Dearest Reader,
Life has been insane and I have been the worst about writing. Sincerest apologies.
The journalism internship has turned out to be a full time job, which is quite funny since I am suppose to be a full time student. Something is going to have to give.
I took the liberty of excusing myself from class at the beginning of the week to go to Delhi. Many of my classes ended up being cancelled anyways. And traveling has always proven to teach me more than anything else. Lessons in Delhi:
Do not get into the men’s compartment unless you expect to be molested. It was not like being in Mumbai where the men just stared and forgot about you after a few stops. I will spare you the details, but I came off the train feeling incredibly violated.
Do not trust the “tourist offices”. There are, ostensibly, tourist offices lining the streets, and none of them are legitimate. When we reached the train station at 5 a.m. to get on the first train to Agra, we were told that we could not buy tickets without Indian identification cards (Indian student cards do not count), by someone who looked like they work there. We were then sent to a tourist office, by the very overpriced cab we were escorted to, only to be told that all the train tickets for the day were sold out. The man behind the desk recommended that we take a private car, and slipped us a piece of ripped paper on which he scrawled the name and number of a driver/fellow scammer. We were incredulous and argued with him. He insisted he was giving us a good deal. Then, only adding to how sketchy this place felt the light fell out of the ceiling. We left.
Feeling annoyed and belligerent, I went back to the station to talk to the man who sent us to the office, only to interrupt him from scamming a fellow confused traveler.
The remainder of the morning was spent being sent around in circles, and by 8:00 a.m., four hours after our initial arrival at the station we got tickets. The train was several hours late, and was rescheduled to 9:00 a.m. Perfectly punctual on Indian Standard Time the train arrived at 11:30 a.m. It takes three hours to get to Agra. We got there at 4 p.m.
Not knowing when the Taj Mahal closed, we decided to put off buying out return tickets to Delhi, and booked it to the Taj.
It was worth the madness of the day. The Taj is the metonymic representation of India, and it proves to be deserving. Its white walls sets it apart from the surrounding red fort, and from the entrance it is pointed to by a narrow pool of water. I can hear the azhan nearby, and the walls’ gorgeous Arabic script puts me to shame and only reminds me how lacking my Arabic really is.
We spent a couple of hours at the Taj, then remembering how labourious getting to Agra was, we decided it would be wise to go to the train station and sort out tickets for the midnight train before any further exploring.
Shortly thereafter we find out the tickets are sold out for the day (how did I not see this coming?). The woman at the desk finds one last train with vacancies, and it was scheduled to leave 30 seconds ago. The woman is sure the train has not left, but knowing my luck Indian Time has decided to fail me. We sprint to the platform and it is all but too late. On the other side of the platform a train, which we don’t have tickets for, is leaving. O yells at a man who is poking out of the train: “Delhi?”
He gives us the head bobble and we are running after the train and hopping on. This exhausting day is following an all nighter we pulled after writing articles, for the respective papers we are contributing to, about the Indian Art Summit we attended.
Needless to say the trip back to Agra was spent unconscious. Except for the moments that are interrupted by harsh cold drafts. In and around Delhi it plunges to about 5 degrees at night. Shivering and without the proper attire, I am completely homesick…for Mumbai and her hot sun.
Days in Delhi were otherwise spent roaming around bazaars, art galleries, and meeting and hanging out with locals and foreigners alike. Minus the couple frustrations mentioned, it was a good time.
Pictures you ask?
Life has been insane and I have been the worst about writing. Sincerest apologies.
The journalism internship has turned out to be a full time job, which is quite funny since I am suppose to be a full time student. Something is going to have to give.
I took the liberty of excusing myself from class at the beginning of the week to go to Delhi. Many of my classes ended up being cancelled anyways. And traveling has always proven to teach me more than anything else. Lessons in Delhi:
Do not get into the men’s compartment unless you expect to be molested. It was not like being in Mumbai where the men just stared and forgot about you after a few stops. I will spare you the details, but I came off the train feeling incredibly violated.
Do not trust the “tourist offices”. There are, ostensibly, tourist offices lining the streets, and none of them are legitimate. When we reached the train station at 5 a.m. to get on the first train to Agra, we were told that we could not buy tickets without Indian identification cards (Indian student cards do not count), by someone who looked like they work there. We were then sent to a tourist office, by the very overpriced cab we were escorted to, only to be told that all the train tickets for the day were sold out. The man behind the desk recommended that we take a private car, and slipped us a piece of ripped paper on which he scrawled the name and number of a driver/fellow scammer. We were incredulous and argued with him. He insisted he was giving us a good deal. Then, only adding to how sketchy this place felt the light fell out of the ceiling. We left.
Feeling annoyed and belligerent, I went back to the station to talk to the man who sent us to the office, only to interrupt him from scamming a fellow confused traveler.
The remainder of the morning was spent being sent around in circles, and by 8:00 a.m., four hours after our initial arrival at the station we got tickets. The train was several hours late, and was rescheduled to 9:00 a.m. Perfectly punctual on Indian Standard Time the train arrived at 11:30 a.m. It takes three hours to get to Agra. We got there at 4 p.m.
Not knowing when the Taj Mahal closed, we decided to put off buying out return tickets to Delhi, and booked it to the Taj.
It was worth the madness of the day. The Taj is the metonymic representation of India, and it proves to be deserving. Its white walls sets it apart from the surrounding red fort, and from the entrance it is pointed to by a narrow pool of water. I can hear the azhan nearby, and the walls’ gorgeous Arabic script puts me to shame and only reminds me how lacking my Arabic really is.
We spent a couple of hours at the Taj, then remembering how labourious getting to Agra was, we decided it would be wise to go to the train station and sort out tickets for the midnight train before any further exploring.
Shortly thereafter we find out the tickets are sold out for the day (how did I not see this coming?). The woman at the desk finds one last train with vacancies, and it was scheduled to leave 30 seconds ago. The woman is sure the train has not left, but knowing my luck Indian Time has decided to fail me. We sprint to the platform and it is all but too late. On the other side of the platform a train, which we don’t have tickets for, is leaving. O yells at a man who is poking out of the train: “Delhi?”
He gives us the head bobble and we are running after the train and hopping on. This exhausting day is following an all nighter we pulled after writing articles, for the respective papers we are contributing to, about the Indian Art Summit we attended.
Needless to say the trip back to Agra was spent unconscious. Except for the moments that are interrupted by harsh cold drafts. In and around Delhi it plunges to about 5 degrees at night. Shivering and without the proper attire, I am completely homesick…for Mumbai and her hot sun.
Days in Delhi were otherwise spent roaming around bazaars, art galleries, and meeting and hanging out with locals and foreigners alike. Minus the couple frustrations mentioned, it was a good time.
Pictures you ask?
No comments:
Post a Comment