It’s the New Year and I have been reflecting on the past 12 months, and everything that I have seen and done. Traveling to India was an important journey for me, but not for the reasons I thought. Why am I telling you stories? Well…. a lot of what I have in the store comes from India or is inspired by my cultural heritage and travels, and I thought you might want to know.
I arrived at Delhi airport around 9pm, it was surprisingly quiet which was a relief after 18 hours of traveling. I was coming from Chicago and meeting my mum and some friends who were traveling in from Australia, they had the longer haul and more stop overs. We hadn’t really made a plan to find each other, other than knowing the flight numbers. Luckily our flights arrived within 30 minutes of each other at neighboring gates. We bustled through the airport overloaded with bags (I travel light but not everyone does) passports stamped and sim cards purchased we headed out into the warm and hazy night. Smog, smoke, or mist hangs heavy in the air, we run for the last transport bus to take us to another bus. Our minivan and driver waiting somewhere on the outskirts of the airport. Our drivers only introduced to us as Uncle and other Uncle.
We drive through the outskirts of Delhi, weaving in and out of midnight rush hour, streets and highways as busy as morning rush hour at home. Trucks and vans painted with colors and symbols, vehicles lovingly dedicated to holy people and gods, lined in ribbons and lights, ramshackle glittering. The backs of the tracks proudly declaring “HORN OK PLEASE!” Colored lights run down the sides of the trucks, drivers use them to signal those behind and in front; It’s safe to pass, or I’m going to pass. With a beep of the horn and a flash of lights an unspoken language of the road made manifest by necessity - four lanes of traffic on a two lane street. There doesn’t seem to be a rule here to stay right and only pass on the left. You can be in whatever lane you need to be and pass on whatever side you need to pass as long as …wave, flash, horn (OK PLEASE!).
Only another 6 or 8 hours to the Punjab, my tired brain is overwhelmed with color and life. I’ve lost track of time and I feel disconnected, unbound from my usual state I can’t sleep. Watching the road while uncle drives and other uncle signals, the sky glowing from the lights of the city and sodium street lights casting a vaguely ominous orange glow over everything, the smog or smoke isn’t helping. Somewhere a whole city could be on fire and no one around me is taking any notice, it must not be that serious. We pass road side deities, (paying them no mind) colorful and shrouded in flowers old and new, dried and discolored, fresh and plastic, white tiles swept clean from the detritus of the streets. Scrawny dogs lounge close by waiting for someone to leave an offering. Small herds of sacred cows eat garbage to survive making their home in the streets and the alley ways. Every available piece of space is taken up with the evidence of life, cars, people, cows, food carts, garbage, stalls, people, people, more cows. A city that has run out of space and rather than build up it has built in upon itself, alley ways and gulley’s folded and folded like paper, torn in places the frayed seems splayed and spilling out, life spilling out into the streets.
But these places are only glimpsed as we shoot past in our little van driven by uncle and other uncle. Only another 6 or 8 hours to the Punjab…We have already been on the road for 2… time is a quantity that defies definition…to the Punjab or Bust! However long it takes.