Goodbye Hajipur…Hello Delhi!!!

I’m back in the big city and couldn’t be happier!! I love this town and the peace and tranquility afforded me by my 13 million neighbors—who use their horns much more sparingly than their neighbors to the east.

Ok, so it is true that I got out at the wrong exit of New Delhi train station metro stop (and I do mean wrong!), and was blind-sided by a fully laden bicycle going the wrong way on a very busy and scary to cross street. The good news is that traffic actually did come to a halt so that neither of us came to an untoward end. See what I mean? They really do care in Delhi!

In addition to reminding me that I DO need to look in all directions before crossing the street, my experience on the wrong side of the tracks provided me with a vista of the city I would have missed had I had the good sense to follow the crowd into the actual New Delhi train station. But you know me, I almost never follow the crowd. Once again I experienced the absolute kindness and friendliness of the people of Delhi. I am sad to admit that I have spent a great deal of my time in this fair city utterly and hopelessly lost, as well as unable to find a way to cross the six lane highways that regularly traverse this town. Even on the wrong side of the tracks, or rather my more usual experience, especially on the wrong side of the tracks, people find a way to communicate to me in the mix of Hindi and English that I too am picking up and set me on my merry way—almost always in the right direction.

Why do I love Delhi? Let me count the ways with some pictures of a brief journey that took me through the stone cutters quarters to the spice markets, the vegetable markets and beyond.

A walk through Hajipur

You’ve heard the noise, now see the sights!

A quick FYI, the BBC did an analysis of the region for those of you who want to know a little bit more about what it is to be the poorest state in India...

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-11759959

And even more sights!

I like Hajipur. (Victor, you were right.)

Ward rounds at the hospital

MSF has a huge ward for kala azar patients in the central district hospital. The hospital tends to be the place people go when there is nowhere left to go. There were many patients, more than I expected, all serious and concerned about what they could do to make themselves better. Initially people tend to be shy and expect to be treated badly because they come primarily from the most marginalized castes in all of India. Kala azar is definitely a disease of the indigent. You can tell the patients who have been there for more than a few days. Not only do they appear to be significantly healthier than new comers, who are easily spotted on the ward, but they are also unafraid to ask questions about their treatments, which are administered intravenously through a drip, and they are quite comfortable fooling around with the dials on the drip to make it go slower or faster. The best thing, however, is that the medicine is a bright yellow, which means it’s got to be good for you AND is fun to look at! (See! I really am working…)

Welcome to Hajipur

Dante’s fifth circle of hell. The only reason that my brain automatically classified it at that level is because there are some imaginable levels left—not many, but some. Apparently the noise has died down since the end of some month long festival, but it remains quite constant and consistently loud modulating briefly down between the hours of two and five in the morning. The soundtrack consists of Bollywood’s greatest theme song hits with an overlay of the Koran sung and shared through powerful loudspeakers and a tinkling metallic sound of an ever present carnival that punctuates the rare moments of silence when both of the principals happen to be taking a breath simultaneously. That sums up the major detraction of the place. Given Hajipur’s proximity to the Ganges, odor could conceivably enter into the mix in a significant way. Mercifully, it does not, hence the rating of five not seven. I’ve learned that noise is legislated in most other Indian states.

That said, I have had my first glimpse of the mythical and immortal Ganges River! It’s huge! At least I think it is from what I could make out through the pollution haze. Have I mentioned that it is a tad polluted in this part of the world? I saw the Ganges far below as we wormed our way across the heavily trafficked yellow-fenced bridge between the capital of Bihar State, Patna, and the Hajipur side of the river. Bihar is the poorest state in India—and that’s saying something. However, the first thing I noticed, after the swarms of pedestrians, rickshaws, small, packed public transport buses, cars and trucks that endlessly deadlock the streets, is the defiance of the people against poverty through the insistent use of color and design.
Every rickshaw, no matter how battered, is painted with flowers or gods or lovers and has embroidered tapestry shelters under which the patrons may repose against the mid-day sun. The apparently mandatory words on the back of each and every truck ‘BLOW HORN’ (and they liberally follow this advice) are painted in many colors in everything identifiable style from art deco to Islamic design, each letter perfectly spaced between the iron supports that hold together the back doors of the identically designed Tata trucks that monopolize the roads. The people that line the sides of the roads and fill all vehicles are dressed in a riot of colors that makes Delhi look tame and that stand out brightly against the backdrop of lush green banana trees, palms and densely impenetrable green plants that fill in empty spaces along the road.

I LOVE Lajpat Nagar Market

Indian markets are not like other Asian markets. There are no quaint stalls under tents or open air structures. Rather the market place is filled with tiny shops, often several creative levels of shops that all have street visibility through the clever placement of steps and ceilings. That’s the structure, then there is the absolute eruption of goods flowing into the pedestrian pathways (one can hardly use the term sidewalk, but the various piles of rubble and occasionally spotted workmen suggest that maybe someday there will be sidewalks).

I arrived innocently enough to buy fabric for the trousers I’m having made by the exquisite Mr. Shiv (more later on this talented man—for now suffice it to say that I am having much more luck with my Indian tailor than I did with my Malawian tailor). That’s all I was going to buy. I keep telling myself that I’m saving myself for Rajasthan where there are items of such exquisite beauty at such an excellent price that I won’t be able to control myself (and I’ll be on holiday, which is always a sure indicator of the need to spend more money than intended). Apparently I’m in training for this loss of control when it comes to shopping. I bought SO MUCH stuff today. But the most agonized purchase (of course the most expensive) was a new pair of glasses frames. I tried on every pair in the shop and simply freaked out at the cost—until I did the math and realized that the cost was $30, for something that I would pay $300 at home. Is this the rationalization process for all spending sprees?

The best carrot ever

In spite of all evidence to the contrary, I am indeed working very hard here in India. Yesterday I finished the first draft of a detailed 45 page technical report. Quite honestly I’ve been working like a dog (though in a great deal of denial about this fact since there is so much I want to see and do here and it is still an adventure walking home every night!). Beginning on Thursday, once it came to my attention thanks to the elegant, curious visiting Australian, Sally, I began fantasizing about Verma’s. That would be my carrot. I would get some beauty treatment to restore my soul after countless hours slaving on my report. (On leishmainaisis—aka kala azar, an extremely debilitating vector borne neglected tropical disease that affects a billion poor people worldwide. Come on! You knew I was a do-gooder, a hedonistic do-gooder, but a do-gooder nonetheless.) Shortly after lunch on Friday, Sally dragged me to Verma’s Beauty Salon, established 1958, to make an appointment for after work. Not only was I going to get a beauty treatment, but I was going to insure that I had my work done in a timely fashion!

So inspired was I by this carrot, that I finished an hour early and paced the floor in anticipation of the Verma treat. Now I could have got a basic facial for the low, low price of 300 rupees (about US $6)—and I’m sure that would have been fine. But no, I decided to splurge a little and go whole hog. I got the Lotus Special Facial and Massage and for the next hour and a half I had various and sundry oils and unguents squirted on me or delivered by the breadknifeful by a very talented woman who I chose to believe was Verma herself. HEAVEN!! And all for $14. I’m pretty sure I’m going to become a regular at Verma’s.