Mission... Almost Accomplished

Operation Get-The-Fuck-To-India went into full effect this morning upon waking up. Immediately, I quickly packed up my gear and I was off to the airport around 1. I got to Newark around 3:30, and said my goodbyes to my family. It was surreal, yet… nothing had hit me yet. I couldn’t possibly imagine exactly what India or Delhi would be like and upon my arrival, the futility at any preparations to do so were clear.

The plane was 12 hours and I sat in the very last row of the plane nestled in between two fellow Indian flyers. I watched 21 Jump Street, Cloud Atlas, and half of Lincoln. It was quite enjoyable. The other few hours were spent reading, sleeping, and complaining within my mind about the utter impossibility of falling asleep sitting upright, yet it was done.

Arriving in Delhi was an absolute trip in itself. I no longer had cell phone service and just hoped that I would run into a guy holding a sign with my name on it. After trudging through customs and the foreign guest’s line, I exited the airport with anxiety creeping in as to whether or not I would have to find my own way in this bustling city.

However, as I exited the airport and was greeted by the evening mist of smog, there was a man holding a yellow sign reading: “Ralf Johnson, Woodstock”. I was in business. As I walked with the man, a stranger approached and clasped his hand over my hand that was gripping the handle of my luggage. Out of pure instinct from contact, I withdrew my hand. Unsure of what to make of the man, I walked with my driver for a couple more feet before he turned to face the man who took my luggage. He yelled at him in another language, and shooed him away with his hand. After the man argued back, he begrudgingly gave me back my luggage. The driver turned back to me and said, “He just wants your money. You must look out for those men”.

We got to the man’s vehicle and headed out of the parking garage. I got the man’s name but the pronunciation and dialect that he spoke of totally obscured it from me. I asked again, pronounced it, and was told it was correct but I’ve totally lost it. I never was good with names.

The roads of India! Holy shit! I was terrified! There are lanes drawn upon these “highways” yet no one follows them whatsoever. As opposed to using turn signals to move between these “lanes”, drivers instead just beep their horn. It was utter madness. I saw two families all piled onto motorcycles steering through tiny gaps in between cars. There are tons of cyclists and motorcycles, in general, just dangerously flying down the road. The man and I eventually arrived to the hotel I’m staying in for the night called the YWCA Delhi. He’ll be here tomorrow morning at 6 am and I’ll be taking a 5-hour train ride into Dehradun where I’ll meet Professor Alter. My mind is still whirring just from the drive. Culture shock has totally slapped me in the face.

YWCA Room

The error in forgetting my camera was apparent. It cannot take pictures in the dark... and since my whole night in Delhi was at night, this is the only clear picture I captured.