Home away from home

I realize I was living in Delhi for almost three months and have yet to tell you guys about it. I have had my share of tourist attractions in Delhi, but I’ll spare you the boring details, because what I really want to tell you about is my everyday life in the capital of India, so here it goes!

Me and Delhi, we have a bit of a love-hate relationship, not too different from an old marriage; there are days when we love everything about each other and then there are days when we drive each other that’s-it-I’m-packing-my-bags crazy. Still, every time I return to Delhi it feels like home. It’s the one place in India where I know the metro like I know my backyard (although technically I don’t have a backyard), the place were I go out for morning runs and the guys at the coffee place across the street knows what I want without me telling them. Lately our relationship has gotten even better. I think it’s all the couples therapy of great friends, cool collage parties and, naturally, almighty Indian food (that can make even the worst day seem like a good one).

A ten-minute walk from college is the cozy market Katwaria Sarai. I would go there to buy fruits and toilet paper, passing some auto drivers, “auto miss”, the gang of gamblers sitting on the street playing cards and the barber giving 10 rupee haircuts. I get my bananas and walk back, “auto miss” getting The Stare from half of the people I pass.

The school were I studied is called Indian Institute of Foreign Trade and it’s absolutely insane. It’s located in South Delhi, also known as The Posh Part of Town. I stayed at the collage hostel in a two-bed suite. My room also had two chairs, two TV’s (of which I used neither), two desks but oddly enough, only one nightstand. My bathroom was a bliss; the sink did work, but once you got it going it was hard to turn it off, I had a shower tap, but no shower and my toilet didn’t flush. Because of this, I highly valued my bucket. My bucket was my washing machine, my shower, my toilet flush and my sink.

This is how you get a heater working. Until it breaks.

During my studies, I have had about one or two lectures a day, so my schedule was pretty relaxed, but don’t for a second think this makes school easy. Did I mention it’s insane? Schedules arrived way to late and they changed almost daily (I might have mentioned this in a previous post?!). I had no introduction to the system or to what would be expected from me and not a single time did anyone (from administration) ask me how I’m doing or if I needed any help. Most of the time I had no idea of what was going on or if there was anything I needed to do. The only thing that saved me from total destruction was my fellow students who, patiently, guided me through the classes of IIFT.

IIFT campus

A couple of weeks ago, our Spanish teacher called us all donkeys. This is the same professor that two days later asked me out for a date. I didn’t really know how to respond or what to do about the situation, but this act is about as inappropriate in India as it would be back home. I didn’t (of coarse) go on a date with the professor and as school was coming to an end, I decided to let it slide. Now don’t get me wrong, creepy professors and crazy schedules aside, I’ve also had some great experiences in school. For example, when I was asking one of my teachers about an exam, being worried about something I’ve forgotten to do, he told me “please don’t worry dear child and go celebrate that the course is over”. Dear child? Go celebrate? This made me all warm and fuzzy inside. I wish all professors were like him! We also had a crazy college party a couple of weeks ago. The downstairs lobby of the main building transformed in to a party scene with people dancing, smoking and drinking, lights flashing, music blasting. It was everything you could ever imagine an Indian college party to be and perhaps a little bit more! :)

Still after three months, I find myself fighting the culture I so badly wanted to understand. India is clearly not adjusting to me, so I should adjust to India. A task that takes five minutes to accomplish back home, can easily take five hours to accomplish in India. For example, about a week ago I found out my dad and his wife, who were coming to visit me in Delhi, wouldn’t be able to make it. This was a big disappointment for all of us, but it also resulted in a funny visit to the post office. As I had planned to send home some stuff with my dad, I now had to ship it home. So I packed up my stuff in a box, taped it shut and marked the address on the box. Simple enough. Only I obviously had some mental problems and had forgotten I was in India. Because of “security issues” we had to make our way from the post office to a close by market to get the box properly sealed, only to find out there was no one in the market who would do this. The second option was to get some white cloth, wrap it around the box and seal it with red wax. Yes, red wax. So dear brother, when you get a package that looks like it’s been sent from the 1600^th century, don’t throw it out the window. It’s just my box of stuff arriving from half way across the world.

Post office facts:
Man power needed: 3 people from three continents
Result: 1 wax-sealed box successfully sent
Total time spent: about 3 hours