12 hours of sleep later, I wake up in alleys din. Latte quickly. I decided today to get in a government agency and worm-do-men-tal information to go to Chandigarh. I begin with the station, a few hundred meters from my hotel. There, an agent tells me address what seems to be what I want. Combat helicopter ride (the "tuk-tuk", named by helicopter). Finally I get the information I want. Can not get there by train because the region was invaded because of a festival. One possibility: local bus.
I decide then go to the center Gandhi in Old Delhi. A rickshaw, this time, but its driver does not seem to know how to get there. I will realize, a little later that it was ... 6 km - but on the city map, the actual distances are absolutely not noticeable.
Visiting the center is to me very emotional Gandhi because I read a lot between 16 and 17. And I enjoy the peace of the place collected. At 16h, a film about the life of the Mahatma is projected. I go there after visiting in the little park, the ashram reconstituted "Bapu". As in the film, the room is empty (the sound was disastrous). And 2 minutes before 17 pm - I was left alone facing the film archive - an employee is simply stop showing. "It's not finished," I Said, phlegmatic. No answer. Either. Here, take everything with a smile and detachment.
I decide to go to the memorial where the cremation took place in Gandhi (his CENDES were scattered in the Ganges). Magical place, off-time. Must remove their shoes to enter the "tombstone" itself (see photo). I discovered a whole new segment of the population. Young women and young girls dressed beautifully.
Oh, I forgot. En route to the park, I am approached by two eras real poor in rags, small, haggard and dazed, hallucinated, tampering with a hole in the ground, out of the "sidewalk". One of them, who keeps following me, falls pathetically in front of me, I help him up. He accompanies me to the entrance of Raj Gath, everyone looks at us (we're on a main road) but I'm smiling ... A passenger of a car passing near us invites me to take care of my bags ... Having entered the park where my poor old were arrested by the guard, an amiable young woman invites me to never give money (NB: Too late, I loved, I confess).
I meet with Jana, a young German woman, a mathematician by training. She quit her job for a world tour. Our thoughts and decide to spend the evening together. We share the costs of the tuk-tuk back. She spotted a very good vegetarian restaurant on Connaught place. As we arrive one hour in advance, we decided to go for a coffee. Then she found a young Indian she met in the morning. Very long conversation friendly and warm to us 3. The young man gives us miles and information, of course, a good place for a true ristretto (it changes the local cafe, rather "enhanced water of coffee" and generally latte).
Indeed, the vegetarian restaurant (only frequented by locals) is a celebration.
We return to both Main Basar and there in a shop in a street parallel to Main basar (main street), I discovered that the same scarf bought the day Rs 400 (in the big shop recommended by my tuktuk driver) is 100 rupees. Welcome to India.
Everything here seems extreme contrast. As the kitchen mixing sweet almost syrupy in the hottest spice. The Indians have an extraordinary sense of touch. As we leave the restaurant vegetarian, my sidekick shows me the dish ordered by a young couple sitting at table: a beauty. I can not help but express my admiration for this kitchen to those who are about to taste it. Without any hesitation, they have stretched us a mouthful, Jana and me. Remember that word and taste it as soon as possible: "Dosa".
New Delhi ... Crossing a road at 4 or 5 bands is a challenge that would have welcomed the aptly named Indiana Jones. The trick: go ... everyone finds a way to avoid others. Or wait until a group launches into the fray (very few traffic lights). Life here is a swirling river. I think that we should not resist. Everywhere beggars, cripples, men, women, children, face disfigured by the disgrace. What story behind each of these looks poignant? Men, sleeping like dogs elsewhere in the roadside. And tuktuk which darken. That contrasts. Is life worth it so little?
I do not know if I can go to Chandigarh tomorrow (I just realized it's Sunday. I lost the past 5 days, weekly and every notion I have no idea of the timetable. transport, here, outside of train reservations or airline, themselves sometimes random, are alone worth a philosophical treatise on time e detachment.
India, so far, seems focus in all these viewpoints, watched, tragic, smiling, laughing (laughter in a rickshaw after a bitter tariff negotiation!), photographed sometimes. That eye, that abyss. An explosive mix of kindness, simplicity, con artists not necessarily bad. Looks ragged. And these Western doing everything they can to blend in with the indian way of life. I saw a monk in Buddhist and others coming straight out of the 60s. Everywhere and with everyone, I feel an ease of contact. And, yes, I like it. I am happy to be there. Glad to have this day again crossed the road to Gandhiji, so loved in my youth. He still has much to teach us about the best way to resist the dictatorship of the shareholding. Because this is the empire dictatorship. In-worst.
'm
in the mood for India.
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