Delhi fragments
I’ve been trying to write an entry about the weekend Hannah and I spent in Delhi before I head north for a week of backpacking tomorrow morning. Alas, it doesn’t seem to want to come out. Luckily, Hannah’s told some stories with more flair than I’m finding right now, and you can read them here.
After spending a good deal of money there, I’m still trying to figure out if exploring a culture will always be reduced to a lot of consumerism. We also did a lot of walking and sitting and watching, and I’d rather get really good at those things than at haggling with auto-rickshaw drivers and cheap clothes vendors.
David, Jessica, and their household were wonderful, gracious hosts. One night they treated us to a movie at a fancy cinema and a good ole’ greasy American dinner at Ruby Tuesday. I should add that the crookedly-hung Americana kitsch on the bright walls, the blaring hip hop music, and the deep-fried meats at the chain restaurant constituted the most chaotic and overwhelming scene my senses have encountered in India. It blows my mind that a 14-year-old in Traverse City, Michigan could try out for her high school cheerleading squad, and end up with her photo framed behind a plate of mozzarella sticks in Delhi.
“Bride and Prejudice” was certainly cheesy, as Hannah said, but it was also strangely joyful, leaving me feeling great about the silliness of Indian and American cultures alike. I think it comes out in the U.S. in December, and I recommend it.
On the train back to Dehra Dun I took a break from the insane air-conditioning to stand by the open door between the cars. A young Indian man was standing there, with a matching Adidas track suit and backpack. We began talking, and he told me he was returning to see his family in Haridwar, after working for Ebay in Santa Clara the past two years. I’m not sure why, but he brought to mind the sunny-day California stories in William Saroyan’s fine novel The Human Comedy. It made me think of the opening scene of the book, in which the little boy Ulysses waves at a passing train, and the only person to wave back is a man on the caboose who shouts, “Going home, boy! Going back to where I belong!” It’s a good story.
One more thing: my dad just returned from a fishing trip with his brothers in Cape Cod, which they do every few years. Sounds like they kept some good traditions alive, but broke their most consistent one by catching fish this year. Well done.
After spending a good deal of money there, I’m still trying to figure out if exploring a culture will always be reduced to a lot of consumerism. We also did a lot of walking and sitting and watching, and I’d rather get really good at those things than at haggling with auto-rickshaw drivers and cheap clothes vendors.
David, Jessica, and their household were wonderful, gracious hosts. One night they treated us to a movie at a fancy cinema and a good ole’ greasy American dinner at Ruby Tuesday. I should add that the crookedly-hung Americana kitsch on the bright walls, the blaring hip hop music, and the deep-fried meats at the chain restaurant constituted the most chaotic and overwhelming scene my senses have encountered in India. It blows my mind that a 14-year-old in Traverse City, Michigan could try out for her high school cheerleading squad, and end up with her photo framed behind a plate of mozzarella sticks in Delhi.
“Bride and Prejudice” was certainly cheesy, as Hannah said, but it was also strangely joyful, leaving me feeling great about the silliness of Indian and American cultures alike. I think it comes out in the U.S. in December, and I recommend it.
On the train back to Dehra Dun I took a break from the insane air-conditioning to stand by the open door between the cars. A young Indian man was standing there, with a matching Adidas track suit and backpack. We began talking, and he told me he was returning to see his family in Haridwar, after working for Ebay in Santa Clara the past two years. I’m not sure why, but he brought to mind the sunny-day California stories in William Saroyan’s fine novel The Human Comedy. It made me think of the opening scene of the book, in which the little boy Ulysses waves at a passing train, and the only person to wave back is a man on the caboose who shouts, “Going home, boy! Going back to where I belong!” It’s a good story.
One more thing: my dad just returned from a fishing trip with his brothers in Cape Cod, which they do every few years. Sounds like they kept some good traditions alive, but broke their most consistent one by catching fish this year. Well done.
posted by Jonathan Hiskes at 2:14 PM
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