At the End of a Perfect Day

Last night I came home with my ears ringing, my clothes drenched, with actual dirt caked on my skin. It was the best day I’ve had in a long time. Elizabeth and I woke up early (it’s a long weekend and the others are away) and went to Khan Market—the place for all foreign goodies—to pick up a money transfer. Her wallet was stolen last week so she’s ATM card-less and since she left for Nepal this morning it was a bit of a desperate situation. We’d checked out all the Western Union locations online, wrote down the hours, etc. and decided on the Punjab National Bank in Khan Market because of it’s close proximity to the “All American Diner,” which was to be an essential stop in our day of fun. The door to the bank was open, the office full of employees. There was even a Western Union sign prominently displayed. But, we were informed, it was a bank holiday. Yes, there were people there, and, yes, technically there was money in the bank, but no, we could not have any of it. “Bank holiday, Madam.” Okayyyy. The guys were actually unusually helpful, though, and let us use the phone to call Western Union. After half an hour, Elizabeth was informed there was only one non-bank location in all of Delhi, which happened to be back in our neighborhood. And, of course, there was no answer. As we formulated back-up plans, we walked out of the bank and—smack—into a huge “Western Union” sign at a travel agency that was very much open. In ten minutes Elizabeth had her money.

We had a long, lingering brunch at the All American Diner, which is AMAZING. It’s all done up with the classic counter and booths and a jukebox. I have not been in India long enough to legitimately long for American food, but I did appreciate the French toast and omelets. Mostly, though, it was nice to sit in air-conditioning just chatting for a couple of hours, not rushing off anywhere. Because I started work so soon after arriving here, I have felt constantly exhausted and unsettled and like there’s always something pressing to get done. But I have a room and a bed and sheets now, and it’s a three-day weekend, so I just let go.

Shopping on the weekend is usually something of a nightmare in Delhi. All the wealthy mums and teenagers out pushing and shoving, behaving as if they own the city. But Elizabeth wanted to do some anyway, so we agreed to give it a shot and flee if we had to. Dilli Haat is one of my favorite places in Delhi. It’s a sort of market with rotating exhibitions. Sometimes it is chock full of amazing jewelry and clothes and tapestries, and sometimes it’s all junk. Last weekend Namrata and I went, and I could barely breathe it was so crowded. Yesterday, though, it was gloriously empty because I guess all of Delhi has fled to hill stations for the long weekend. AND each booth was better than the last. Oh, and there was this amazing guy with a music box, slide projector, record player thing, who talked us into giving him ten rupees in order to look at floating pictures of peacocks, the Taj Mahal, and a couple of Bollywood stars (see below).

It is festival season in India. Durga Puja (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Durga_puja) is the most important holiday for Bengali Hindus, and we just happen to live down the road from the largest Bengali community in Delhi. To celebrate, they set up about ten melas (fairs) around the area. Traffic was insane, but we eventually made it. There were sarees of every imaginable color, yummy yummy Bengali food (including their version of a wrap...fresh paneer tikka with grilled veggies...mmmmmmmmm), and enormous shrines with Durga idols, along with the central characters of the Ramayana—Rama, Sita, Hanuman.

Bellies full, skin caked with sweat and dust, we jumped in a rickshaw, in which the driver blasted Bollywood music from speakers in the back and sang and laughed with us. We went on to the Qutub Festival, a celebration for the youth of Delhi. A stage was set up in front of the Qutub Minar, one of Delhi’s most beautiful attractions. First up was a classical Indian sitar concert, which we missed. But we did make it in time to see “Euphoria,” a “HindRock” band with a gynecologist as lead singer. He referred to the women in the audience as "chicks" a few too many times for me to believe he has any business doctoring women as his day job! The concert was fun, though. It was a great mix of people. Half the audience rushed forward to dance by the stage—and not just the young ones. Aunties and uncles jumped around with us. Young parents carried dancing kids on their shoulders. And EVERYONE sang along.

I have never considered myself much of a dancer. When my friends in NY or in college went out dancing, I'd stay in more often than not. But after Caroline’s wedding I remember thinking dancing makes me so happy; I should do it more. I can close my eyes and let go and for at least a few moments not worry about whether I look ridiculous. It’s like I find a feeling of home in movement. So next week I’m going to start Bollywood dance classes!

When we finally stepped back into the apartment at 1:30 completely exhausted, I felt at home even though I had to fish a mouse of the toilet. I love Delhi. I love that tonight I went to a free concert of some of the world’s most famous qawali singers, followed by a team of the best Bollywood song writers and performers, and that I sat (and danced) with new friends that included a 20-year-old college student, an Indian classmate of Elizabeth’s from Sweden, one of Namrata’s best friends, and some random American guy who’s beginning a post-doctoral fellowship. I love that the other day I saw a woman on the back of a motorbike in crazy traffic, two kids squeezed between her and her husband and a baby balanced on her lap, breastfeeding! I love that it’s impossible to know what’s going to happen from one minute to the next. I’ve hated that at times, and I’m sure I will again, but now I am sailing.