Baby you can drive my car

The first three days in India have flown by. Staying with my friend proved to be a godsend and a wonderfully smooth introduction to the place. He looked after us incredibly well, even organising our own private driver for the day he had to work. Being two Miss Daisys escorted about the city was a luxury I relished. It’s far from private drivers I was raised let me tell you!

Delhi is crazy! The time spent going from one sight to the other proved to be more interesting than any of the great monuments or temples we saw. Watching everyday life on the streets here is intensely captivating. It’s one insane overactive circus. My Newfie looked out one side of the car while I took responsibility for the other. Not a minute went by without one of us telling the other to come look at the bizarre spectacle on his side of the show. These included a man cycling with a monkey running after him on a lead while another monkey cheekily looked on from the carrier. Cows wander about aimlessly, grazing on anything from carrier bags to rubbish. Space is such a rare commodity that every inch of ground is used. Grass verges and roundabouts are used as cricket grounds, martial arts classes or simply somewhere to doze – it doesn’t seem to matter that they are surrounded by a incessant stream of filthy traffic. And cars in Delhi are powered by their horns. Or at least I can only imagine that that is why drivers are CONSTANTLY beeping. And I mean constantly. All of them!

So far I feel it’s the people that make India incredible. The amount of beggars is overwhelming. Little children perform tricks while you are stopped at the traffic lights and then knock on your window for money. The crippled are usually right behind them each looking more desperate than the other. It really is heartbreaking to see this misery that doesn’t ever stop. I was told that all the beggars are pawns in a big mafia style group and they are sent out to work on the streets giving most of their money to the leaders. For this we are advised not to give them anything but it is so incredibly hard to ignore their young pleading faces especially if you stop and spare a thought as to what kind of life these kids lead.

Then you also get the ordinary Indian people who are incredibly friendly. They just want to know where you come from, what you do, why don’t you have a wife yet, do you know their friend who lives in Canada, what do we think of the clothes they’re wearing very smart don’t you think? … some even ask you to take their picture! They seem genuinely interested in foreigners and are so sweet that it makes up for the small few who are only interested in directing you to their cousin’s guesthouse or travel bureau.

Leaving the safety and comfort of my friend in Delhi we decided it was time to experience some true Indian life and take the train. Full of romantic notions of travelling on the Indian trains we bought tickets to Agra. Taj Mahal here we come!  Delhi train station seemed to contain the entire population of the city, along with their furniture, food, trailers and cases. It was pure, overcrowded, mayhem! Trying to dodge the mob and not get swept away on some cart laden down with baskets we finally discovered which platform we were supposed to be on and waited for the train. Which was late. So we waited some more. One hour more. Still no sign of the train. Time to ask some the young lads next to us if we were in the right place. This resulted not only in their assurance that the train would come but also a request for our e mail addresses as they were interested in ‘importing something to Canada’!!! Another hour went by as we were chased by begging children and bemused at other trains as passengers jumped off and on while they moved with open doors and hundreds of faces pressed to their windows. After two and a half hours the train finally came. Hurray we thought – all the waiting was worth it – Agra, we’re on our way! Any minute now  - as soon as the train takes off. A half an hour went by without any movement – at least from the engine. Meanwhile the inside of the train was full of life – chai sellers, sweepers, little boys collecting empty water bottles so they could fill them with tap water and sell them. After another full hour was spent just sitting at the platform the train finally left. Only four and a half hours late.

India is full of lessons and today’s was clearly patience. To think I used to complain if a Dutch train was ten minutes late. I promise, I will never ever do that again.