Exploring Delhi

By the time the first weekend in India approached, I had done virtually no sightseeing in Delhi yet. We had little time for it between arriving, getting settled, and starting work. There was an awkwardness I felt about commuting to and from work everyday in a city I hardly new. It's like arriving as a guest at a stranger's house party and waiting too long to introduce yourself to the host. A proper introduction to Delhi was long overdue and I spent that whole weekend taking in as much as I could. Here are a few pictures of the sights:

We started off with Humayan's tomb. Humayan was part of the Mughal dynasty and ruled from Delhi during the early part of the 16th century. When he died, his wife commissioned the tomb to be built. It was finished in just nine years.

Approaching Humayan's Tomb

Afterwards we moved on to Old Delhi - one of the oldest parts of the city and also one of the most chaotic. There are several different houses of worship all on the same street or just a block away - a Sikh temple, a Hindu/Jain temple, a Baptist church, and the largest mosque in India. Along the main street is a wide avenue known as Chandni Chawk (which means moonlit market), one of the largest markets in Delhi. When the capital of the Mughal empire was alive and well, there used to be a canal running through Chandni Chawk as part of the water supply scheme. Now the area is thronged with rickshaws, hawkers, and crowds. In the stifling heat, the spicy smell of incense and the pungent smell of urine were mixed with exhaust in the stifling heat. The cars in the street honked at each other incessantly as they competed for that slight spare inch of pavement to pass each other. We were surrounded by temples, apartments stacked above shops, and a massive crowd that moved at a snail's pace down the sidewalk. It was remarkably exciting for about 10 minutes before the assault on the senses began to feel a little overwhelming.

Chandni Chawk

At the east end of the market, the street runs directly into the Red Fort, also called Lal Qila. The huge 17th century fort was built by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan, the same ruler who built the Taj Mahal. It became the palace of the emperor when he relocated the capital from Agra to Delhi (at the time Delhi was called Shajahanabad). In 1857 the fort fell into the hands of the British and that was more or less the end of the Mughal empire.

Outside the main gate to the Red Fort

Earlier in the week we had made a quick night trip down to the Red Fort to see the "sound and lights" show. At 9:00 in the evening, a portentous narrative of the history of the Mughal empire, Delhi, and the Red Fort is played through loudspeakers while colored spotlights on the structures add dramatic effect.

Inside the Red Fort during the "Sound and Lights" show

After seeing the Red Fort by day, we took a quick ride in a bicycle rickshaw to see Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India. We arrived moments after sunset and therefore we were not allowed in. There were even further limitations on the hours that women are permitted to enter. I was mildly disappointed that I wasn't able to go in. I was curious just to see what's on the other side. On the other hand, it's probably just as well that we didn't. The restrictions against both tourists and women sends a pretty clear message that I'm not really welcome in their place of worship. Nonetheless, the stature of this mosque was quite impressive and I'm glad I at least got the chance to walk up to the doorsteps.

At the doorsteps of Jama Masjid in Old Delhi

After Jama Masjid, we went back through the long, crowded bazaar. On the way up I felt overwhelmed by the crowds and just kept my head down to avoid the awkward stares we constantly get. I was also feeling a little paranoid that my camera or wallet might be easily snatched away. But on the way back I was feeling a little more confident and took the chance to take in all that was going on around me. Everything I saw in the next 5 minutes was both enlightening and horrifying. Everyone knows large portions of India's population are desperately poor. But when you see, hear, and smell it...well, I'm not sure I have the words to express the cycle of shock, discomfort, and guilt that replayed every few steps and with greater intensity. Malnourished children reach for your hand, asking for money and the other hand they raise to their in a gesture expressing hunger. Old women sit behind a cloth displaying trinkets for sale, but their faces are expressionless, their bodies are extremely thin, and their gaze is fixed on nothing. (Actually who knows how old they really are? They look 70 but could be only 40). Old men without arms, legs, or otherwise crippled do the same. Every now and then there's a frail, young woman with one hand stretched out for donations and the other cradling a tiny and terribly thin infant. And then there's the adolescent boys who are lucky enough to have all their limbs and no children. They are the ones who appear most alive, but the look on their faces still reveals plenty of hardships. At the end of the bazaar I had reached a breaking point. I wanted to put money and food in every outstretched hand but knew that the moment I did I'd have 20 children swarming around me and my friends. I felt furious that offering a little bit of money could put me and my friends at risk. I felt helpless to help them.

View of the market from the steps of Jama Masjid

We were with an Indian friend who was acting as our tour guide for the day and he must have seen the look on my face because he asked why I bothered to take in what we were passing by. He emphasized that it's best not to look, just ignore it. In a way he has a point. If you don't want to feel emotionally overwhelmed, keep your gaze focused on the ground in front of you. But then I also worry about the head-in-the-sand effect. I want to see it and want to take it in because I want to understand the extent of it. It would be naive to believe I can fix it and self-righteous to judge him for his advice. But looking away from all of it is not something could feel comfortable doing.

Although we had been rejected form the mosque, we did get the chance to observe another religion's prayer service. On the way back through Chandni Chawk, our friend took us to the Sikh temple in Old Delhi. He more or less described himself as a non-practicing Sikh but was familiar enough to explain the general beliefs, the meaning behind the prayers and some of the practices during the service we watched. Before entering I had to cover my head in a scarf, remove my shoes, and wash my feet in a pool at the base of the steps before entering the temple. Even with his narration during the prayers, I hardly knew what was going on or being said, but what I really appreciated was the concept of washing my feet before entering and after leaving the temple. It seemed to function as a reminder to worshipers that they have just entered or just left a holy place.

Sikh Temple in Chandni Chawk

The whirlwind tour of Delhi ended in front of India Gate. It's a massive arch (curiously similar to Napoleon's Arc de Triumph) built by the British to commemorate the soldiers of the British Indian Army who died serving the British Indian Empire. In the center is an eternal flame, guarded by a military officer, that burns above India's Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Every night, the monument is illuminated by floodlights and families flock to the surrounding open park to eat ice cream, play cricket, and otherwise just hang out.

India Gate