Adventures in the Delhi Metro

For the first time in Delhi, I feel comfortable. I have felt comfortable in other cities in India where I have lived, because I have lived alone and had complete freedom to move about as I wish, but somehow Delhi has escaped my favor. Until now. In every trip before this, I have been entirely dependent upon others to get around (not that I’ve ever needed to go places on my own before, but still I’ve always been a “minor”). This lends to the feeling that I am not at home, I am a guest, and need to be taken care of. This time, though, the Delhi Metro was available for my use (there is a stop just two minutes’ driving distance from Shilli Uncle’s place). This brilliant piece of technology is a wonderful addition to the available means of transport in Delhi thus far. It is fast, efficient, and its stops are located in the most prime spots throughout the city.

Delhi is huge! My first solo trip in the Metro was a trip from Noida to Saket. I had to change at Rajiv Chowk, and I did not want to take chances. I am very familiar and comfortable with city rail transport systems (the “L” in Chicago, and the Tube in London), so I had a general picture of what I had to do. In its efficiency and speed, the metro definitely exceeded my expectations. I traveled from the Noida City Center stop to Rajiv Chowk without hassle, and was aware that I had to get off well in advance, not because I was looking at the stop list, but simply thanks to the announcements. The countdown timers that are present at each platform to indicate the time remaining before the next train arrives are perfectly accurate. The interior design of the train is also brilliant; it is very wide, with a few seats along each wall but most space for standing passengers. This is most useful in India because there are so many people that to make seats for everyone would be impossible. So they made provisions for standees and I respect that.

Another interesting feature of the Metro is the all-women’s compartment. This is usually the first or first two compartments on the train, and guards stand outside the doors at every stop so that only women can enter. I have heard stories of men entering and getting beaten up by women with their shoes in hand (even if they entered by accident!). I must admit, I nearly entered the women’s compartment by accident once during my first solo ride, but got yelled at by a guard in time. All he said was “EYYYY”, and even though at first I had no idea what he was yelling about (I thought that he was trying to tell me to be careful, since the doors were about to close, but they weren’t, so I was confused), I looked into the compartment and realized that I was the only guy, and it dawned on me that there was an all-ladies compartment. I have not seen this feature in any other public transportation service. Since this feature is so strong in the Metro, it makes for a reliable resource for women to travel, even by night. I was impressed with the overall layout and execution of the Metro system; it is a very nice addition to the city.

The people on the Metro, however, are another story.

It makes sense that because of the unfathomably large population in the city, there will always be a rush on the Metro. But the people in that rush are so confusing! They will, invariably, hustle in front of you if you leave a gap of even an inch between you and the person in front of you in a line or between you and the door (if you are inside the Metro waiting to get out). But sometimes if there isn’t enough space for you to get on, the people will squish each other so that you can enter. They are at once competitive and generous. Everything seems like it is a competition to them, perhaps stemming from the population crisis India is facing today; for every seat available for position x, there will be 1000 applicants. It seems to me that they believe that if they don’t fight for every inch of space that they own/occupy/can gain at all times, they will lose that space. And to be honest, it’s true. I’ve seen it happen, and it’s happened to me. Fortunately, I’m not in a rush all the time, nor am I worried about losing my space, so I am not bothered when it happens to me. But I do think there are better ways of doing some things, and this is definitely one of them.

Alternatively, one can view it as a game. I have watched groups of boys getting on and off of the train in a rush, pushing each other, but smiling while doing it. I get the feeling that they recognize the ridiculousness of this maneuver, but enjoy doing it anyway, just for fun. Everyone seems to enjoy the push and pull of the mob. Once you let yourself go and stop being annoyed by it, you can be comfortable in the Metro. Just make sure you maintain a vigilant mind, and never act in this way senselessly.

That said, I have been zipping around on the Metro since I arrived in India by myself, and it has been very enjoyable. I’ve explored the blue and yellow lines. It is refreshing to see Indian words as the names of stops; they seem very friendly to me, as I am familiar with all of them. I feel like a local. I knew that other people thought I was a local too when I got asked, “Bhaiya, yeh train Hauz Khas jaati hai?” (“Bhaiya, does this train go to Hauz Khas?”) and “Bhaiya, mujhe Kashmir Gate ke liye kahaan utarna padega?” (“Bhaiya, where do I have to get off if I want to go to Kashmir Gate?”), and I knew the answers.

All in all, the Metro is a great way to get around; just watch your valuable items and stay cool!

The Hospital Experience in Delhi

I have been to the hospital a few times so far for various tests and checkups. Before going to the hospital at all, however, a man came to Shilli Uncle’s house (Shilli Uncle is my dad’s oldest brother; his house is where I’m staying) to take my blood. I have never seen this in practice (where someone comes to your house to take your blood, rather than you going to the hospital), and frankly I didn’t trust the man. He didn’t seem to speak correctly, the plastic bag (yes, a plastic bag) in which he brought all his supplies seemed excessively dirty (not sanitized/sanitary), and he came on a motorcycle (he was going to take the vials of my blood back to the hospital on a motorcycle?). I could only hope that he knew what he was doing, though, because this man was about to stick a needle in me!

After the tests were completed, we got a call, and I had to go to the hospital. So Kunwar Bhaiya (Shilli Uncle’s cook-cum-driver) and I went to the hospital together. Once inside, we were totally lost for direction. I have never been so baffled by red-tapism. There were so many forms to fill out for no apparent reason! I had to get a receipt from one place, and a test order from another place, and my test results from a third place altogether! It was chaotic, to say the least.

As one wanders around the hospital looking for where to go to get a particular test performed (nothing is clearly written), one observes a phenomenon that is intrinsic to India – the cutthroat nature of every interaction, stemming from the idea that “if I’m not cutthroat, my throat will be cut.” [To be fair, this is not entirely false.] I will write more about this concept as time goes on, I feel. It is something that warrants conformity, even when there is no desire to conform. Without elbowing your way through “queues” (also known as mini mobs) or shouting at people behind counters, your work would never get done. This is truly a pitiable condition. Where is the sense of community, the sense of friendliness that Indians seem to develop when in foreign countries?

When you arrive at the counter you think you are supposed to be at, nobody is willing to help until you shout at whoever is there. Shouting is not my forte (though I am getting better at it!). Fortunately, Kunwar Bhaiya was there with me on these quests in the hospital, or I would never have completed them. I was still a newcomer in India and especially Delhi, and I was still feeling unconfident with transactions in which I needed to use force to get things done. Soon, I hope, my confidence will build and I will swim like a fish in water in these situations…

Back Again

The quest for dharma begins in earnest yet again, with my return to India. I hesitate to call it the motherland, as I recently came across a realization that was hidden away deep in the recesses of my mind until now. For those of us who consider the world as our home, there is no motherland. Or rather, the entire world is our motherland. The world is our mother. We respect her wherever we go, for there is only one world, and the divisions created therein are man-made. This assists us in being “home” wherever we go. I only feel like a foreigner in a place so long as I allow myself to feel that way.

I am also yet again sharply reminded of the disparity between the rich and the poor in this country. Just as I left the airport, I saw some poor people sitting on the side of the street. They had matted hair, dirty clothes, cracked skin, and glazed eyes. Zipping by them in big SUVs and other expensive gas-guzzlers were the richer members of society. It always breaks my heart to see this. I wish I could help every single person in need, but how? I can’t just give them money; they wouldn’t know what to do with it. I can’t just open schools; they would not be interested in attending. I can’t just put them in another place; what right do I have to do that? A lot of thought has been given to this subject, and I need not add my own thoughts on it until they can add to the discussion in a productive way, so I will save this particular discussion for later.

As I have been ill for the past few weeks, which is what delayed my trip in the first place (I was supposed to arrive on the 5^th of October, but instead have come on the 17^th), my first goal is to rid myself of this lingering cough. To this end, lots of tests and checkups are in order…

I have come to India this time to learn Sanskrit from Dr. Pushpa Dixit, whom everyone calls “Mataji” (Mother). She is a retired professor of Sanskrit, and now writes Sanskrit grammar books full-time. I will be living with her and her husband in the true gurukul style, in which the student lives with the teacher, learning is 24 hours, and is not limited to academic subjects, but rather addresses all aspects of life. Last time I stayed with her (May 2010), I enjoyed it very much and learned a lot. At the end of my stay, Mataji told me to come back to learn from her, as she wanted to teach me more. I agreed, but since I was committed to Cambridge already, I could not start learning from her right away. Instead, I went to Cambridge, completed my MPhil, and am now on my way back to learning from her (until I commence my PhD). In the meantime, I will update this blog with events that take place and thoughts and ideas that I have. Usually, the latter stems from the former, so let us let life take its course!