Day 2, New Delhi: Hazrat Nizamuddin dargah, Qutub Minar, Bakhtiar Kaki dargah, Lajpat Nagar

I kept a journal during my travels and am going to transcribe those entries here.

We started the day with saint Hazrat Nizamuddin's blessings and it was truly another emotionally fulfilling moment. However, even though it pains me to say this, I did become more adept at ignoring beggars. Yesterday I was admonished by Hajji Saab that the dargah provides food for the needy and that was the best way to contribute to the needy in the neighborhood. But I couldn't ignore them for long. This time I had 10 rupee bills ready, which I don't think made anyone happy but they were snatched away all the same. Two relentless little boys kept following me and I even conversed with them for a bit. I had to admire their tenacity as well as good humor, given the circumstance.

Once in the car I realized that my wallet was missing. I immediately thought of those two little boys and figured they must have conspired to steal it. I'm ashamed now of how I jumped to those conclusions, without hesitation, when in actuality the wallet fell in the room on my way out the door.

While in the car, we passed more sights of poverty including little tent cities along the sides of the roads. There was also a startling moment which included a young, very pregnant woman; her toddler son; and another son, about 7 years old. He came up to the car and performed acrobatics while the mother encouraged him on. My heart felt pangs at his eager young face and, despite myself, I pulled down the window to give him some money. I was very aware of how I was slowly becoming a part of a vicious cycle and why Indians hate tourists handing out money to beggars or children.

Our main destination for the day was the Qutub Minar complex, which was breathtaking, imposing and serene, all at the same time. The minaret, which is the tallest in India and the tallest brick minaret in the world, was a sight to behold: the intricacy of the carvings, the textures, the shapes and the sizes were a lot to take in. There was beautiful and unique architecture everywhere, among the well preserved buildings as well as the ruins. I loved how interactive the place was: I could weave around the columns, touch the carvings, climb into little nooks.

The history of the place is amazing. Construction of the minaret, using materials from the ruins of Hindu temples, began nearly 800 years ago and was finished by the Muslim Delhi Sultan Iltutmish (who was originally a slave); thus the end of Hindu rule and the ascent of Muslim rule was marked. The architectural inspiration was actually from a minaret in Afghanistan.

The Qutub Minar was supposedly built as a Victory Tower, in celebration of the overthrow of the Rajputs. The ruins of the Quwwat-ul-Islam Masjid (The Might of Islam Mosque) is pictured on the left.

The minaret is made of red sandstone and has beautiful and intricate carvings of Quranic verses.

The Quwwat-ul-Islam mosque was built upon from the ruins of Hindu and Jain temples, which were destroyed by the first Delhi Sultan, Qutbuddin Aibak.

There were some overly eager Indian boys who wanted to take pictures with me. My mother declined on my behalf, however (as to why, we shall never know). She jokingly said, "You can take a picture with me instead," and they took her up on it! It was all actually very funny. I did notice that while I was posing for my own camera, one of those boys' cameras was squarely aimed at me.

My mom in the yellow/gray sweater, my aunt draped in the white shawl.

Today was my first time using a public restroom in India, and I assumed that it would be nice and neat (nearly up to Western standards) since it was situated in the world-famous Qutub Complex and since they were even charging a fee. What I encountered was a dingy, dirty-ish restroom with only a few stalls, no toilet paper, and one old and harsh bar of soap. I resolved to never again use a public bathroom if I could help it. 

I also started to really notice India's trash problem. Trash is EVERYWHERE. There are signs all over Delhi imploring the populace to "Keep Delhi Clean" but so far it is to no avail. The streets are the people's garbage can, to a large extent.

Trash in the parking lot of the Qutub Minar complex.

Afterwards we headed to the dargah of the Sufi saint Qutbuddin Bakhtiar Kaki, which is the oldest dargah in Delhi. After contributing to the food donations we went through all the 10 rupee bills we had reserved for the needy, but we were in for a surprise when a large group of Indian women followed us out and demanded money. Oh, and we found our car minus the driver (who had taken this time to get some food). I went through a very unsettling 5 minutes with these ladies hovering over us, although it was downright comedic at one point when one of the women asked us where the driver was, followed up by a suggestion for us to call his mobile.

It's an India tradition to buy flowers as offerings for the saint. What happens is these flowers are taken by a dargah caretaker (since women were not allowed inside the tomb) and thrown over the tomb.

The best direct view I could get, since women were not allowed inside. The reasoning is that the saint was unmarried in his life, so women should not be allowed directly within out of respect.

We followed up with more shopping excursions at South Extension and then back to Lajpat Nagar. There is such a great vibe in the marketplaces because there is so much to absorb: colorful merchandise everywhere, food vendors on all of the streets, a mix of Eastern and Western, the relentless honking of the vehicles, etc

South Extension is more upscale with a lot of well-known Western shops.

Lajpat Nagar Central Market is so lively in the nighttime.

Day 1, New Delhi: Hazrat Nizamuddin dargah, Lajpat Nagar

I kept a journal during my travels and am going to transcribe those entries here.

Our  guesthouse is situated right at the edge of the the historic Nizamuddin Basti, a 14th century neighborhood that is bursting with life. However, this neighborhood also looks rundown, which makes me wonder exactly what the socioeconomic condition of this area is.

I thought I looked Indian but no one was fooled.

A narrow and tight alley next to our guesthouse. This basti is full of alleys like this; it feels like a maze!

Walking towards the dargah and taking in the views.

A historic baoli (step-well) right by the entrance to the dargah.

The dargah (or ziyarat) of the Sufi saint Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya was breathtaking. Every corner held something holy and fascinating and I could have spent hours just soaking it all in. There really is a special vibe to this place The colors pop out, the art and style both familiar and new at the same time. It feels simply exquisite to be in an Islamic holy site, praying with other Muslims and hearing the azaan. I felt at peace.

The saint's tomb is over 700 years old.

Beautiful details all over.

 "The wilayat (domain) of gnosis and faith can suffer decay. The wilayat of compassion can not." (Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya)

The peace did not last very long, unfortunately.

I can't believe how quickly my mind desensitized itself to the plight of the homeless and begging children, mothers, elderly and disabled. In retrospect, I think I was so shocked that my brain decided to shut down instead of having to deal with reality. I just didn't know what to do when one beggar suddenly multiplied into ten and they wouldn't leave me alone as they pulled at my clothes and demanded money: I guess that's what happens when you  hand out 100 rupee bills in the dargah. I felt this intense claustrophobia as well as denial - "Is this really happening right now? Are there literally beggars everywhere? Am I seriously getting mobbed by women, men and children?" I had no idea how to make sense of all of this.

Even now, I can't stop reflecting on it: it's just too much, and too disturbing. I tried to blank my mind but I felt, and still feel, horrified inside - I don't even know how to react to all of this. There was a young girl with her blind brother begging for money, and my heart was shattered yet paralyzed with fear of the crowds. The crowd of beggars dispersed once Hajji Saab (our host and one of the shrine's caretakers) started to yell at them to back away, which they did immediately. Walking out of the dargah (which feels like a maze) I was still too taken aback and stunned to even pay attention to where I was going.
 
After re-orienting myself and suppressing the insanity of getting mobbed by beggars, we made plans to move on with our day. This is the part where I realized that riding in an autorickshaw is truly a death-defying experience. I can't even describe Delhi traffic: it surpasses the craziest driving you have ever seen in your life. There were cars, trucks, bicycles, bicycle rickshaws, autorickshaws, motorbikes all cutting each other off with a cacophony of honking. Honking is actually a way of life, as is sharing one lane with multiple vehicles. My mother, aunt and I were literally in fear throughout the whole ride.

Shopping in Lajpat Nagar was both interesting and claustrophobia inducing. It was a Saturday and there were people jostling around on every corner with lots of shopkeepers calling out from all sides, trying to get our business. There was so much to look at that shopping wasn't even really much on my mind (although that didn't stop me from buying bangles and earrings, all overpriced. I just didn't have the heart to bargain.)

The Central Market in Lajpat Nagar.

So many bangles to choose from!

Of course we encountered more beggars. No amount of research, or guidebooks or indiamike, can ever prepare a person for the sheer number of beggars everywhere. Even with a shalwar kameez they all know that I'm a foreigner. Women walk around with babies; women recite the Quran with pleas; women in supplication, always with a hand out. I noticed that a lot of the beggars I encountered were young or middle-aged women. It got to the point that I didn't know if I should feel horrified, brokenhearted, or simply annoyed. Probably all three.

I had a day that was both enjoyable and disturbing, and my nerves felt frayed. I wanted to experience "the real world" and I got more than I bargained for.

Welcome to India... the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Well, I wanted to go somewhere that would turn my world upside now and give me a more profound perspective on life... ladies and gentlemen, India did not disappoint in this regard. I spent over two weeks traveling through North India (New Delhi, Agra, Jaipur and Ajmer) and no amount of research could have ever prepared me for the things I saw and experienced.

Almost everyone there can speak English to some extent, and friendly Indians love to inquire about your background and as to whether you "love" India. Having been asked that question, "do you love India?" many times, I realized that each answer came back with a diplomatic twist, some of which included: "Oh wow, well it's such an interesting place!" or "Oh wow, well it's so different from home!" That's because I didn't know whether I loved India or not, since it was honestly such a shock to my system.

On the one hand, there is something interesting to observe everyday, on every corner. India has such a deep history that is remarkably preserved in the forms of tombs, palaces, etc and the sights are simply unparalled to anything I had ever seen in my life. I loved hearing the sound of azaan everyday and feeling my spirituality grow.The delicious food and snacks were always something to look forward to. I even warmed up to bargaining in the markets and realized that it was pretty fun for the customer as well as the seller.

However, it was the other side that I had a hard time internalizing. Let me give you some context. I did not stay at some fancy resort, with an insulated group tour, or even in a comfortable middle class suburb. I stayed near the Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya Dargah, in a historical neighborhood that is undergoing renovation, that is teeming with beggars, that is part-rundown but all-fascinating, and that is totally safe but slightly uncomfortable. The uncomfortable part comes from the fact that I was a well-to-do Westerner in an area with many impoverished Indians.

The first day, I was so startled by the poverty around me that I handed out a 100 Rupee note to a beggar with outstretched hands and pleas to help feed her children (100 INR equals about 2 USD). That was a HUGE mistake because more came (which was fine at first) until it became a veritable mob. I was with my mom and aunt, and I started panicking. Our 100 rupee bills were done for, I was not about to start handing out 500 rupee bills. It was like a scene right out of a movie, and I was feeling claustrophobic and like a trapped animal. Someone inside the dargah came to our help and dispersed the crowd, with an admonition for us to not hand out money - he suggested that we donate toward feeding the poor (the langhar). That was easier said than done. We made a daily pilgrimage to the dargah and how was I supposed to look at these children, these women, these disabled men and just do nothing? It was a problem I had to deal with everyday... sometimes I was generous, sometimes I avoided their piercing looks, sometimes I outrighted yelled at them to leave me alone. Even though I donated towards the food distribution and bought food tickets to hand out on several occasions, it was not the same as handing out cold hard cash.

Here's a picture that is worth a thousand words.

Personally, I am against taking candid pictures of the poor just to highlight their unfortunate circumstances. This picture came about because I was being a typical tourist in the car and aimlessly clicking away. At first I thought I took a picture of Connaught Place and then realized that I unwittingly photographed three children. The one in the middle is missing part of his leg, right below the knee. I noticed this as his head went up and he made eye contact with my ever wider-growing eyes. In retrospect, he knew that I was ripe for the picking, so to speak, and he consequently made a mad dash for my traffic-trapped car. Banging on the doors, he begged for money and I rolled the window down hoping that the bill would leave him satisfied. The opposite happened: the other boys started banging on the doors too, demanding money, as did our original boy who still wanted more. This continued for several minutes and it was one of the most unsettling experiences of my life.

After a while, I just had to accept that this was a way of life for some of the poor - begging, sometimes aggressively, was their business and how they made their livelihood. I was not so much adverse to handing out money as I was to the inevitable mobs that would form. Where there is one, there are ten more, followed by a mob. That is not an exaggeration. Also, I noticed that I would be targeted as opposed to other passerby because they remembered that I gave money (and because I looked Western).

This was my reality, every single day that I was there. Inside the dargahs, out in the markets (even the upscale ones), in the rail stations, by the tourist areas... multiple times a day, every day, for two weeks. This was part of the "real" India that I experienced. It really opened my eyes to how the neediest in the world live... seeing their begging lifestyles, from the children to the elderly, seeing the sprawling slums alongside the rail tracks, seeing people pick through the garbage, seeing horribly maimed and disfigured people begging for a few coins. It was jarring how I could go from spending thousands of rupees on a sari and then discreetly handing a 10 rupee bill while praying that I wouldn't get mobbed by others. I felt like my brain refused to acknowledge what was happening and pretended that it was just another normal day of shopping. Other times I completely broke down, after seeing little children working when they should be in school. I actually felt bipolar those first few days, as I would quickly go from enjoyment to depression and back again.

I would feel shock, along with guilt and such qualms of the conscious as I had never experienced before. I have such a cushy life at home, never wanting for anything... while these people... words still can't even explain the tumult I was feeling. I would vacillate between depression, to anger at my sleeve getting tugged yet again, to heartbreak, to irritation, to guilt, to resentment - I am on VACATION, stop battering my conscience!!!!! I stopped handing out money after the first several days, preferring to donate to charitable organizations instead. I would also buy the children sweets and toys, while buying food tokens and handing them out (while being totally incensed at some people outright refusing a food card, asking for money instead!) If I did give away money, it was never to children - only to older women and men.

So, do I love India? I think I do. It is such a unique and fascinating country, with sights and sounds completely unlike what I was used to here. It is also thoroughly modern in many regards and economic progress can be seen everywhere. However, even with all the advancements, so many people have been left behind in the gutter (figuratively and literally). Emotionally, India is a lot to handle for the first-time Western tourist and it's hard to accept the human degradation that is juxtaposed with the grand sights or the lively bazaars. But why would I want to mentally put that aside and pretend it doesn't exist? I feel like a more awakened individual now, and these experiences with unfathomable poverty has intensified my desire to help the less fortunate and to live a more simple lifestyle. I've also come to greatly appreciate every convenience my Western lifestyle allows me.

I'll end with this quote from Helen Keller, which means even more to me now that it did before I left U.S. soil: “Instead of comparing our lot with that of those who are more fortunate than we are, we should compare it with the lot of the great majority of our fellow men. It then appears that we are among the privileged.” 

Privileged, indeed. India has definitely taught me that.