Visions from a day

So, my email account was hacked; thus, the temporary suspension. However, "Meanderings of a Baker" is back up and running. I wrote this a couple days ago.

What Delhi showed me in a single day…

1. A Bollywood film: I Hate Luv Storys. After accepting the fact that no red pen would have enough ink to correct the orthographical errors on all the advertisements, I walked into the theater ready to be wowed. This was, admittedly, a tall order considering I don’t speak Hindi and could potentially have not the slightest clue what the hell was going on. Luckily for me, it was a rather formulaic romantic comedy, one which undoubtedly would star Katherine Heigl or the like had it been filmed in the US. What made it completely enjoyable, though, was what makes every Bollywood movie deliciously campy and fun: choreographed musical numbers. I mean, 29 Dresses? Lame. 29 Dresses with unapologetic song and dance? That would be stunning. Why hasn’t Hollywood caught on to what Bollywood is peddling?

2. Boys being boys. No matter the country, no matter the culture, no matter the sport, boys will get up before school to play sports. Whether it’s Jonas and Kelith and a basketball at UCHS at 6:00am or a group of teens in unkempt uniforms playing cricket in the shadow of India Gate, boys will always find a way to release that energy. As a teacher, I say THANK GOD. Maybe you’ll stop being so crazy in my classroom if you run around for a while.

3. Khursheed’s apartment. After ascending an unlit staircase and almost tripping over a baby goat in the hallway – which, by the way, had a bright orange stripe painted down its back – I found myself barefooted, cross-legged, and warmly welcomed by Khursheed and his family. Calling it modest would be a stretch, but these tiny rooms which housed SEVEN people felt as warm and comfortable as my own house. It was by far one of the most profound experiences abroad I’ve ever had. Calling myself lucky to have experienced it would be an understatement.



4. Money being blessed. Back story: Despite the heat and the humidity that wraps its arms around you in a giant sweaty hug, shorts don’t really cut it in Delhi. Feeling snazzy in my linen shorts, I went out one afternoon and quickly felt like I was walking around naked, which despite my actions in a certain clothing optional bike ride, isn’t typically how I roll. So, in an attempt to draw the least amount of attention possible – not always shockingly easy as a 6’2” lanky white boy with a shaved head – I bought another pair of pants from a market for 200 rupees (about $4.50). Closing his eyes, the shopkeeper’s hands danced momentarily, the bills slightly wavering with the movement. “You’re my first sale of the day,” he said, gently touching my arm.



5. A daytime monsoon. I saw headlines about monsoons on the newsstands, hotels offer monsoon season discounts, everyone said I was crazy for going during the monsoons, yadda yadda yadda. Lots o’ monsoon talk. Sure, it rained early in the morning the day I got here. Sure there was some rain while I slept. But – then one came during the day. And, well, I get it now. WOW. It’s the sort of rain that doesn’t really have a direction. It’s almost like MC Escher and Mother Nature are in cahoots, and just like stairways that twist and jut from every angle, water pelts you no matter where you are. Plus side to the storm? A lovely chat with an old man as we hid under a hotel overhang. From the need to educate the whole child to the importance of yoga, we covered a lot in those 20 minutes. My favorite quote: “Our lives are minimized with every second that passes.” Preach on.

6. A dead man on the street. There he was - in the middle of the street, in the middle of the monsoon, rickshaws maneuvering around him like he was a pothole. There’s this need to almost disconnect yourself from reality while you’re here – similar, I suppose, to being a doctor constantly dealing with tragedy. You can’t let the sight of every disparity, every heartbreak stop you or you wouldn’t be able to move three inches. But – this hit me. Hard.

It seems somewhat insensitive, I suppose, to start a posting musing about RomComs and choreography and end with someone’s seemingly unnoticed death; yet, it parallels Delhi perfectly. A Jaguar dealership next to a garbage repository populated by food-seekers. The Delhi Stock exchange behind a filled sidewalk of sleeping men and women.

What an introduction it has been, Delhi. Thank you.

Now, off to see that Taj Mahal I’ve been hearing so much about.