Delhi

Saturday, November 22nd Thanks to Prakash, Pat and I had arranged to have a private car take us around to visit the sites which Daddy had seen in 1928, and which were still on my checklist. While our driver himself was short on English, his supervisor(with his sprained arm) was able to explain which sites we wanted to visit and recommended a route. It being a bright sunny day without vast levels of pollution, political rallies or marathon runners, Delhi showed itself to be a calmer more lovely city than we had seen in our first impressionable days.... and it didn't hurt that we were in an air-conditioned car which allowed windows to remain closed as we drove through teeming masses of humanity. Our first stop was Safdarjang's Tomb - another sample of a Mughal garden tomb with its central waterway amidst a lovely garden setting with the very impressive tomb facing you as you came through the main portal.It looked similar to Humayun's tomb which we had seen during our first day of touring and that was not by chance. According to the sign outside the main entrance this tomb was "the last flicker in the lamp of Mughal architecture in Delhi". I snapped pictures which would replicate Daddy's earlier shots and before being pestered by too many tour guides who wanted to show us the entire complex in detail, we fled back to our car and continued on to a more eerie experience at Nizamuddin Dargah, the tomb of a Sufi saint of the 14th century. We didn't know exactly where we were going as our driver took us through small narrow bazaars crowded with Saturday shoppers. Suddenly he stopped the car indicating that this was where we were to get out. We hesitated and asked again whether we were really to get out. He mentioned the name of the site, we understood we were theoretically there but somehow we had expected a more imposing entrance. Instead tucked discreetly between a jumble of small stalls and vendor's stands was a narrow entrance way which was obviously our point of entry. We left our car feeling slightly uneasy as we were hemmed in on all sides by vendors, primarily Muslims with their white knit caps and their wives in Burkahs and saris wandering around on their shopping day. As we approached the entrance we were asked to leave our shoes which we did dutifully (praying that they would still be there when we returned). Then we entered a meandering series of narrow alleys which turned first to the left and then to the right. We were passing begging women, young children, sleeping bodies, mangy dogs and a series of shops selling garlands, mementos and other paraphernalia associated with this Sufi site. With every turn we became more nervous as to whether we'd remember how to find our way out and whether we were truly safe, but we were too curious (and probably a bit pig-headed) to turn back and so we plunged on. After a few more turns we found ourselves in a large open area where the white marble tomb was located. Men were sitting cross legged on the ground praying, sari-clad women were kneeling before the entrance under the shaded portico, and there we were - two women - the only two white people in the crowd. As the various people gave us a good stare, we weren't confident that we really belonged here so we took our requisite pictures and fled. It was the only time in which I felt less than safe, but I was glad we had gone since the temple is so much more beautiful in color than the pictures which Daddy captured in black and white. We reclaimed our shoes, gave a small tip, and hopped back into our waiting car as we headed off to our next Muslim site -the large temple of Jama Mashid. Once again we drove down narrow bazaar streets filled with stores, vendors, carts, animals and people until we found ourselves at the foot of a wide set of majestic stairs leading up to a very impressive entrance. Jama Mashid is one of the largest Muslim temples in all of Southeast Asia built in the 1600's by Mughal Shah Jahan who was responsible for the Taj Mahal as well and it is popular with Muslims, tourists and Hindi alike. Once we had deposited our shoes - for the second time that day - we entered the large open square filled with pigeons, tourists, priests and Muslims who had come to pray. It wasn't quite the size of St. Marks Square, but you had that sense of size. The entire square had lines painted on the ground to help organize the over 20,000 people who will gather on important holy days forming a sea of human worshipers kneeling and praying at this most important site. We walked around, taking in the glorious sunny day, snapping pictures of people, and walking (with our heads carefully covered) through the long open colonnades of the mosque itself. Somehow with all its three onion dome towers, the two minarets and its vast entry portal we expected a bigger building, but it was really a long open, portico running the full length of the square with long red carpets laid down atop the beautiful inlaid marble. With our Western eyes I think we expected more of a single sanctuary for the Imam but it appears that thanks to loudspeakers located throughout the square, the concept of an inner sanctuary doesn't exist. From here we were to go to the Red Fort, but I had just about been toured-out and so instead we 'cruised' the main streets of this older area of Delhi with its crowded streets, throngs of humans and its sad run-down appearance. The famous shopping street of Daddy's day - Chandni Chowk is now just a worn-down busy shopping street with mosques, shrines, stores, soft-drink stands and vendors wandering higgildy-piggildy along what once must have been a lovely boulevard-ed street. I had no desire to get out and walk it since it reminded me of the area around Connaught Square, so we took lots of photographs before heading into the newer British-built part of Delhi. The contrast between the two areas is so stark.: the older walled-in section of old Delhi reflects the world as it probably existed before the British arrived with their sense of order,. It teems with life and assaults all your senses with color, sound and smell. The newer government area with its wide avenues, and carefully spaced out homes and large looming government buildings seems almost sterile. It didn't help of course that there were security barricades and security officers near every major site or government building encouraging cars to keep moving with no parking or cruising allowed. We took pictures of the President's Home, the India Gate, the government buildings flanking the President's home before our car was shooed away. Feeling thoroughly Delhi-ed out, we headed back to the Radisson Hotel where Pat pulled together her luggage for her late night flight. And suddenly, as in the beginning I was on my own in Delhi. I went to the hotel's internet cafe where I found a message from Peacham suggesting that a nice set of saris for the young Fickes girls would be greatly appreciated, so with that as my goal for the next day, I went to bed., Sunday, November 23rd Through the hotel I arranged for a car to take me down to the Khan Market where I wandered through the stalls, enjoyed all the Sunday shoppers and drank in my last true Delhi experience. In a small shop which sold Saris and scarves I sat down for a long discussion with the salesman as all around me lovely Sari-ed women were shopping for new garments with their sequins and lush colors. Sari shopping is fairly daunting since the fabrics, the colors and the amount of detail can make a cost go from a few dollars to many thousands of dollars. I was distinctly looking at the low end, and after much dickering and bargaining I came away with the requested saris and a few scarves for myself. And now it was time to return to the hotel and begin the process of packing and checking out. At midnight I was picked up by the driver and escorted through the airport procedures and by 1:30 a.m. I was in the VIP lounge awaiting my 3:00 a.m. departure on Lufthansa Airlines. What a difference from my arrival. I walked into an elegant, clean, Germanly-efficient 747, went to the upper level where myself and three other guests were given our own pajamas, some champagne and some lovely pate before we took off. I dropped a sleeping pill, curled up under my quilt and 'that's all she wrote'. Monday, November 24 Chasing the sun West, we arrived in early morning in Frankfurt Germany. I went to the first class lounge where I took a refreshing shower, had some breakfast and waited for my flight to Boston. Again I was upstairs with three other guests of which one was famed cellist, Yo Yo Ma. I was sooo excited, and I was trying to be soooo cool. He and his cello had two seats behind me. I asked one of the German flight attendants whether that was Yo Yo Ma, and I could have been asking whether it was Herbert Hoover. They had no idea except that "yes, his last name was Ma, and he was very kind". I fell into another long sleep, awoke as we were arriving in Boston, and had only a few minutes with which to talk to Mr. Ma about Rajasthan, the beauty of India and his most recent tour. We were off the plane at 1:30 in the afternoon, through immigration, luggage and customs within 30 minutes. and I was on the Dartmouth Coach heading for Hanover, New Hampshire. There was Bob, and I was home. And thus ended the next leg in my Journey of Discovery.

Varanasi to Delhi

Friday, November 21 Those of us who couldn't get enough of watching burning ghats decided to get up early in the morning to once more ride upon the Ganges in the small wooden boats as the sun began to rise. The scene in the morning lit by the arrival of dawn had a totally different feel than the night before. There were the bathers who seemed to be doing their puja as well as simply having an early morning swim. As we passed one platform there were men, cross legged, laughing with full throated cheer. We were told that laughing is considered to be another form of purifying one's soul and thus while it appeared as though they were having a good laugh, they were actually performing a deeply religious act. (Who knew). We rode in the opposite direction from our last evening's experience and floated past some of the sinking ghats. These have been sinking since the time that Daddy came to this same area, in fact they've been sinking since soon after they were built. It had a certain Venetian quality of sad disarray. Having passed the crematorium ghat, we disembarked and walked slowly through the waking Varanasi warren of back streets. Had we lost our guide, we would have been thoroughly lost since these narrow lanes, too small for anything other than cows and pedestrians twisted and turned as they paralleled the river below. We were snapping away at the sight of cattle; of huge heaping piles of sandalwood which is used on the pyres; young girls, spanking clean, coming out of seedy looking homes all dressed in uniform and ready for a day of learning; tourists like ourselves who had gotten up for this early morning ritual; and all manner of people collecting milk in small tin containers, having their early morning cups of tea while staring at the Americans; and just people doing the things people do when they are trying to get their mind and body engaged for the day ahead. Once back to our bus we went back to the hotel for some breakfast and to pack our bags before heading to the airport and our return flight to Delhi. At the airport there were the usual rounds of good-byes and promises to write and keep in contact. Emails were exchanged and suddenly we were no longer a group of twenty-four but rather a series of individuals and couples each anxious to get themselves to connecting flights or back to the Radisson Hotel, located near the airport, where they would await later flights that evening. Only a few of us will remain after the evening as everyone heads home to Thanksgiving and the lives we left behind. It was a great group, a cohesive group and who knows, we might just keep in contact after the flurry of picture exchanges and emails to which we are all committed. This was my second group tour and it proved as successful as the last. Pat and I will now continue to enjoy Delhi for a few more days as I continue to seek out the sites of Daddy's 1928 visit which were not part of our tour.