Day One of India December 21, 2011

India Day One (Dec 19, 2011)

After I stepped out of the flight at Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi, I plunged right into a thin layer of smoke at the terminal. The thin smoke stayed around us the whole time, making the walk to the terminal exceptionally chilled – a bit like walking into an early morning tropical jungle. J talked heartedly about the bustles and bombardment at Mumbai Airport, where he visited some three years ago and was surprised by the coolness and calmness in our misty walk. At Delhi Airport, there were no hassles, no drivers urging you to their cabs or ricksaws, no Indians hard selling hotels where they can get commission.

Everything was mellow.

“This is nothing what I expected,” J said.

I, on the other time, a first-timer to India, have little expectations on what to expect. After hearing quite some people talking about it and reading things about India, I have made up my mind that “expect the unexpected” is probably the best rule to tour around India.

The airport is very new. The booths where we got our passports stamped and checked is one of the nicest I have ever amidst many customs booths in different airports in the world that I have patronized. Mudras—different hand positions aiming to activate spiritual connections– in huge bronze casts are artistically placed above the little charming customs booths. The Indian customs officers seemed exceptionally low key – a sense of meditation calmness oozed out the whole time I was there. A welcoming sensation is my introduction to India.

As we had to make sure it was okay for us to go out of India and in again after the trip to Nepal, we went to an officer in the special assistance booth. There is a rule of two-month gap between two visits to India, even with multiple-entry visa but we plan to get into India again about a 2-week time in Nepal. That’s why we had to ask clearly the arrangement. . The officer, with dark complexion, a mustache, in accented English, asked a few questions.

“So where’s the Hotel Namaskar?” he asked about the address of hotel which we wrote on the arrival form.

J picked one of the hotels listed on Lonely Planet for us to fill in – not that we had indeed made any reservations. It’s just a way to avoid hassles. When we travel, we seldom book anything in advance.

“Ah, it’s in Chandiwalan Road…” J stumbled through the words written on the form (thank God he’s not mimicking the Indian accent, which sometimes he does once he gets into the mood).

The officer bobbed his head sideways-the way for Indians to nod, to show agreement or okayness. Quite charming I think. When I first visited Bangladesh years ago, I was helping a local family to build a house, funded by an NGO called Habitat For Humanity. With no experience in laying a brick and no Bengali, every time when I asked the home-owner, “Is it okay?” (to lay a brick this way or that), he bobbed his head sideways. I was confused for a long while his “not sure or whatever” gestures. After a long while I started to understand he’s actually meaning “yes.”

The officer continued to nonchalantly flip through our passport while I was casually chatting with J. “I think the smoke we see here is air-conditioning,” I said as I felt quite chilly at the terminal. J then turned to the officer and asked, “Sir, do you know what this smoke is?”

“Fog,” he officer replied, a smile surfacing his face. Once we started to talk about the weather, the officer mellowed out. The British, apart from leaving behind colonial history, some architecture and cultures, a langra franca (English), I think, has also left behind a fondness of talking about the weather. That’s how the British usually start a conversation. “It’s only 5c outside,” he continued and told me about what time the fog would set in.

We knew it’s winter season in Northern India, but didn’t expect 5c.

With that beginning of the weather chat, everything went smoothly. “There’s no problem to re-enter India after Nepal, “ he pronounced. We felt relieved.

How often have you chit-chatted with a customs officer? I have never, except for this Indian officer. Customs officers in the whole wide world are trained to put on a stern-looking face. So we were both enchanted by the friendliness of this Indian officer.

By the time we got out of the airport, it’s 9-ish. We took the metro to town. The Indian government might have sent a team to Hong Kong to study the airport express before building theirs. The metro from the airport to the city is relatively new, if not brand new. The decoration, signs, size, colors of the train compartments look 90% like that of the HK airport express. We sat down and looked at each other. “It feels like we are taking a train from the airport to IFC.” I had to agree.

“This is so disillusionary,” J said, “So different from Mumbai airport.”

“Maybe India has changed,” I replied, staring out into the dark city. “Wait till we get to the city center,” J replied.

Sure enough, after a few stops and getting off the train, we were welcome by a cattle pulling a mountain of tin barrels right in front of us amidst chaotic traffic. “Welcome to India,” J chuckled.

The evening darkness, the layer of fog (probably smog), 5c chillness, made my entry to India softer, calmer and more mysterious than what I would have expected. In the dark mist, Delhi looked quite like a quiet friendly phantom. We dragged our knackered bodies (since we left home at 5-ish in the morning and have endured a long lay-over in Bangkok) to where most guest houses cluster around an area called Main Bazaar. After checking out a few places, we sank in bed in no time.

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