To Delhi (again)

**post complete**

I left Hotel Ishan after a bit of lunch, and got a car to Haridwar which is the closest large railway station to Rishikesh where I was staying.  The driver was very friendly, and told me about his children, how long he had been in town (12 years), and that he was saving money to send both of his kids to America to live in 2014.  The nice conversation helped pass the hour and a half ride.

The driver would smoke a bidi, and wait about 4 or 5 minutes, and then go for another.  His cough was remarkable.  I’m not sure exactly what he was trying to get out, but it was probably around 8 pounds and didn’t sound very mobile.

He dropped me right where he was supposed to, and I went inside.

At this point I have about 8.5 hours to kill.  I could’ve grabbed an auto from outside the railway station and gone somewhere, but I was low on cash, and didn’t feel like hassling to find an ATM or what to do.  Besides, it was hot.

I found a tree that only 7 or 8 other people were sitting under, and had a seat.  Not too much staring as I was far to one end, but it was the toilet end!  The “toilet” was really just a sloped patch of land where everyone through their trash (bodily and otherwise).  There was a small “pond” at the bottom, looked to be about 2.5 feet deep in the middle, and maybe 10’ wide by 25’ long.  The whole toilet/trash area was a couple hundred feet square (probably).

As I’m leaning up against the tree and watching, I see a pig climb the incline and start rooting around in the trash.  Here comes another, and then another.  Pretty soon there were 10 or so, and then here come 7 or 8 piglets.  They were all digging their snouts around in the trash and oinking and grunting, and basically having a good time.  They certainly did not appear malnourished, so there must be enough to sustain them there.  They stayed in there the whole time, though sometimes they would get in the “pond” and get all muddy like a stereotypical pig.

Then the monkeys showed up.  In large groups.  The biggest had about 25 or so, and actually made me feel a bit uncomfortable at times.  They would walk right past (most of the time they were not in the trash compound) a few feet away from me and everyone else.  I heard a commotion and saw that a rather large monkey had stolen two bananas right out of this lady’s hand, and also a bag which had her train tickets in it.  Oops!

The Indians around somehow got the tickets back, but the monkey held on to the bag and the bananas.

About this time, a young man (around 20 or so) sits down near me and I can hear him on the phone speaking in English.  After 15 minutes or so, he comes up to me and starts a conversation.

Nishant was his name and he had nothing better to do than to hang out with me for remainder of my (approximately, at this point) 7.5 hours.  He had left a job in Delhi after his girlfriend broke it off, and he didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do.  His English was very good, and he had previously worked for American Express, Macy’s, and several other companies as customer service.  I meant to ask him what his Western name was, but forgot.  I regret not remembering.  I’ve always wondered if they let the employees pick, or if they are assigned.

He said he didn’t have any money and needed a charger for his phone, but he looked like he was not eating enough, and a few hours later, I paid for some lunch for the two of us.  Nishant was very friendly, and not in a calculating sort of way, although I may have started as a “mark” for him to try to get some money out of, he ended up finding 200rs in his bag, and bought me a piece of candy and some chips and a drink to share.

His family is well to do, and I asked him why he didn’t return and fatten up a bit, you know, get back on track and situated before trying the next thing.  He said his dad would want him to stay forever.  It sounded a bit like the Prodigal Son to me.  This is something that has no boundaries and is not affected by nationality, language, or skin color.  This happens everywhere.  Apron strings are torn.

I learned a lot about the social culture from Nishant.  Especially having to do with the caste system (though it is “officially” illegal, it still informs the way people interact with one another).  His was the warrior caste, and it is second from the top.  Very interesting to see him interacting with people.

There are so many things I remember parts of from the conversations I had with him, but they are all fading into the fabric of my memory as background and not foreground.  I remember little pieces, not whole segments.  Like the way he used “motherf**ker” like it was a synonym for “guy.”  “Hey, look at that motherf**ker over there.  He’s feeding the pigs a chapatti.”  I remember him inviting me over and over to his brother’s wedding next year.  He told me that his father would pay for my airfare to come (and bring my wife and child), and that once here, he would take care of everything, not a dime out of my pocket.  His father was a high political figure in his area and the marriage would be an enormous celebration.  He promised to send me pictures and videos on my email when I told him I likely wouldn’t be able to make it.  I remember him saying he liked to party, and that his friends and his girlfriends both wouldn’t stay around if he didn’t have money.

I got a real sense of lostness in him, and I don’t think he’s quite done with that part of the journey yet.  He is, however, very bright and friendly, and if he stays on the right side of things, he will do well, Prodigal Son or not.

Nishant helped get me on the right coach (the seat assignment boards were non-existent here), and we had a hurried goodbye.  I intended to give him the remainder of the 100rs bill that we ate dinner on, to give him a bit of cushion, but in the frenzy, I forgot.  I’m sure he will be ok.

Once on the train, I realized that I had been a complete and utter lunatic for not choosing air-conditioned coaches from the beginning.  This return to the Old Delhi station was in 1AC, which is the highest class of train travel.  Not only are the coaches air-conditioned, but they have doors between the sections, so that only you and 3 other people are in the same “room.”  I had two well-to-do Indians in my section, and both spoke English well.  I felt like a slob!

Here I was, not recently showered, goatee all over the place, the rest of my beard growing out (haven’t shaved since I got here) and my clothes look like they could stand up in the corner on their own.  They were gracious, though not overly friendly.  They probably looked at me the way *I* would look at me if I were in their shoes.  I wouldn’t necessarily want to share a section with someone that looked like me, if I were in my Western mode of cleanliness, etc.

The train ride was totally awesome.  Totally.  The bed was already made for me with an actual clean, white sheet.  There was a top sheet folded along with a woolen blanket at the foot of the bed, and a HAND-TOWEL on a rack for me.  Three of the four toilets in the 1AC coach were Western toilets, and there was a small roll of toilet paper in there too.

I felt like I had won the lottery, and I smiled as I went to sleep as to how funny a thought it was.  That I felt like I had won the lottery when presented with clean sheets, AC, and a hand-towel.  Ahhh, the life!