Sunday, April 17, 2011
April 17, 2011
New Delhi, 8:30p
“Cosmopolitan” implies a certain nonchalance and see-it-allness; a sort of cool adultness about things. I am, therefore, decidedly not cosmopolitan. India is a complete amazing freakshow and, after having spent decent chunks of time here, I say with confidence that the freaky just doesn’t let up. I am just as completely awestruck, silly, apologetic and sometimes timid as I was just making my way through Mumbai Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport 11 years ago. Specifically, being pursued by the elderly bathroom attendant as I exited the restroom doors and down the hall, muttering something that didn’t really sound like good energy. Me: completely terrified, utterly fascinated and, well, laughing quite honestly; then my husband concludes: you asked for toilet paper, didn’t you? I was apparently remiss in not tipping Auntie-ji for the favor.
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| So, define spurious...? |
The newness is unrelenting even when I’ve seen it before, and it still throws me off balance sometimes. The busy roads of monsoon Delhi are a mean place for a kid who looks upsettingly like Arjun, and I still do a double take although I’ve cultivated that look that says “I am unaffected.” But I guess somehow I am, and more and more I can’t call it judgment or dismay, just observation. I like it; it’s like life, how life really should be. You know? Every moment is new, pregnant with possibilities limited only by our feeble little minds.
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