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New Year in New Delhi
Our ride to Delhi was kind of strange. An easy straight road, we'd allowed lots of time to be able to deal with the chaotic traffic getting across New Delhi at rush hour and figured that we would take a stop just past Mathura to look at some temples surrounding Shiva's birthplace, its physical location determined only a few years ago from a long and in depth study of historical texts and artifacts. We paused briefly along the highway to view a huge Gurdwara temple in pure white. Its attempt to be an impressive icon along the highway was evident. Only Lana went inside but had to fill in a register and visitor log as well as sign for a number for the kiosk to take care of her boots, impervious to protests of just wanting to leave them with the other pile of battered sandals. Five minutes later, after a quick viewing of the hall inside and mild amusement at the donation box which openly rejected any form of donation by meat, fish, wine or leather consumers, was back on the roadside enduring the signing out process and having her boots tipped out of a canvas sack onto the floor. We headed off looking for the turn to Vrindavan where our map suggested the temples would be. Suddenly a huge amusement park looking sculpture of Shiva appeared to our right. Fantastic and tacky at the same time we pulled off to the gate for a closer look only to discover it was due to open in March. Lots of vehicles kept pulling up to peer through the gate at the monstrous, fibre-glass looking coloured multi-armed figure, standing victorious on a man made hill surrounded by pretty gardens and neatly paved pathways. Adam munched on large raw carrots and radishes, sliced and infiltrated with spices, salt and fresh lime juice whilst Chris was harassed by a fat kid in a khaki coloured shirt and baseball cap, bearing a whistle and requesting money so he could be a cop. Seeming already fairly corrupted we figured he's halfway there, and by no means looks to be starving so we shunned his persistency.
Somehow something then went wrong...Adam took off up the road heading back to the highway, we pulled over realising Chris wasn't behind us and waited. a little too long, concerned there had been some further trouble with the wannabe child cop we swung around, cop child signaled to us that he had gone so we went back assuming he had passed us unnoticed as before, figuring he may have gone on ahead to catch us up we continued. We pulled up along the side of the highway where 4 people were traveling on hired Enfields for a quick chat. After speaking to them we realised that further down the road where the Shiva Park was there was a town and that is where the sculptures were. Chris was either ahead of us or had gone to look at the temples. After gunning it for some time we had not caught up to him and decided to pull off for a chai at one of the many roadside stops we were passing. Having positioned the bike in clear view of the road and disembarked Chris cruised past, without seeing us. A few minutes to get reassembled and back on the bike, the chase begun. The Enfield showed us what a Bullet was really made of as it raced along at the top end of its 4th gear with over 200Kg on the back. We caught Chris finally amidst the dodging traffic that had been racing also to try and catch us up ahead. Stopping at a restaurant further up ill communication resulted in a seriously long wait for food to arrive. A very tasty Kashmir Chilly Paneer soaked up with heaps of chapattis was soured when the 10 year old waiter brought the bill for 1340 rupees. It is practically impossible to spend even half this amount on a basic lunch for 3 people outside of a five-star restaurant anywhere in India. Our unbelieving faces must have been a sight! Having seen the child waiter, junior chef and two men 'discussing' our bill and grinning, we thought maybe it was a joke, and blatantly refused to pay (note the men would not come over and discuss this with us). The scene eventuated with the kid bringing over a notepad and pen and saying 'what you want to pay'. We left angry and Christian rode out his fury at aggressive high speeds, which cost him later when his fuel unexpectedly ran out.
The highway was really good, there were more cars now than wagons and tractors, but the scenery wasn't anything spectacular. As we approached Fairarabad the number of cement factories, government buildings, and military compounds increased as big industrial chimneys churned out filth into the atmosphere. An oil refinery plant sported a permanent sooty orange flame from the top of a huge grey cylinder. We felt happy that we would not have to stay in Fairarabad, which had been hardened into irreversible pollution. We figured this was just a consequence of heading into the biggest industrial centre of India and just wouldn't be able to sustain the natural beauty of the less densely populated central parts. Delhi was somewhat calmer than anticipated on the approach. Asking a tuk-tuk driver for directions we discovered he was going to the same area and we agreed to follow him. His over-eagerness was evident in how he was making sure not to lose us and hopping out at every stoppage, and it soon became apparent he was trying to take us to his 'friend's' hotel (cheapest and best of course). Wising up to this and comfortable about finding our own way we lost him and set about the manic side roads of Pahar Gang at night, in search of accommodation. We found a peaceful little place hidden up a staircase down a dinghy alleyway, which opened up into a pleasant open-air spotlessly clean marble stone area with potted plants and small rooms set around three of the edges. Ever Green Guest House and the infamous Mama G's family residence would turn out to be our 'home' for the next week. Adam immediately went out on another mission to find a genuine Indian cricket shirt, this time, thankfully, a success, albeit last season's strip. We sauntered the hectic streets of Pahar Ganj, Chris splashing out on cake items from two seperate German Bakeries. We came across an egg bread sandwich maker on a corner stall and then an Indian cake shop on the way back to the Guest House after we lost Adam to the hands of a Sweeney Todd cut throat razor grooming session.
The next morning on a sluggish start we headed out to the long-awaited 5th ODI cricket test match for India Vs Sri Lanka. Tickets were unfortunately sold out but we immediately found a guy with two for sale...heavy premium attached of course! Entering the ground through the crowds and rigorous security checks we were stalled by officers who wanted to send us away because we had a digital camera. A little groveling and wholehearted promises to not take photos in the ground, we were ushered inside and up into the east stand where of course all seats except those directly behind thick concrete pillars holding up the next tier, were occupied and being held by force if necessary. Eventually we were made to sit under the first tier and Lana dutifully went off to seek breakfast to settle in for the 9 hours of play ahead. Food wasn't as easy to come by however. Approaching a counter to see what was on offer she realised coupons were required. No worries one may think, just ask where to obtain coupons. Downstairs, ok, easy. Pushing back downstairs where we had come in and were told we had to get food upstairs, she vigilantly looked about for the coupon stand (should be obvious - queue of people waving money and walking away with sheets of paper!). Spotting the drinks stand and people paying cash, she lined up and obtained two soft drinks, and asked again about the food coupons...directed to a corner, where two men were tucking into their victorious butter masala trays. With obscure expressions on her approach, Lana understood clearly that coupons were available upstairs. Thank you. Dropping the drinks back to Adam, glancing at one bowl, yielding '4 runs', she informed Adam she would possibly be another 40 minutes...Fighting her way to the front of the bland, crust less sandwiches counter (quiet for a reason) coupons were obtainable from the left hand side of all counters. Right O! Handed a menu stating what was available where counter 2 looked good - 2 veg tikka wraps and an extra veg burger for Adam, clutching correct number of coupons tightly she realised that it would be necessary to queue Indian style. Launching into the loud mosh pit at the counter, coupons in air and utilising elbows effectively, she found herself wedged in the centre, 3 rows back from the counter and surprisingly calm looking servers. A kind, round Indian gentleman offered to get her order, stating this was really no decent place for a lady. Explaining her metal gig background and fearlessness, being no Doc Martins likely to come hurling at ones head, she persevered and probably found more success being the only woman brave enough to take on the other hunter gatherers, and reached the counter. Grabbing whatever was now available Lana headed back through the congestion once more and back to enjoy the game, or so she thought? Back at the viewing spot the burgers were demolished within 2 bowls. Still hungry - sorry Adams turn. The play stopped - probably a tea break Lana thought...without Adam to explain just as the Chicken Tikka Masala arrived. We sat and waited for the game to resume but nothing. Play suspended. Rumours whizzed around the stadium. People were getting out their mobile phones (an electronic device as equally as illegal as the digital camera inside the ground), tuning in to the radio, googling the live broadcast. There was a crack in the pitch, Sri Lanka were refusing to play on dangerous grounds. 'Could it not just be duct-taped over and re-bowled if the bowler hits the tape?' Lana innocently enquired. No the bowler would deliberately aim for the crack. 'But not if it's been taped over and means the ball wont count? Apparently cricket is a little more complex than that. The heavy police presence had suddenly made themselves scarce. We have video footage from our camera of the riot which subsequently occurred. The stadium was trashed; all the plastic chairs smashed and broken parts from the upper tiers thrown onto the pitch by the highly dissatisfied mobs. Fair deal too. You would think that as the match had been scheduled for a couple of months, was almost a sell-out with many of the people in there having had to save hard to afford tickets, and for it to be called off after less than 2 hours of play, that somebody somewhere would have though to inspect the pitch - that day, the day before the week before...whatever. Common sense again compromised by corruption it would seem. Hugely disappointed (Lana having only seen 4 balls in total) we left. We spoke to the Chief of Police on the way out who was casually smoking a cigarette unperturbed, apparently. The national sport, by the way, is hockey.
Lana was having health issues after the cold ride in the smog, as was the Enfield it seemed, one confined to bed for extended periods (forced to endure the noise of somebody digging a cellar out by hand with a metal mallet somewhere next door, and the 16 hour day wok scraping of the veg chowmein business outside of the window).The other, confined to a local mechanic to undergo several forms of mechanical surgery and a complete re-wiring. Adam was unfortunately required to baby sit the mechanics a) to get them to actually do some work b) so they didn't just bodge it up.
Lana got out one occasion over the next 3 days to the Indira Gandhi museum. Indira was the first female Prime Minister of India, who served several terms in power through the late 60s & 70s and was sworn in for a second time in 1981 after a serious economic and social downturn. She was assassinated outside her home, a lovely white one storey property on Akbar Road in Delhi (which is now the museum), shot by two of her bodyguards in 1984. The museum held a beautiful collection of old family and political photographs throughout her life and printed boards of her career through the eyes of the media and newspaper headlines from around the globe. The back end of the house had the study, dining room and lounge still decorated as she left it, and then there are two rooms dedicated to her family's history in particular her eldest son, Rajhev who was also Prime Minister for one term prior to his own assassination. It actually portrayed, very tastefully, the life of a well respected Indian citizen who despite her faults and misguidance, only wanted to do the best for Indian society and had committed her life to that cause. It was nice to see the quieter boulevards around this area of Delhi, wide green avenues separated by carefully tendered to roundabouts with monuments or memorials. This is the area where the National Museum and Government Commissioner buildings are situated, and the impressive palatial looking Court House we hope to never have the pleasure of experiencing from an operational level.
We went to the cinema that evening at Connaught Place (the trendy entertainment centre of New Delhi) to see a big Bollywood box office hit over here, 3 Idiots. After rigorous security checks and body searches in the flash, albeit 1-screen cinema, we were allowed to take our seats. There is much terrorist paranoia over here also conveyed in the Hindi papers...and from people we've spoken to it's their volatile neighbours, Pakistan from whom they foresee the threat. The film was entertaining and funny in places but jeez! We had never seen so many men becoming so tearful so much and so easily over the course of 3 hours!
Poor Adam was practically living by day at the mechanics workshop in a nearby street...and meanwhile was tempted into agreeing on a price for the purchase and shipping of a genuine 1968 500cc Bullet. (Footnote: we are now to be proud owners of 2 motorcycles in India!). Lana ill with flu and mild sickness slept and watched movies, and with The Ascent of Rum Doodle' quickly finished, made a start on 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' deeming it an appropriate title from the second hand book store.
New Year's Eve approached, and still with no plans Lana scoured the internet, but most of the club / restaurant style parties were well over $100 a ticket! We wound up going for a beer early evening with the intention of getting dinner as well, which we somehow forgot about on being fed dishes of peanuts all night at the bar. We had Christian with us of course and also Tevon (the real life Benjamin Button we met in Varanasi, and bizarre as travelling is, we bumped into him in the street a few days prior). The beers and conversation at the clean cocktail bar downstairs at the Metropolitan Hotel were flowing well, except for poor Tevon who had been ill and had to bail, so we stayed put. We shared some beers with an English lad named Tom, and Wilbert from Kuala Lumpur who was working for an NGO...which he exhumed huge enthusiasm for all night :) After hearing the life works of Michael Jackson we requested that the establishment should change the music, which was then converted into Akon, which had to go almost instantaneously. Then a loop of Busta Rhymes and 50 Cent classics ensued for the remainder of 2009. We checked a new hotel across the street which had been offering entertainment and cheap drinks, but investigations revealed a strange puppet show and some rather cold looking spectators on the roof-top watching politely. We merrily cheered in the New Year after missing any sign of a countdown, we figured 12 o'clock was signalled by the brief power cut, and then a slaughtered Indian man came crashing to the ground from his high stool trying to lean over and kiss Lana on the cheek! Happy 2010! When we realised the bar staff were serious and we really couldn't have any more beers, we had to leave and found ourselves kicked out onto the quiet dark street, repeating happy New Year in Hindi (which we had forgotten by the next day) and asking passers by where else we could drink-on! We somehow realised more beer may not be necessary, and hi-jacked a trishaw whose driver was also looking pretty smashed as Adam jumped on the saddle and the driver clung to the back, with Lana and Christian on the seats screaming 'faster' down the bumpy dark streets lined with metal shut-up shop fronts.
A late start New Year's Day is always the case, but it was action as normal on the hazardous streets in Pahar Gang. We came to and decided food would be a good idea, and discovered Chris had a party wound on his forehead where he had butted a large pre-historic looking air-conditioning unit in the courtyard as we made our loud entrance to bed, waking Tevon up in the process to tell him it was 2010.
Leaving Adam at the mechanics after grabbing some decent coffees, Lana took an autorikshaw out to Tibet House. A museum containing relics and artifacts of the fading Tibetan peoples. The simple museum, and kindly faced man who sits in the dark each day until somebody arrives, was just an extension of the testament of Tibet. Patient, forgiving, loving and peaceful at all times. Looking around at the fragile fragments of a people and culture which is one of the modern day's richest in spirit and ideal, it was actually just so sad, and raised feelings of resentment for China trying to destroy this culture and take not just their land and way of living but their beliefs. She left a note in the visitor book to the effect of hoping that at some point the perpetrators will recognise the shame in their actions.
Finally the Enfield was ready to go, and we set off with Tevon in tow that had picked up a real retro looking red rocket of a Bullet. We left Mama G's in the early fog of a Delhi winter morning, only a couple of wrong turns and we found the freeway. With the fog beginning to clear, we were met with a beautiful haze of purple, red and blue sky directly in front of us as the sun was still rising over the dewy industrial landscape on the outskirts of Delhi. At Gurgaon, about 10km out, we made an unscheduled visit to the mechanics for further 'adjustments'. An hour or so and several chai teas and vegetable curry with as many chapattis as we could manage we were able to leave, Jaipur almost within reach - mechanical workings prevailing...
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