10-second debate in my head on whether to bring my filthy flip-flops into my bed with me for the night had ended with me deciding that every other passenger had left their shoes free on the floor, I should do the same. And now, as I looked around for my comfy, brown, trustworthy Tevas I still saw every other passenger’s shoes abandoned on the floor, but mine were nowhere to be found. They stole my flip-flops!!! Why? Why would someone do that to a person on a train, they didn’t even know I had another pair of shoes with me, I could have been shoeless!
“Someone stole my shoes.” I said to the woman in the lower birth. “No, that wouldn’t happen, they must be here,” she replied casually. I didn’t reply with my thought of, “This is India, of course it would/did happen! But why mine?” In a dance of frustration of being robbed and having a full-bladder I wrestled my sneakers free. Of course I knew why mine had been stolen, because they were “western.” They were unique and someone took a fancy to them. Of course I hadn’t thought that my foam, simple Tevas were such a commodity when I had left them with fancy slippers, sneakers, and business shoes lying on the floor around them. But apparently they are more valuable, because all the other shoes had survived the night on the floor of the train.
I reached Delhi and found an auto-rickshaw to take me to Niharika’s. I was excited to see her again after 2 years since my time in Uttarakhand. It took an hour to get to Niharika’s neighborhood, Malviya Nagar, I had no idea Delhi was so enormous. And it was even hotter than UP.
When Niharika and I embraced in front of her house it occurred to be suddenly that I really barely knew her. We had spent time together in Sonopani and I conducted a dance workshop with her at the NGO AAROHI (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YiQ01cUZG0), we had shared personal stories, and we had stayed in touch with occasional emails. But when I saw her again I remembered that we had not had the time to develop a close friendship or any deep trust. I had travelled across India to work and stay with her and she was opening her home to me for a week, how would it go?
Within minutes of putting my pack down in her beautiful, simple 2 bedroom apartment we were catching up on each-other’s lives. It was the girl talk I had been missing for 3 months. She told me about her boyfriend, I told her about mine. We talked about our families, school, work, home, hair, clothes, travel, plans, plans, and more plans for the next week and 2 months. But before I knew it I had freshened up and she whisked me off to the Swechha office (http://www.swfc.org.in/).
Sunny, Niharika’s co-worker, was attending a meeting about an upcoming protest being organized by the Bhopal Gas Tragedy victims against DOW Chemical Company. It would be interesting for me to tag along. Tired and hungry, I agreed the meeting would be interesting without knowing what Bhopal was and got into the car with Sunny.
It was mostly curiosity that motivated me to attend the meeting. What happened in Bhopal and why was there a protest being organized, and who was this Sunny character? In the less than one hour that we had to chit-chat Niharika confided in me that her wonderful, relatively-new boyfriend was her co-worker and no one at work could know about it. I was eager to meet him.
The Bhopal meeting was extremely interesting, though mostly in Hindi. I had known nothing about the Bhopal Gas Tragedy until Sunny filled me in on the horrific industrial accident that occurred in the 1980s, an accident whose repercussions are still affecting the health of thousands in Madhya Pradesh. DOW chemical company inherited the responsibility of compensating the victims sufficiently, something that has still not happened. An international march was being organized in April by Al Gore’s NGO, named Live Earth. The hundreds of 6km marches were an effort to bring awareness to the scarcity of clean drinking water all over the world. Ironically, Live Earth’s single sponsor was DOW Chemicals, a company responsible for the pollution of water sources in numerous developing countries. But today corporate responsibility is a hot topic and huge companies like DOW are “taking action” to make a difference. A million dollars spent on organizing marches is a drop in the bucket for a company like DOW, but acknowledging the responsibility for thousands of victims of an industrial accident would be a headache for them… And so I learned that the Bhopal movement had plans to hold their own march in Delhi, registered with Live Earth under the pseudonym “Hindustan Sea Turtle Alliance.” They would show up in sea turtle t-shirts, set up booths and gather people, then strip to show their Bhopal shirts and flip their posters and signs to show their true message, DOW cannot hide their mistakes and responsibility by throwing an international party celebrating cleaning drinking water. I supported the ideas and was sorry that Atish and I would not be in Delhi on the day of Live Earth to join the “Hindustan Sea Turtle Alliance” in their mission. I was sworn to confidentiality that no one would hear about their plans until after the date, it was too risky if DOW were to catch word of the mischief.
In the car Sunny and I discussed my travels and India. He told me about his work with Swechha and the huge issues behind the Commonwealth Games soon to be held in Delhi, we talked about religion and the government in India. By the time we returned to Niharika’s place I had learned that Sunny was an excellent listener, intelligent, socially aware and active, and a musician, check, check, check, and check; I approved.
My time staying with Niharika was extremely enjoyable, even though I was still fighting off a cold, cough, and general weakness. She proved to me a most gracious host. I was fed and watered, taken to nice restaurants and given home cooked meals. We went for the delicious, famous chicken shwarma in New Friends Colony. She took me shopping for kurtas (traditional long dress shirts). She arranged all the plans perfectly so that I could teach a wonderful series of dance workshops with a group of girls (more on that later!). We went to an excellent play with famous Bollywood actors. She tagged along with me to check out the local salsa scene. And last but certainly not least she enthusiastically helped me to set up the scavenger hunt for Atish which I had been planning in my head for months. Over the course of that week our friendship was built on shared stories and experiences, advice and thoughts shared. By the end of that week it didn’t feel as though we had barely known each other 2 years ago, but more like old friends reunited. We booked train tickets to Sikkim for a two week adventure together in May that we both looked forward to.
All the while, I desperately tried to find replacement flip-flops in Delhi to provide my sweaty feet some relief. It was surprisingly difficult to find a suitable pair. There are shoe stores everywhere, but I can’t wear plastic between my toes, I get blisters (I tried too, and I got blisters!). Even after nearly 10 different stores in different parts of Delhi I hadn’t found a pair of foam flip-flops with cloth straps that fit me. Alas, I surrendered to wearing my hiking shoes and having hot feet.
If the phrase having “cold feet” is not being sure of something or wanting to quit a commitment, then is having “hot feet” wanting to see something through, eager for the final outcome or a new beginning? I eagerly awaited the arrival of Atish and our time together, so when the day finally came when I would be packing my stuff from Niharika’s and waiting for Atish’s flight to land I could hardly believe it. After 3 months of traveling through Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, and India, Atish and I would be in the same place, together. And so, in the 109 F weather in Delhi I headed off the Hotel Tara Palace in Old Delhi where Atish would meet me in the evening.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Pictures from Angkor Wat
Angkor Wat really deserves its own photo album I think. These are 44 pics from my folder of about 300 pictures. That's the 300 pictures that I chose from the 700 something pictures I took during my 2 days there...
Pictures from Cambodia/Thailand!
2 May 2010
So, I’m still slowly working on catching up with my journal entries. Atish and I have traveled through Gujarat and a little in Rajasthan before returning to Delhi. We’ve been constantly busy or in need of rest from the heat and finding time to write has been difficult. But I’ve finally worked on getting some pictures uploaded to picasa. These pictures go from Phnom Phen, Cambodia up through Bangkok, Thailand. Looking at them again is like remembering a dream. Let me know what you think!
So, I’m still slowly working on catching up with my journal entries. Atish and I have traveled through Gujarat and a little in Rajasthan before returning to Delhi. We’ve been constantly busy or in need of rest from the heat and finding time to write has been difficult. But I’ve finally worked on getting some pictures uploaded to picasa. These pictures go from Phnom Phen, Cambodia up through Bangkok, Thailand. Looking at them again is like remembering a dream. Let me know what you think!
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