The Rickshaw Explorer

08.08.2010
Sunday. After a night of lulling drizzle of the monsoon, I was woken up around noon by the cheers and batting sounds of the children playing cricket on the yard across my room. The dust of the field had mostly turned into a sinking pool of mud during the night, but that did not seem to slow the future professional athletes down. Most nights the sweltering heat grants me only a couple hours of consecutive sleep, but the cool rains bring an occasional relief. Coming from a country like Finland, which basically has two seasons, cold-as-hell and ultra-freeze, the general summer temperature of 30°C is something that’ll take time to adjust to. I had sworn never to complain about heat, but now…I’m not so sure anymore.

It has been almost a month since I arrived in Delhi and I am still having trouble absorbing the fact that I will be spending almost a year here. The announcement about a new bilateral agreement between University of Helsinki and University of Delhi had already appeared to my inbox in December. Without giving it much thought, I applied and, to my surprise, was granted the scholarship to study in India for two semesters. However, this needed to be confirmed by both universities and after a painstaking anticipation of several months the final notice of my acceptance came from Delhi; Two weeks before the deadline for the beginning of the semester. Within a measly two weeks time, I was supposed to find myself suitable accommodation, apply for a visa, say a wistful farewell to my dear friends (once again), and empty my apartment from all the junk that had accumulated over the three years I had lived there. Surprisingly, all pieces of the puzzle fell into their right places without greater hassle and as a result, I now find myself on the other side of the world on the North Campus of Delhi University writing this.

I live in the Gwyer Hall student hostel which dates back to the 1930’s, a time before India’s independence from the British rule. The building complex looks like something that could’ve been the quarters of the Imperial army staff with its elephant emblems on the balconies and its barred windows (in reality, it was a meant for student accommodation from the beginning). The room I stay sports a delightfully innovative interior design combining organic, natural elements like spiderwebs, ants and lizards with compact, industrial solutions like bare concrete floors and metal bars on windows. A true equilibrium of nature and man.

Life in Gwyer Hall is like a 24h Discovery channel special on the urban wildlife of India. Cleaning up the room the other day, I opened the window to let some air into the room. As a result, I spent the better half of the day trying to shoo two lizards out of the room. The slippery bastards they are, I may have to accept the fact that I now have two new pets in my room. Suggestions for names are welcome. The building is also surrounded by a mafia of monkeys that loiter on the roofs, fences and surrounding treetops waiting for a chance to get into the premises to raise monkey hell. The security guards’ morning routines seem to include chasing them with long bamboo sticks. An appropriate soundtrack to this exercise is provided by the Bollywood music blasting from the tiny speakers of their mobile phones attached to the belt. In the backyard, tied to a short leash in a tree, resides the pet monkey of Gwyer Hall, who spends most of the time sitting in the tree, circling his small area around, flashing his pointy baboon-teeth to whoever dares to venture too close, or watching the Buddhist monks playing badminton on the adjacent court. I have yet to find out what his name is, but I shall report back once I find out. The monkeys around the house seem to circulate his territory, as if trying to come up with a plan to free him. I await in great anticipation how the situation between guards and monkeys escalates. Right now, the situation seems to be in a standstill.

So, apart from the 24 hour nature documentary, Gwyer Hall broadcasts a host of other shows on different channels. On channel 1 (the balcony outside the apartment), there is the monkey’s daytime show during the day and Buddhist Badminton in the evenings. On channel 2 (the window on the left side of the balcony, shows the Labourer Camp reality TV, which seems to be a kind of a lifestyle show as it features the migrant street labourers in the adjacent camp cooking over their bonfire and doing yoga exercises on the roofs of their huts. Channel 3, which is the window of my room, shows mostly junior league cricket.

I have spent the first few weeks getting to know my new neighbourhood and playing the treasure hunting game of getting certificates, stamps and signatures (which is a form of art in its own right) for the range of documents that need to be submitted to a host of offices in order to make my presence in the city known. Being an apparently orally oriented culture that relies on vast social networks, getting information alone can be a harrowing quest. Being a country known for its formidable army of computer nerds, the information available online has been surprisingly scarce. Anyway, this is a topic which I may return to in greater detail later on, as the intricacies of the bureaucratic culture of India alone has shelves of literature dedicated to it.

Although I’d like to think of myself as a person who has travelled around and seen the world, I have never seen anything like the streets of Delhi. Walking down the narrow alleys and bustling bazaars as well as the chaotic markets of the city is a true assault on senses. A mere walk to the local shopping area demands artful dodging of rickshaws, cars, buses, cows, dogs, elephants(!), huge potholes and people napping in the middle of the street. A skill I shall hopefully learn to master.

One feature that rather illustratively encapsulates the society of extremes that India is, is its smells. As you trudge on in the traffic and commotion, you’re greeted with a confusing cocktail of raw sewage, cardamom, cow dung, jasmine, urine, cinnamon, rotting garbage, incense and a variety of other smells and odours that on one moment lure you in while at the next make you nauseous. This constant interplay of sweet and sour is something that has struck me during these first two weeks; How the overwhelming opulence and splendour and the excruciating poverty and squalor coexist next to each other, how the pinstriped businessman casually steps over a legless beggar and how the ramshackle buildings stand humbly next to the gleaming spires of five-star hotels and multinational company headquarters. Yet, there seems to be a strange dynamism between the two extremes that makes the Indian society what it is.

So, here are some initial sentiments and first thoughts. Let this general description serve as a prologue to a series of entries that will cover a variety of topics relating to whatever it is I happen to stumble upon while living here.