Reverting to student behavior

Every comment I heard about Delhi is absolutely true… and then some. It’s a total assault on every one of your senses. By no means is this a bad thing. I suppose such constant stimulation is a pleasant reminder that you are alive. You really are seeing/hearing/touching/tasting/smelling whatever that is and I’d wager to say you won’t see/hear/touch/taste/smell that again. At the very least, not at the same time. For instance, while sitting at Karim’s restaurant eating Chicken Jahangiri and smelling the spices from the kitchen (and occasionally a few of the less desirable odors inherent to the stunning poverty found around the corner), my eyes kept floating back to the brilliant yellow of a woman’s sari while a small boy was trepidatiously reaching out to shake my hand at the request of his father. And somewhere – an auditory cherry on the top of the sensory sundae – a man’s singing bitterly fought with the cacophony of horns to stay alive.

That was a single moment, a molecule in the ocean of daily experiences in Delhi.

I’m still trying to process the rest of the day, but my meanderings with Khursheed around Old Delhi were singular, if not enlightening. After visiting the perplexingly beautiful Jama Masjid – the largest mosque in India – I took a bike rickshaw to Fatehpuri Masjid, a decidedly less showy, but more peaceful mosque populated only by a handful of soul-searchers clustered in small groups, some washing their feet in faucets lining one side of the courtyard. It was one of the most serene moments I’ve had in months when suddenly a young man approached.
“Hello, sir. Where are you from?”

I was immediately hesitant. Suspicious. Doubtful. “New York,” I replied with a half smile, fully expecting an offer to show me “all the tourist sites of Delhi at a very good price. Very good price.”

But one never came.

In a rather circuitous fashion we strolled around the courtyard, finally perching on the platform where prayers are led five times a day. Rather fitting for the setting, we talked religion, yet our conversation also leapt from family to love to work to cultural harmony. We left Fatehpuri Masjid and Khursheed led me around the labyrinth of tiny alleys and passageways which had been completely invisible to me moments before.

As we ducked under tiny arches and through minute gates, stepping over sleeping goats and passing outdoor barbers, I started to feel anxious. Where is he taking me? How do I get out of here? Where’s the exit to a main street? My anxiety reached its pinnacle when we were deep into an Afghani region of the maze. Completely a product of American media and episodes of 24, I was nervous. Our military is at war in Afghanistan. He knows I’m American. He knows I live in New York. He knows I was born a Christian. Am I the epitome of what is demonized amongst radical circles?

My out? Some silly story about needing to be back to the hotel. His reason for showing me that part of the city? An Afghani restaurant with good food.

How ludicrous and horribly disturbing that I cannot help but have these ridiculous thoughts when here is a genuinely kind soul who just wants to chat and to share some of his favorite aspects of living in Delhi. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Kursheed and I are strikingly similar.
1. We’re both 29. Neither of us is frightened to turn 30, but it does cause our heart to skip a beat every now then.
2. We’re both single but hopeful. While I explained that being 29 and single isn’t that much of a rarity anymore in the States, he explained that he’s definitely the outlier. In his community, he explained, marriage typically falls between the ages of 16 and 25.
3. We’ve both been in love. Kursheed – once. The woman left him for someone else. Me – twice. The first was a victim of bad timing and my own immaturity and naïveté. The second ended when two souls realized they were not concentric circles, but rather spheres bouncing on different planes.
4. We’ve both identified our career paths and are working towards greater success. He, a tailor, looks up design houses around the world and sends unsolicited emails offering his services. I, a teacher, immerse myself in the complexities of our school systems with the hope of imparting some tiny change.

While it’s hard for one person to be solely responsible for another’s success or downfall, I thought I’d do whatever I could to assist Khursheed. So, I’m going to call him tomorrow to order a few shirts and pants and will gladly recommend him to anyone who wants to listen. Admittedly, this is not some monumental change, but it’s a tiny step – or rather, a tiny shuffle – in the right direction.

How will he help me? He already has. I realized my own biases today and saw that – despite what the news may lead us to believe – there are far more good people out there than we recognize. Today, I, the educator, was Khursheed’s student.