Juxtaposition

Waking up to Delhi this morning (again at around 6am, thanks to the tireless efforts of dogs and merchants making sure i don't sleep past sunrise), I lay in bed thinking (and sweating... a lot). Last night, the Belgians and I met up with Soham and his friend at an upscale restaurant in downtown New Delhi. It was a 30 minute rickshaw drive away (a rickshaw, by the way, is a precarious little vehicle without doors that weaves in and out of traffic in an admirable effort to get its' passengers to their destination with the greatest chance of death possible... now i understand how the Indian taxi drivers got to be so damn fearless... NYC is nothing!). In any case, this 30 minute drive took us all the way through Delhi, and by the time we got to our destination, I thought I had made it out of the slums and into Europe. The modern Asian restaurant (unfortunately playing 80's pop music) was eons away from the pockets of poverty we had just driven past; the tree-lined streets and expensive cars advertised an entirely different world than the one populated by bicycle-rickshaws and crippled beggars. As Soham put it, you could come to this part of Delhi and forget you ever left the states.

What has struck me most about India so far is not the incredible poverty, but the unbelievable juxtaposition of such raw suffering with equally startling wealth. Last night, as we were walking through Pahranganj's main street in search of a rickshaw, i felt a hand brush my shoulder; I turned to see that it was a beggar... a teenage beggar, just barely, with deformed arms and just one startling brown eye. I'm ashamed to admit that i didn't give him any change; I would have, but my immediate reaction was to run - i gasped and ran ahead to catch up with the Belgians. I know all about congenital deformities - the embryology, the pathophysiology, the anatomy. What i don't know is what it's like to beg on the street for a rupee, and have a stranger run from you in shock. (That stranger also almost ran into a cow's ass... karma, I suppose). As we puttered along in our little green rickshaw, it was hard to miss the makeshift bonfires dotting the sides of the wide, modern boulevards, lighting up the tin shacks that house millions. The streets are always shock full of people; trendy businessmen with cell phones step over the half-naked men sprawled out sleeping on the sidewalk; trendy women in glittering silvar kamees walk past dusty mothers holding naked toddlers. Shacks cluster outside tall gates protecting magnificent office buildings; cows and homeless dogs wander past street-stands piled high with goodies, the occasional sniff or wandering eye leading to a hard smack from a vendor. It's almost as though there are two Indias, existing in the same physical space but entirely separate from each other. I cannot imagine such a juxtaposition in the US; even NYC, with its' infamous poverty, the poorest are clustered, identified, noticed. We have soup kitchens, shelters, social workers... hell, there's always a tray of food available at an emergency room. It is not so in Delhi; here, poverty is just another social class.

I am adjusting, still adjusting, to this new reality that Delhi has presented me. The smells of the main bazaar bother me a little less, and darting through traffic to cross the street almost seems normal; even my haggling is improving (though I did get grossly overcharged for a traveling chess set earlier). I am also not as shocked, though perhaps that's not such an improvement; as the horror wears off, I can start saying no to the street children, no to the beggars, no to the second India. Normality is entirely dependent on perception, and as I work my new surroundings into my subconscious understanding of the world, even the most horrible things are allowed to fade into the background. I walked around all day today, but I wonder if I didn't see less.

Judgement night

India. I waited for the stench, the urine soaked air inspired by friendly urination practices and myriads of wandering animals... maybe the heat evaporates the odors, or perhaps living in NYC all these years has dulled my sense of smell... but Delhi didn't overwhelm me the way I had anticipated. At least, not at first. Leaving the airport was relatively non-eventful; after an argument with security, my driver and I were off in a hurry. By the way, it's not true that Delhi drivers don't follow the lines on the roads; there simply aren't any lines! So, we drove on, jostling with rickshaws, motorcycles, and the occasional wandering cow... nothing extraordinary. The driver (Ravi) was an especially friendly young guy,

Ravi: Are you married?
Me: um, no
Ravi: Have boyfriend then?
Me: umm.... no, not really...
Ravi: Ah!! So you are like me then, you have nothing.
Me: uh, well, i go to school... i have a lot of friends... and,-
Ravi: no, no, you have nothing.

Off to a good start, we turned onto the 'main bazar road' of Pharganj, the part of Delhi I had chosen for myself (it's rumored to be popular with backpackers and israelis, so...). Well, this main road is basically dirt, and the only thing stopping our little taxi from running over wandering dogs are the cows, laid out on the streets without any concern for oncoming traffic. The streets are also filled with people - tourists (yes, they were all speaking hebrew) and shopkeepers, the homeless and the sleeping rickshaw drivers... all crammed into the width of an average apartment corridor. Namaste.

My room... well, at least there's a giant bolt on the door, so... we'll leave it at that for now. I tried wandering outside on my own for a bit, but after about 20 minutes the darkness and the menacing look i got from a nearby cow convinced me to just hang out at the hotel the rest of the night. That was a good decision - I met two great Belgian women, and a very fascinating Swiss guy who seems to have traveled everywhere and is more than happy to discuss middle east politics with me (apparently everyone hates the Saudis, and the Syrians are much more "Italian" than the Jordanians, whatever that means...). Also, there's Soham, Reena's friend, who i'm going to call tomorrow night... so i'm not completely alone, it just took a little creativity.

So, India has judged me. Apparently, I have nothing much going, and the cows aren't exactly impressed either. I'll try again tomorrow :).

Thoughts, and afterthoughts.

It's the night before I leave... everything's packed (well, ok, that's a lie, of course half my stuff is still on the living room floor... but 'everything' is a pretty relative term anyway... right?). I wasn't sure what kind of a mood i'd be in tonight - if I would be apprehensive or nostalgic, excited or just sleepy... and, I have to say, it's all been rather anti-climactic... i'm sitting here, reading the NYT, certain that nothing has sunk in yet. Between squeezing in extra pairs of socks and convincing Susan that I will not be needing a tazer, the reality - the enormity - of this entire thing has gotten a little lost.

When I started planning this, arguing with the dean and my family, researching locations and trying to figure out how to get it all approved and paid for, I don't think I ever fully believed that, in fact, I would eventually be going. There was just so much to do, so many hoops to jump through, so much chaos in my personal life... but the days and months went by... applications were filled out, tests taken, essays written, interviews survived... and here I am, partly packed, passport and benadryl in hand, ready to move to India. A lot of people travel these days; it's not uncommon for the middle-class set to take a year here or there, between jobs or after college, and travel abroad, teach english in some chinese village, wash dishes in paris, or get lost in machu picchu... but as anyone Russian would tell you, it's different for us. Being 'well traveled' means you've gone to Italy AND France, and the best vacations involve five-star hotels at exclusive carribean islands. Backpacking in Cambodia? Just ask a Russian mother, and watch for the shrug, the blank look, the questioning glance. Why would you go to Cambodia to eat rice and live with monkeys (are there monkeys?) when you have a nice house and job right here in NJ? What do you mean, you don't want to live in NJ? Why would anyone not want to stay in NJ??

But, of course, it isn't just about that. I've been dreaming of doing something like this, taking a year off to travel, and not just as a tourist (i always get this weird european colonialist vibe whenever i travel as a tourist and have natives carrying my bag...). I've waited, since high school really, for the opportunity to go as a professional, to study and work abroad. Actually, to be honest, it's the entire reason that I went into medicine. For a while, I was either going to be a foreign correspondent or working on something with the environment (clearly, travel and nature have been in my blood for quite some time). Then, senior year of high school (I was already volunteering as an EMT - it's pretty much the biggest adrenaline rush a little suburban girl could get those days), I randomly came across a book at the library. It was a beautiful, colorfully illustrated work called "Touched By Fire". I remember staying at the library all afternoon, reading the entire book in that one day, not being able to get my eyes off the photographs. It was a book about Doctors Without Borders, and my introduction to a very different life, with very different possibilities; for the first time, I saw that there were options beyond cubicles and late-night runs to the local diner... if I worked hard and played my cards right, I could become a doctor, traveling the world, taking part in major events instead of just reading about them. The caffeinated travel bug bit me years ago... but suddenly, it had a path to fly.

Here I am, sitting on the same bed, with my copy of "Touched by Fire" laying by an open suitcase, travel itinerary, passport, and spare underwear stewn about. Eight years of hard work, sacrificing, staring at world maps and skimming alertnet... and this is it. Anti-climactic, maybe... but, my god, i'm going to India!!

My first stop is New Delhi. I fly out tomorrow evening and will finally land on the evening of the 28th... my god this is going to be a long flight! I'm all set with books and benadryl; I recently finished reading Mehta's "Maximum City" (amazing book, if anyone gets a chance to pick it up), so I feel incredibely prepared to deal with gangsters and bar girls. And, of course, i'm geared up with all the med-touristy essentials: large Lonely Planet guide, Hindi-English dictionary, sunscreen, some medical books (I'm hoping i'll be able to bore myself to death with a guide to infectious diseases and actually get some sleep during the flight).

The plan is to be in Delhi for about 5 days, and then fly to Leh (the capital of Ladakh) on the morning of the 2nd. It's supposed to be a spectacular flight... from there, i'll be starting off on the first part of my international medical work, as part of a medical team with Himalayan Health Exchange (more on that later, but check out the link to our project here: http://www.himalayanhealth.com/lingshed/lingshed.htm )

Here are the maps below:






Well, for now, i'm off to sleep, to pack, hoping not to forget anything critical... I'll be writing again soon... from elsewhere, from India...