I woke up yesterday and looked out the window. Two monkeys sat on the railing and jumped towards the glass, bounced off it and landed back on the railing. Today we rented sticks to fend off ones that casually leap onto your shoulder to steal your glasses or wallets. To say that monkeys ‘co-exist’ with humans here in Simla, the hill-station in north India, is a statement that requires some substantiation. But let’s go back a few days.
The plane arrived in Delhi in the evening on September 12th. A friend said that the first thing to hit your face would be a scent that could only be described as a ‘wet diaper’. Hardly the case, just a dampness and a certain smell that is combination of many things, a smell that is becoming a distinct aspect of the many places we go. So far I can somewhat discern between curry, incense, sewage, acrid smoke from the burning of oil, coal and cow dung.
We arranged for a driver to pick us up and it was a warm feeling to see my name on a piece of paper, held by a man amongst a throng of many others looking to connect with new arrivals. The ‘touts’ as they call them, quickly moved in seeing if we wanted a ride, but we were already accounted for. My first mistake was trying to get into the right side of the car- the driver laughed at/with me.
I really enjoy the traffic in Delhi. There are few rules governing the flow of cows, autorickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, cars, trucks, buses, and bicycles through a city of roundabouts. There are traffic lights, but no one pays any attention to them. If there is an opening, you go for it with the horn blazing. There is a hierarchy..the bigger and faster you are, the more right of way you have. Suprisingly, there seems to be few accidents and traffic moves quicker than it would back home. The traffic flow is, as the complexivist in me would say, certainly a self-organizing phenomenon. That said, there were many close calls with others. ‘Close’ is a relative term and I felt reassured by the skills of the almost too relaxed drivers.
The first thing I noticed, standing out front of our ‘homestay’ in East Nizzamudin, was the attention we drew (espcecially Laura) from others. It begins as a blank curious stare, and as soon as I flashed my big smile at them, most people cannot hold back to return one to me. Lesson #1: Smile more often…it is something so simple and has the capacity to evoke tremendous positive emotion in yourself and others.
Jet lag kicked our bum a bit and most of our three days in Delhi was sleeping for most of the daylight and being up during the night. Our first excursions out into the city were short, mostly because we awoke with few hours remaining in the day, but partly because we were just easing in. The men urinating in the streets, the stray dogs, the colouful saris, the dynamic between the remnants of the British Raj and Hindustani culture, are expressions of many narratives that I have yet to see deeply into and become, in a small way, a part of.
We booked our AC Chair Car train tickets to Kalka and left early Monday morning. North Delhi is much more chaotic than the south and rush hour traffic is a great way to see the city come to life. As we got on the train a man in the seats we had booked was yelling and causing much commotion. A police officer with a rather beat-up submachine gun rushed in and with good force removed this fellow from the train.
The train ride out of Delhi left us with our jaws gapping. Square shacks are built on top of, into, below, and out of each other through fractal mazes of paths and alleys. The ledges and open ‘rooms’ of the slums reach right up to the edge of the railway. Three feet from the window, young men shaved and washed out of buckets of soapy water. Nothing seemed to be wasted – bags, boards, containers…all refitted to create the infrastructure of these communities. This all stood in stark contrast to the newspapers, beverages and food that get thrown your way as part of the ticket price.
We arrived in Chandigarh and made our way onto a semi-deluxe bus. Semi-deluxe is better than ordinary, but not as good as deluxe, which has AC and better seats. These buses are pretty beat up by Canadian standards, but are so much more interesting. People play music from their cellphones everywhere here…I have Punjabi beats running in my head. Young boys come on the bus at stops with sliced coconut.
I sat next to a young man studying hotel management near Simla. Finding out I was from Canada, he started to share his story of being secretly in love with a man from India and now living in Calgary. He told me that I was one of the only people he ever told this to as homosexuality is largely forbidden here. His goal is to finish school and move to Canada. He could not believe me when I described the vibe in Toronto and events like Pride. I wish him well in his journey.
At Chandigarh, on the way to Simla, the mountains begin. Over a three hour period we charged our way up the hills through throngs of small roadside dhabas (restaurants) and every imaginable shop selling an endless variety of goods. Cellphones, sweets, dominoes pizza, apples, chai…it’s all here. The driving conditions are tight and Laura braced on to me tightly as we passed slower vehicles, apple trucks hurling down the road towards us.
We were pretty buzzed out as we arrived in Simla. The friend I made on the bus connected us with two Kashmiri brothers that manage the booking of rooms at the Hotel CityView. Moustag, one of the brothers, is a vibrant charismatic man with a great sense of humour and command of English. He arranged for us to stay in the honeymoon suite, top floor, overlooking Simla for 450Rs ($10/night CDN). A full spread breakfast for two runs us about 200Rs, less than $5 CDN. He took us into his room last night, and after making us Kashmiri tea, unfolded his life as a trekking guide, phys ed teacher, and a ‘foreigner’ to the rest of India. The tensions between Pakistan, India, the states of Jammu and Kashmir, Islam and Hinduism have a complex history that I am just now learning about.
Simla is so very relaxed. Monkeys run about on the roofs causing commotion. Small packs of dogs sleep in the middle of the road as the mostly young, upbeat, and well-dressed Simlians walk about the impressive pedestrian-only business/commerical district at the centre of town. The Hanuman temple, the monkey deity, sits a top a steep climb from the city and is covered in monkeys. People use sling shots to keep them from stealing almost anything and everything left untended or uncaged.
We’re going to stay for a few more days. We are waiting to hear back if there is room in Thich Nhat Hanh’s Mindfulness in Education workshop happening in Dehra Dun (!) at the end of the month, and will need to decide when we want to go to Dharamsala and McLeod Ganj to roll with the big D.L.
Inwardly, I’m where I like to be most…awkard and forced to improvise. Some people call this culture shock, but making a connection with someone across language or asking how even the simplest of things work brings me into a state of awareness the demands presence, openness, and a solid sense of my ground rules. All I have to do is become aware of my breathe, the hair standing on end throughout my body, or the twisting of my guts, to fall in love with the awkward shuffle. Laura and I are doing wonderful, the daily practice of our relationship continues on the road with new challenges (comfort zones, trust, risk, etc.) and we are growing beautifully.
Bhaji Puri has become my new favourite breakfast food.
Upon my return to Canada I will make all my efforts to create a widespread movement to eat this wonderful meal a staple of the Canadian diet. Someone please start a facebook page in my absence.
much love
sp
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