Delhi Arrival

My flight left San Francisco in the first five minutes of the third of February. Fourteen hours to Taipei, Taiwan, an hour layover in the early morning of the 4th and then seven more hours to Delhi. I finally arrive at 1pm. Delhi and New Delhi are both one city but it has noticeable layers of development.

In the airport, I have to wait almost an hour and a half for my first bag to turn up on the baggage claim conveyor belt. It may have been the first one on the plane because I watched 200-300 bags pass by me. I have either never been on a plane with that much luggage or I have been lucky enough to have bags earlier in the queue. As I waited, I watched workers beginning to saw wood next to the baggage claim, working without goggles and ignoring the young boy wandering nearby looking for his family's luggage. I also examined the the various styles of turbans the many Sikh men waiting with me were wearing. Later on in India, my friend, Zaq, and I will notice the many 'Singh's on the reservation lists for the trains. It is common for Sikh men to take the last name Singh.

Once I get my bag, I head out and prepay for a taxi to Majnukatilla, a Tibetan colony in the northern section of Delhi, near a river. It's an hour drive across Delhi from the airport. I'm a little disappointed that I am not riding in an Ambassador, just a regular little hatchback. Ambassadors are beautiful old cars, fully metal, heavy, and painted in the bright colors required for city taxis (black with yellow and green stripes for Delhi) or black or white for private cars.

I get used to being on the left side of the road pretty quickly. It takes a few more days to learn how to look the correct way before crossing the street. I am a little more surprised to see how many more men are out in public than women, a severe majority. I had forgotten. My driver tells me that there are three female rickshaw drivers in Delhi. A lonely contingent. He also tells me that the key to driving in India is, "a good brake, good horn, and good luck".
The air smells musky, a bit sweet, not as bad as I remember. It is about 65 degrees Fahrenheit, amazingly temperate. Delhi will get hot in a month.

After I drop my bags in a room at the Tibetan-run Wongdhen House, I wander around the narrow streets - too narrow for vehicles, only the occasional rickshaw. Zaq shows up after dinner from Mumbai/Bombay. He and I were classmates here two years ago for a Tibetan Studies program in the School of International Training (SIT).