Hi again! I am going to take my chance to post as many entries as possible when I have time and good connection. It’s a real pity that I can’t access my photos in my broken hard drive. The things that I saw in New Delhi were really devastating and it is very difficult to explain without pictures. I put some photos that I received from friends or the ones I took in another city. Reality was 10 times worse. Today I wrote a short post about one ride I took in New Delhi.
On my second day in New Delhi, I met up with the German traveler Johannes for lunch and headed to see the Red Fort, the enormous palace of the Mughal Empire. In order to go there, we took a cycle rickshaw (2 person carriage with a cycle in front) from New Delhi station. First Johannes hesitated to ride on a cycle rickshaw since he felt that he is too big to be carried on someone’s back, but the only guy who agreed for a decent price was a cycle rickshaw.
From the carriage, I saw a staggering view of New Delhi. Massive loads of cars, trucks, buses, auto rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, motor bikes, bicycles and even cows were coming from everywhere. They all drove aggressively and tried to overpass everyone in front of them. There was completely no order. I wondered why no one understood that if they followed the rules and took turns, everyone will reach the destination much faster.
The fumes covered the entire city in white haze. Looking directly into the sun in early afternoon, I realized that it was only possible because of the heavy smog. The nonstop ears ripping honking made me think that Indians are completely out of their mind.
On the sidewalks littered with all sorts of trash from clay chai cups, used diapers to human feces, laid numerous homeless people. Some were a complete family with a small baby. For this child this chaos was his home, the only one he knew. I thought that in this kind of mayhem, no one will ever notice if anyone went missing or killed. One’s life could quickly vanish into the mob.
Looking at this new world from the seat of the rickshaw, I was completely overwhelmed. I had never seen so much poverty or breathed in so much pollution or had my ears exposed to such noise. I looked at Johannes who had stopped talking sometime ago. His eyes looked the exact same as mine; mind blown.
Then I looked at the small shoulders of the rickshaw driver in front of me. I looked at his sweat dripping from behind the ears on to his dark burnt neck, the wrinkles of his worn out shirt, skinny twig-like legs and his bare feet pedaling on the rusty bicycle. And how much was he getting from pedaling in this chaos for 1 hour? 50 rupees (1 USD).
All these people here worked so hard and still made nothing. That really struck my heart. There was something here in India that you never think in a developed society anymore. That is; how difficult it is to live, to eat, and to survive each day. Everyday life that I took for granted over 28 years collapsed when I saw this. Life was not a easy thing. To live each day itself was like a battle. When I realized this, tears started to fill both eyes. I was barely able to hold myself together.
I was ashamed of myself, always complaining about small things like my job didn’t give me enough vacations or my flat was small. At least I had one. Never did I thank the fact that I was born in a wealthy country like Japan more than this day. This could’ve been my life.
That night I boarded my first Indian train to Varanasi. The train was packed with an awful amount of people going home for Diwali holidays. Since I took the cheapest compartment without a door, food vendors and merchants came in yelling pass my bed all night. Every 2 minutes, I would hear the sound of jingling bells following by beggars singing terrible songs who would then push their baskets in front of me asking for change.
Despite of this, I slept very well, 7hrs straight. Only problem was that I couldn’t go to the toilet. From 10 meters away, the dense layer of ammonia surrounded my face taking away the courage to enter the booth. Although there wasn’t a real necessity because it was so hot in the wagon and everything I drank evaporated immediately.
In my compartment, I met Damian, a Canadian guy who was staying at the same hotel in New Delhi. This innocent and warm hearted friend was tricked by the turban owner, the very same one who claimed that he can write a whole theory of scamming, who took him to a fake tourist bureau to purchase a 15 day tour of India for 700 USD. That’s not cheap, in a country where you can travel for 10 USD per day.
However, I guess it is probably impossible to experience India’s beauty without suffering from unbeautiful things. My next stop Varanasi was going to teach me all about this.
＊A Little Favor＊Please help my blog gain publicity by clicking on the “Japan Travel Blog Ranking” banner on the left if you’re a PC user or at the very bottom if you’re browsing through a smartphone. By clicking once a day from one device, you’ll help me raise my ranking which will attract more people to view my blog. Clicking is completed once you are sent to another website with a list of blogs. Thank you very much!