Live from New Delhi
And New Delhi is definitely live. When I announced to friends and family that I would be in Delhi on a volunteer service project, I necessarily committed to writing all about it. It's been only three days, and any writing "all about it," this journey to Delhi, would require several days work. So I'll start with my beginning, the ride from the airport.
The major international airport is Indira Gandhi International, the first female prime minister of India, as well as daughter of the first, Nehru, and mother to her successor, Rajiv. Landing in this airport seems especially auspicious.
As every city has a smell, Delhi smells like smoke that lingers after a fire-cracker. This, too, is highly symbolic to me, as the country seems to have in a flash exploded into modernity. The modern sparkles in a buzzing high way, while the dust of the pastrespectively refuses to settle. Auto rick-shaws hold their ground in the lane next to us, and bullocks (bulls) lose their manners on the patches of grass off the side. What do you say to this?
We continue through slums where women hang laundry on ropes outside of dark shanties, dogs wander freely, and men continue their hustle (whatever it may be) as if it were 10 am. Eventually we come to a main highway clogged with more traffic. Add to buses, sleek Hyndais, and grand-dad's old Ford, and you've got Delhi traffic on midnight on Saturday. Our journey continues past brightly lit hotels, neighbors to dilapidated buildings, and ends at a quaint apartment complex that will be my home for the next six weeks.
Contradiction is the word most often used to describe Delhi, and I come to understand more of it through the next day's travels to Old Delhi and Jama Masjid.
The major international airport is Indira Gandhi International, the first female prime minister of India, as well as daughter of the first, Nehru, and mother to her successor, Rajiv. Landing in this airport seems especially auspicious.
As every city has a smell, Delhi smells like smoke that lingers after a fire-cracker. This, too, is highly symbolic to me, as the country seems to have in a flash exploded into modernity. The modern sparkles in a buzzing high way, while the dust of the pastrespectively refuses to settle. Auto rick-shaws hold their ground in the lane next to us, and bullocks (bulls) lose their manners on the patches of grass off the side. What do you say to this?
We continue through slums where women hang laundry on ropes outside of dark shanties, dogs wander freely, and men continue their hustle (whatever it may be) as if it were 10 am. Eventually we come to a main highway clogged with more traffic. Add to buses, sleek Hyndais, and grand-dad's old Ford, and you've got Delhi traffic on midnight on Saturday. Our journey continues past brightly lit hotels, neighbors to dilapidated buildings, and ends at a quaint apartment complex that will be my home for the next six weeks.
Contradiction is the word most often used to describe Delhi, and I come to understand more of it through the next day's travels to Old Delhi and Jama Masjid.
posted by Rhonda Henderson at 9:59 AM
1 Comments:
Very cool. Very interesting! Safe travels, and be sure to take a rickshaw while you're there.
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