Delhi

Fortunately, various dire predictions of luggage theft and airline snafus have failed to come true. I even forgot to detach the fabulous, especially comfortable shoulder strap my mom gave me from my checked-in luggage, and it came through the other end. This was one long trip but following the suggestion from one of my meditator friends that I bring an inflatable neck pillow proved really useful, since I slept probably a total of about 8 hours in the 24 of flying and waiting until I arrived in Delhi. It's now 12:25 PM local time, the flight having arrived at 5 AM, and I'm a little sleepy but feel basically fine.

The passengers on the plane from Kuwait City to Delhi were at least 85% male, since the Gulf states have long been a reasonably well-paying employment option for thousands of Indians, mostly men. I sat next to a middle-aged guy who runs a fruit importing business in Kuwait, but whose wife and young daughter still live in Delhi. He usually spends half of each month in Delhi and half in Kuwait. He spoke with mild bitterness of the impossibility of becoming an accepted part of Kuwaiti society--the Kuwaitis want nothing more than the labor of Indians and other south Asians, and there is no option for becoming citizens there.

Disembarking in Delhi, I was instantly struck by a distinctive odor in the airport, which persisted when I went outside. Though it clearly had something to do with less than perfect cleanliness, it wasn't really disagreeable. It was more like a spiciness that reminded me of the complexity of flavors in Indian food.

I found the scene at the airport much less frenetic than I had been led to believe by some sources--maybe the early morning's a good time to arrive. I had the good fortune to have a friend of a friend call in a taxi wallah for me, so I didn't have to haggle without even knowing the going rate. Even so, only a couple of guys asked me if I needed a taxi before I found the driver holding a sign with my name on it--I expected a crush of aggressively enthusiastic would-be drivers. At one point I walked slowly out into an open space bounded by a low railing, outside of which was a crowd of people waiting (colorful saris, Sikhs in huge elaborate turbans, guys in jeans and t-shirts), and was struck by the patient silence.

Now I'm at the house of Puja and Rahul Lal in Gurgaon (a city near Delhi), a lovely couple whose generosity is making my transition here easier than it might be. Puja claims not to be an artist but her work in sculpture, painting, fabric work and kindred skills adorns the house on all sides. Rahul works as a buyer in the fashion business. His mom and dad as well as two really enthusiastic little dogs live here too.

I have a couple of days to spend here before going on to Jaipur. I may or may not have time for more postings before that, but anyway you all know that I got here safely and am in good hands. Peace and be well--Peter