Delhi and Mussoorie, India

I spent around five days in Delhi after my time in Chennai. My plan was to take a flight in the morning and meet Monika and her family in Delhi in the afternoon. They had arranged night flights and my flight was at 7:30am. I waited for my driver, who was 45 minutes late, until Monika's father’s brother, Gautam, told me to jump the fence and jump into the zooming driver's car.

At the airport, I discovered that my airline had been bought out and would not honor my ticket. If I wanted on the flight, I needed to buy a new ticket and then get reimbursed by my travel agent. So, I waited in line behind another angry customer who monopolized the sales counter until after the gate closed. I went back to the check-in counter, again, and handed my ticket to a different man. He typed in a few numbers, made a call, printed out a ticket, and grabbed my hand. He said, “Quickly, we’ve got to catch your plane.”

We ran through the Delhi airport (the VIP security lane, of course) and up the escalators. Finally, we approached the gate and the attendant told me, “Please don’t run, sir. We’ve been holding the plane for you.” As I walked down the aisle, a plane of eyes followed me to my seat. I have never felt my white privilege more before in my life. It is hard to imagine that a plane full of Indian businessmen could be held fifteen minutes because of an American college student running late, but white, American privilege is everywhere. I experienced it in Russia when my translator expressed disbelief because we were meeting with high-level people without appointments or credentials. I experienced it in Dubai with taxi drivers and in Singapore on the subway. I enjoy these privileges in the U.S. as well, but outside of the U.S. it is more accentuated and, to me, more troubling.

After arriving in Delhi, I made my way to the hotel and ate a big lunch. Almost immediately, I went back to my room and was sick, really sick, for the rest of the night. I had made it almost two weeks without getting sick from Indian food. In fact, I was gorging myself every night on the wonderful food until this meal. From then on, I ate more cautiously and will much less of an appetite. Bad luck, though, because I love Indian food and could have spent the rest of my time there eating and eating.

One day I was so sick I couldn’t get out of bed, so I had to cancel my interviews for the day. Unfortunately, I only had a few days in Delhi and thus did not get nearly as many interviews as Muslim organizations in Delhi deserve. The groups in Delhi were very impressive in number and in their work. The groups were increasingly intellectual and one of my interviews was with a man who is both a doctor at a research center and the General Secretary of a very active organization.

After Delhi, we went north to Mussoorie by jeep. It was about 8 or 10 hours climbing up to the foothills of the Himalayas. They ride up was both beautiful and nauseating because of my carsickness. The winding road (yes, long too…) felt like a roller coaster but we were riding in a car that had the ability to pass and take the curves extra hard. Mussoorie is a city perched on the side of the mountain. It is about five or six big switchbacks of thick city, clinging to the hillside, hoping the rain won’t was it away. And, oh, did it rain.

While we were in Mussoorie, BBC was reporting that the UN had declared this year’s monsoon to be the worst flooding in living memory. Because we were at the top of the hills, we didn’t get any flooding—it just ran past us—but in lower parts of India (closer to Calcutta) flooding was very bad. Gorky, Monika’s cousin who just finished college in Indiana and will be starting grad school this fall in D.C., said that when he went to Delhi while we were in the mountains, there was water shooting up on both sides of the car. Fortunately, he made it back up the mountain and we didn’t come down until the flooding had receded a bit.

Gautam and Sushweta, Monika’s uncle and aunt, were so kind to me my entire stay in India. We were able to talk several times about my research and I felt like I had several deep break-throughs there. Gautam and Sushweta run a non-profit called The India Foundation that works to preserve traditional Indian performing arts. They supply scholarships for young artists to continue studying, pensions for retired artists, and run study abroad programs for international students to both share and pay for the rest of their organization. What they have done is incredible and I was able to sit in on several lectures given by leading professionals in India. Their program goes through every aspect of India from economy to government to all the Indian performing arts to the environment and each lecture is presented by their leading experts.

You will also see in my next post what a wonderful cook Sushweta is… I was in heaven once my stomach finally settled down.

Photos:








































We were taken to an amazing restaurant in Delhi and given a shot cooking lesson!
















A small market I found my first day in Delhi before my stomach revolted on me.


















































Mussoorie (pronounce: "Moo-soo-ree")































Rickshaw in the fog





















Monika gazing at the mountains
















































The Himalayan Mountains






































Reading the final Harry Potter book together...








Sushweta cooking a wonderful meal!

















The house in Mussoorie





























Monika trying to check her email from the foothills of the Himalayas (made possible by a cellphone card)





























Gorky and Shelby (Gorky's girlfriend from Colorado)
























































In Mussoorie








Sweet shop

















Village boys trying to sell us greeting cards







Pushad's General Store, literally everything