Welcome to Delhi

Delhi-New Delhi

“Good morning, says the peacock” fully plumed and dancing in front of his women and our window. Not much else is visible from this window in a posh hotel far from downtown. I have a lovely view of some squatter tents and even saw one camel, but otherwise, only the haze and smog readily available for all to experience here in Delhi. Next to our hotel is a swanky mall that sells everything but postcards, diet coke and tonic water. This probably does not bother the average shopper, but for the Bartlett duet, these 3 omissions are tantamount to great angst.

We have overcome these twinges, and John has leapt into his work. If he is not in these lengthy meetings, he is e-mailing, ever e-mailing. I believe that he thinks that the meetings have generally been very interesting and productive. Sometimes it is great to get outside of HIV and see what many other health experts are doing. These meetings are giving him insight into just that.

I have learned that a head cold and touring in 44 degree C do not go together, thus my New Delhi tour has been my biggest foray into the world outside. Tomorrow, we go to Old Delhi, as our stupidity and head colds caused us to forget that Friday the Taj Mahal would be closed, as it is a mosque!

Brilliance flitted through my brain momentarily when I was packing and I included an essential accessory item, an Obber scarf. Though it is dull khaki (not my favorite color), it soaks briefly in water and swells up with little crystals (probably cancer producing chemicals, but who cares) that keep you cool for hours. I continued to dab mine with little bits of bottled water, and found that I was cooled more by this scarf than drinking water. I highly recommend this item, even if you are shocked by the lack of fashion value added.

My driver spoke excellent English, and had a portfolio of experiences that he shared. As with all drivers, he had his own agenda as well, but we managed to pull together a nice, if long day. It took nearly an hour to get to New Delhi even with light traffic, so we are obviously quite far from town. New Delhi on the other hand is the place of embassy’s government buildings, and expensive shopping places. Though I tried to avoid most of these, I was given the opportunity to visit the Parliament Building, the India Gate, and to circle round and round Embassy’s and homes of diplomats. At the least I had an opportunity to see how the rich live, and occasionally to see what happens if you are not rich.
(Parliament)
(Gate Decoration)
( India Gate)
(homeless woman & sick person)
I am a sign watcher, and one of my favorite random signs (which I was unable to get a picture of) read “Electric Cremation, Enter the Next World with Peace of Mind”. Let that image in! There were some other signs that caught my eye and camera.
(Sorry Nehru sign)
My favorite stop, and the first was the Gandhi Smriti.

This is the house where Gandhi spent a great deal of time when he was not traveling around India and outside. It is where he and colleagues formed the first constitution, where he prayed with the crowds, and where he was ultimately assassinated. The house is peaceful, simple and well laid out for visitors. It was the home of an Indian Industrialist G.D.R. Birla (seems like odd companions). Gandhi’s soul possessions (all 11) are laid out neatly in his small spare bedroom. This includes his walking stick and glasses.


The memorial includes brick inlaid footprints that mark his final walk to the prayer meeting and the place in which he was shot. There is an eternal flame at the location of the shooting (I didn’t see the flame but I am assured it was in the case).


(Part of mural at site of last prayers)
Families grabbed me and asked me to be in pictures with their children. This experience repeated itself at every place we stopped. At first I thought that they wanted me out of the pictures but they wanted me IN the pictures. You can see for yourself that I was not a vision of loveliness, so it was a big puzzle.
(Gandhi and me)
One of John’s colleagues said that it must be blue eyes. Who knows. At any rate, I was thanked repeatedly for my willingness to join these family photos and I thanked all of them for inviting me. And, this activity kept me from weeping my way through the home. Even thinking about the place makes me pretty teary. Gandhi even set up a vocational training workshop for women to learn sewing and embroidering skills. I had no idea that he was such an advocate for women’s rights (in an early 20th century sort of way).
(World Peace Gong)
(painting of Gandhi's life)
(Gandhi's prayer)

My driver was determined to take me posh shopping next, and was very disappointed that I wasn’t willing to toss out a credit card for rugs, expensive jewels or wedding saris for my daughters. Sorry for that.

A pretty amazing next historic stop was the Humayun’s Tomb. I was most interested in this large enclosure of Moghul tombs because the Aga Khan foundation had restored much of the area, and it was quite lovely. Since the commonwealth games are coming to India in 2010, workers scramble to make everything upscale and beautiful and this Tomb was no exception. Whole areas of turf are pulled up to plant flowers and shrubs, and cleaning is frantically going on everywhere. These tombs were pristine. I was particularly impressed with the small mosque, and the number of children’s tombs that were in each shrine. Apparently there were many murders of princes and princesses during this empire (around the 16th century) At first I thought it must be diseases, but a stern lady guarding against picture taking said that they were murdered so that there wouldn’t be a line of succession. Lovely thought!

(Humayun and Family tomb)
(Isa Khan sign)
(Isa Khan obviously was beloved noble of Humayun to get this enclosure)
(Isa Khan's Mosque)
The Bahai House of Worship (called the Lotus Temple by locals) was just completed in 1986, but is utterly incredible.
(Bahai sign)
The temperature was boiling I’m sure, and I had to walk barefooted up the steps and into the cool Temple (leaving my shoes with a young man (I kept thinking Slum Dog Millionaire) but all was well. This temple is huge.
(Entrance to Bahai House of Worship)
Inside, no pictures allowed, is very plain, people chanting and quiet. I looked at the ceiling and sent thoughts to Tony H. I thought about how he had been buried in Durham at such a young age, and how he would have loved to have seen this temple. I tried to explain to my driver the reason for my pleasure at being there, but he thought I loved it because it was very white and very big. Streams of people seemed to have some spiritual feelings here as well, thus, I believe that it serves a purpose.
(people entering Lotus temple)
There are two lotus pools at the base of the temple, and guards were constantly keeping children from jumping in. The water looked lovely from a distance, but as with all things, awful close up.
(Lotus pools)
Again, old blue eyes is now present in more family photos.
(random lady & me)
(The Lotus Temple)
Yet another cottage industry of crafts, cleverly hidden around the corner allowed me to shake my head, yet listen to many salespersons telling me all about their wares. I apologize to all the girls for not buying them wedding saris. I am told now that there is no chance of their marrying because these special saris draw men like magnets and my lack of love for these daughters by my refusal to buy the saris has perhaps ruined their chances. And, Julia, I also apologize to you for not buying the wedding bedspread and pillow covers as you will have to find good fortune elsewhere. Not only did I bring shame on my house, but disappointed the craftsman and his family as well. I did what I could it is true, but also declined sweet hot tea and looking at more shiny gold.
My driver and I had to be clear with one another after this. One more site and then back to the hotel. Somehow the day had worn down, and traffic was increasing. His choice for me was the Indira Gandhi museum. What a choice. As we drove there, he told me about the fate of all the Gandhi family, definitely not a family to belong to for longevity. Though her husband was not related by blood to Mahatma Ghandi, in order for their love marriage to be carried out, he adopted Feroze so that the Nehru family would allow the marriage. The Museum was so crowded and the cue so long that I begged out, but my driver took me to the front of the line. As the only pale single lady there (and perhaps the stunning blue eyes), I was ushered right in, along without 300 others who pushed and shoved so hard, that whatever was in the house was completely lost on me. I did manage to get a picture of the pocketbook and shoes that Indira Gandhi wore when she was shot, her library and a sign or two, and the clothes and shoes that her son Rajiv was wearing when he was blown up.
(shoes and handbag of death)
(Rajiv Gandhi remnants)
(Library)
Her other son Sanjay apparently was flying and allegedly flew too low over the Gandhi house and clipped a wing on a tower or tree and crashed immediately killing him. Lovely. The best part of the museum is a bizarre glass walk way and marker (with blood preserved under it) where Indira Gandhi was shot.
(Glass Walkway)
Incredible-and the guard was very special as well.

A glass lotus flower is encased in a large glass stand as a memorial to this strong woman who had so many good points.

I have to say, that I was impressed by her simplicity when all the other politicians of her day seemed to feel that grand palaces or at least mansions were necessary for ruling a country. Hers was very modest indeed.
Even my driver remembered her well and where he was when she was shot. He remembered her as a humble woman who tended the sick and poor. He carefully drove me to the hospital where the Gandhi bodies were taken in hopes that they were still alive.
(Medical Centre)
After a long day, and with about half of the New Delhi sites that I wanted to see complete, I had to be satisfied. Thinking of you Laura, and remembering Tony.