India - Day 1

(Original post date - January 11, 2017)

Going to India

My very good friend, Cynthia, invited me to be in her wedding. She is not Indian, but her fiancée is, and it therefore made sense for them to have the wedding in India. She said she understood if I couldn’t make it. But the truth is that I would be happy to participate in her wedding no matter where it was held, and to have a reason and the chance to go to India only made it an even more appealing prospect.

Going to India alone is somewhat frightening and also not because I’ve traveled to SE Asia many times and assume that most aspects will be similar, and therefore, doable for me. I was a bit of an emotional wreck after breaking up with my boyfriend over the phone while I waited for my flight from JFK to Delhi. The plane ride was long and full of tears, a couple movies (American Sniper, and Finding Dory), a book I absolutely hated (The Girls), and a bag of crushed peanuts which I thought was like internationally banned. I felt like I was back in 1960. But I guess these international flights to India throw caution to the wind when it comes to the dangerous peanut.

I didn’t sleep at all on the plane, partly because I never have an easy time of it, and partly because I was too distraught to think of anything but my doomed love life. Once I arrived in Delhi I had to make a domestic transfer which was not a new concept to me, but played out a little differently than I expected. The visa/passport checkpoint was a long wait, but worth it in the end because it gave me time to frantically text Cynthia to find out what address to write on my arrival card, a detail we failed to prepare for. Once that was settled I discovered I was in the wrong line. But I finally got through that mumbo jumbo and sailed past “customs” and rechecked my suitcase for the next flight to Pune. It was then that I suffered a slight casualty. My poor, unopened bottle of Smartwater was not allowed to come with me because I had to go through another security check. The sign also said no nail clippers, but thankfully (or not) security isn’t as tight as it should be and no one noticed the pair inside my purse (left there by my ex, which brought on more sappy tears). Had I known they weren’t as strict, I would have attempted to sneak that bottle of water through because as I accidentally learned on my return trip, they also don’t notice your open and half consumed water bottles. Oh well. There’s no use crying over spilled water.

This was my first time going through a separate metal detector designated for women only, and then be led into a little room with a curtain so that security could pat me down in private. I guess in this part of the world that would be a horrible thing for men to witness. Or a sexy thing? Although it did not feel that way to me.

My layover in Delhi was super long, and my lack of sleep was finally catching up with me. I was having difficulty keeping my eyes open, and eventually found a lounge chair to take a little catnap on. Once on the plane, I managed to sleep a little more, but was woken up for food service, which from my experience is a normal occurrence but still angered me just the same.

When the plane landed in Pune, I expected the weather to be hot as hell, but to my surprise it was actually a bit chilly. I didn’t take off my grandpa sweater that I almost didn’t even bring on this trip. After I retrieved my long awaited for luggage, I yet again blazed through “customs” which I should mention means that there is a sign reading CUSTOMS, but no one there to man the station, so I just walked out.

My international phone plan did not include much else besides texting and my texts didn’t seem to be getting through to Cynthia, so I bit the bullet and made the $1 per minute phone call to find out where she would be picking me up. Soon I was in the car with Cynthia and her husband to be, Arun, and plowing through the dusty streets toward my accommodations. I stayed with a woman named Suman who runs a community program through YWAM. It reminded me a lot of Cambodia. Similar architecture, bedding, bathrooms, etc. Cynthia was hospitable enough to leave me a little welcome basket stocked with essentials. A bottle of water, tissues, a bag of dried figs, coconut oil, and a chapstick that smells like Play-Doh (which I am using as I write this) to name a few. Oh! And a kurta.

After I brushed my teeth with sink water and then panicked for a while about whether or not I should have done that (see in Cambodia you can as long as you don’t swallow any of the water, but here I don’t know, so I spit vigorously until my mouth was a dry, dry desert) I got into bed and slept.

India Day 1

I woke up feeling like a zombie, but managed to take a cold shower (since I am an idiot and couldn’t figure out the water heater switch) and eat a late breakfast left out for me by the lovely Suman and/or her maid. An omelet, an apple, and a cup of tea. After Suman gave me a set of keys and explained how to lock and unlock the doors, Cynthia and her mom, Valerie, came over and we chatted until Arun arrived.

Since India is in the process of changing all their money over to new bills, there isn’t much to be exchanged, and you could end up standing in line only to get $30 worth of rupees. So Arun was kind enough to exchange some money for me from his personal stash.

Me: (seeing an old man on the bill) I like this guy. He’s cute.

Cynthia: Katie, that’s Ghandi.

Me: Oh. (pause) Well I still think he’s cute.

Then we all went around the corner to the tailor where I would get measured for my sari blouse. We waited while a random (or not so random as I found out) man came in and poured us all tiny “shots” of Chai in very thin plastic cups.

Once that was all done, Arun took Valerie to the essential oils store while Cynthia and I walked to The Coffee Jar. They were still in the process of opening up shop, so I got my arms waxed at the place next door on a whim while we waited.  After feeling less like an Italian monster, we ordered a pot of coffee to share and chatted about life and love (or the lack thereof in my case), until lunch time when we met up with Arun and Valerie at Meena’s Point. We ate some delicious Indian food (goat kheema, channa masala, etc), I learned some words in Hindi or Sanskrit or whatever, and drank more Chai tea which I had to put the breaks on because I had basically just been having caffeine all day and I didn’t want to pass out on my first official day in India.

After lunch we parted ways with Arun and took an Uber (who knew they had this in India) to the mall. We shopped for souvenirs for Valerie, and I found a pair of shoes for the wedding. After circling around and around for what felt like days, periodically being passed by a train full of kids down the corridors, we attempted to make our way to a place to get dinner and mango ice cream. Not speaking the language made that impossible so we went back inside the mall to eat. I started to feel a little icky in my tummy so Cynthia and her mom just ate ice cream and after much discussing and gesturing to some Indian rickshaw drivers, we ended up in another Uber on our way back to my house where I organized my clothes for the rest of my stay and went straight to bed with only a handful of almonds for dinner.