We were finally on the road by eleven. We had booked a guide through the "Tours by Locals" website, which is a network of local guides all over the world who are screened to meet the ToursByLocals requirements. Our guide, Shanoo, had a degree in Indian history and culture from Agra University, and has been a guide for twelve years. He was a huge asset to the trip and made everything as easy as possible. The guides are not allowed to drive in India, so we also had a driver for the duration of the trip, arranged by Shanoo. They were a great team. I would confidently recommend them to anyone thinking of making the trip.
Driving in India is even more outrageous than it is in Thailand, if you can believe it. And Indian drivers love to use their horns, even in standstill traffic. Vehicles of all kinds share the road: cars, trucks, tuktuks, rickshaws, ox carts, bicycles, motorbikes, you name it. And they share the road with the sacred cows that are allowed to roam anywhere they wish, which they do. It was not unusual to have a cow or two standing or lying in a lane of a busy highway, and people just went around them. Shanoo told us that the cows are very smart; they have owners, and always return at the end of the day, but are fed by the people at large during the day. They return for milking time, and locals come daily to buy fresh milk. The water buffalo (boo-FEL-lo) are not so smart and always have to have a human to guide them. They are not sacred and therefore do not have the run of the place like the cows.
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| water buffalo kept close |
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| This tuk-tuk's driver was saving gas at a traffic jam by pushing his vehicle forward by hand |
The animal fun doesn't stop there. We saw many wild monkeys hanging out on rooftops and under trees, much like you would see squirrels in the US. They say little children have to be kept inside in the mornings when the monkeys are out looking for food - yikes. The monkeys seemed to steer clear of the humans for the most part while we were here.
The signage in India illustrates its diversity - the road signs are written in four languages: Hindi, English, Arabic and Urdu. Hindi is the national language, though only since the end of World War II when India was no longer a British colony.
The Constituent Assembly adopted Hindi as the Official Language of the Union on 14 September 1949. Hence, it is celebrated as Hindi Day. (wikipedia)Nearly every sign includes English and nearly everyone seems to speak English. The influence of almost a century of British rule is evident here, especially in the New Delhi area, where the government offices and embassies are located. This area is beautifully groomed with lush gardens on the center islands of the roads, and colonial-style buildings. This is the first area we drove through, and for Tim it was a stark contrast to the India he sees when traveling for work, where poverty and unsanitary conditions are the norm. We passed the home of Prime Minister Modi, as well as the president's house, which looks more like a palace. I didn't realize that India had a prime minister and a president, but our guide explained that the president's role is more ceremonial while the prime minister wields the power. Despite this, the president's house is much larger and more impressive than that of the PM.
At the end of a wide, majestic road is India Gate, a war memorial erected by the British after World War I, and is reminiscent of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. It also marks the end of New Delhi and the beginning of Old Delhi, or Dariya Ganj. They are like two different worlds: New Delhi is opulent, clean, manicured and majestic, and Old Delhi is crowded, noisy, dirty and teeming with people who face the daily challenge of survival. It was in Old Delhi that we made our first stop at the largest mosque in India.
Jama Masjid was the first of several building we were to visit that was built by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in the 1600s. We had to get out of the car and walk along a busy road of vendors, beggars, tourists and worshipers, making our way up the front steps of the mosque. "Jama" means Friday, and believers come together to pray here on Fridays. We happened to be visiting on a Friday and were stopped at the entrance. Tourists are not allowed in during prayer, and we were asked to return after 2 p.m. when prayers would be finished. It was interesting to see the huge numbers of people climbing those 39 steps, removing their shoes, and entering the gates to pray together.
Our guide suggested that we might want to go have lunch while we waited for two o'clock to arrive. We had just eaten a late breakfast, but his description of this famous Indian eatery led us to agree. A "Best of Asia" issue of Time Magazine states:
...it is an unmissable landmark nonetheless often filled to capacity with the faithful. This drab roadside dhaba (for eatery)serves up the most authentic Mughlai fare in the city which is what you might expect considering who runs the place. Haji Zahiruddin comes from a family whose bloodline extends back to the chefs who conjured elaborate feasts in the courts of Mughal emperors. Generations of chefs honed their culinary wizardry in the nearby Red Fort until the last Mughal Ruler was toppled by the last British ruler in 1857. Returning to Delhi in 1911 after his family spent decades in exile. Haji Karimuddin, the grandfather of the present owner , setup shop in the same alleyway where his descendents now prepare their family recipes, each one a closely guarded secret.The narrow alleyway feels like a step back in time. On one side of the alley is where men bake naan and roti in the underground tandoor oven, and on the other side is the tiny, dingy dhaba with a few flimsy tables and chairs where locals and tourists eat side-by-side. Everyone warns westerners to go vegetarian while in India, as the meat preparation is often questionable. One bad meal could ruin the entire trip for a westerner whose digestive system was not "up to the challenge," shall we say. Yet Karim's is decidedly un-vegetarian: meat is their specialty. Tim and I eyed each other warily as our guide explained the meat dishes he recommended. I decided I wanted this authentic Indian experience, and signaled to Tim that I wanted to go for it.
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| the hole in the back is where the the bread is baked |
We were seated at a table where a young Indian family was already seated, and they eyed us as we sat down. Our guide called "bhai" ("brother") to the waiter, and helped us order some chicken tikka and fresh-baked roti along with some vegetarian rolls for good measure. After ordering, our guide said he would be back and promptly left us on our own. We weren't particularly worried, as there were other tourists in the restaurant, but we sure hoped he was coming back. We wouldn't have a clue how to find our way back to the hotel. The waiter brought a small plate piled high with sliced red onions and a couple of less-than-sparkling glasses for our water. The food arrived and was delicious - the chicken was tender and spicy and the roti was baked perfectly. I was glad we went for it, and had no "issues" later.
Our guide returned (phew!), and took us walking through the alleys of Old Delhi. How to describe this area? Tiny shops, unsanitary conditions, but vibrant with the energy of the people making their way through the busy streets. Fruit vendors with colorful fruits piled high on their carts, many food vendors with flies defiling their wares, shopkeepers eager to make a sale, and rail-thin beggars squatting in front of dhabas hoping for a handout. In one area several men sat or laid on the ground or on crates in the street; the guide said these were day-laborers hoping to be selected for work by the business owners who came looking for cheap labor. He said many of them smoked weed as they waited and were often unruly and fought with each other. We saw shops that sold perfumes made with oil, since alcohol is forbidden in the Muslim religion. He showed us some shops that sold henna, which he said many men put in their hair to cover their gray. We saw many examples of this odd, orange haircolor during our trip.
Another area had several shops dedicated to wedding services: tailors who created custom-made silk sherwanis with elaborate embroidery and jewels for the groom, others who offered fancy wedding invitations, some even including expensive boxes of dried fruits with the invites. According to our guide, weddings are big business in India and people who scrimp and save for everything else spare no expense at wedding time. It is not uncommon for people to take out loans to produce elaborate, days-long celebrations. He shared the common philosophy that marriage is not for romantic love but is more of a business deal. He said Indian men are smart because they have girlfriends whom they have no intention of marrying, and the girlfriends understand this as well. The caste system plays a huge role in who may marry whom. He indicated that a good wife was one with no expectations, because "expectations lead to sorrow." I found this quite telling, and yet another example of how different values systems can be.
We finally made our way back to the mosque, where believers where now streaming past us in the opposite direction. Back up the stairs we climbed, removing our shoes outside the gate where a poor man collected tips for guarding your shoes. Inside the gate I was impressed by the immensity of the courtyard area where prayer rugs were being rolled up and awnings taken down. The ground was hot, red sandstone, and the soles of my feet burned as we crossed the plaza. Photos were not allowed here, but our guide showed us a corner where we could snap a quick shot with our mobile. The massive courtyard can accommodate 25,000 worshipers, and has raised platforms spaced out so that everyone can see when to kneel or bow. The mosque is built of red sandstone and white marble, with two huge minarets, each five stories high. Only later did I learn that this had been the site of two terrorist attacks, in 2006 and 2010. Quite sobering.
After Jama Masjid, we made our way back to New Delhi to visit Mahatma Gandhi's Smriti (Gandhi's Rememberance), where he spent the last days of his life and where he was assassinated. The compound was owned by the Birla family, wealthy Indian tycoons, who invited Gandhi to establish his ashram there. Gandhi is considered by many to be the "father of the nation" (although those currently in power are challenging that notion). The museum is a very reverent, comprehensive look at Gandhi's life and philosophy. The first floor has numerous quotes throughout, following the timeline of his life. The second floor is a modern multimedia representation of his philosophy that is very artistic and detailed and would be very difficult to understand without the aid of a guide to explain all the symbolism. Cameras were not allowed there, as is the case with many places we visited.Behind the museum is the garden where Gandhi meditated and held court with his followers, and where he was ultimately assassinated. It is simple and profound at the same time, allowing you to follow his last footsteps and see the bench where he often spoke and prayed. It is recognizable to anyone familiar with the movie, "Gandhi." The museum is located on Thirty January Road, named for the date of his assassination in 1948, seventeen days after my oldest brother, Tim, was born. Sadly, Gandhi's philosophy of peaceful resistance and equality for all religions and classes is difficult to find in today's divisive climate.
After that heady experience, we were about ready to call it a day. Shanoo drove us around the city a bit more, stopping to snap a photo of the Lotus Temple, a modern Baha'i house of worship that was opened in December, 1986, three months after the birth of my oldest son, Tim. Baha'i temples are opened to people of all religions, and this temple has won many awards for its design. I think the sun and clouds in the picture add to its mystical quality.
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