Day 38: Leaving Delhi

Ruuma's place is very nice. I was here before going to Lucknow but only to have dinner. This time I actually stayed. It lacks all the tackiness of India, nothing gaudy, nothing ostentatious, everything in good taste, but that's the advantage of staying in an artist's apartment. On our way to the train station I was comforted by the familiarity of a city I stayed in for just a few days nearly a month ago. A few noteworthy observations to the train station and from the train itself. So many parrots, the same kinds I saw when I was in Delhi the first morning. The streets are noticeably much cleaner than in Lucknow, but there are plenty of homeless people sleeping on the sidewalks and the medians of big streets. Since it was early in the morning, there was nearly no traffic, until we got close to the train station, A zoo it was in front of it because buses were trying to leave or even make U-turns from both sides of the road the runs in front of the railroad station while panicking rail passengers swarm the place along with empty rickshaws starting the day. I just enjoyed taking pictures while being stuck in traffic. The train station itself is a massive zoo of chaos. Ruuma and her daughters hired a porter with white hair and beard, probably in his fifties. He placed both huge bags on his head and walked up and down the stairs. Quite amazing. She said that she supported porters, even pay them more than double the price ceiling the government imposes, just to sustain this old profession in her society. Very memorable, and I wish we weren't in such a hurry so I can note it down with a photograph. There were plenty of migrants judging from the poverty they wore in their clothes and faces. They all just stood or sat on the floor. But a woman was lying face-down on the floor, all limbs extended as if she were dead. She was probably not even sick, but I say that only because I assume that if she were sick, or dead, someone would be carrying her off now. She was just there, among her fellow migrants seeking a new life in the capital. She must have been so tired, so exhausted, so beaten down by life, that she didn't care what she was putting her face on and how she took so much space, she just lay there. The car we were in was even fancier than the one in the train to Lucknow. The seats are like airplane ones, and there's no need for fans in the ceilings to repel mosquitos. There are window screens you can pull up and down depending on how much sunlight you want down. There's almost a feel of Western standards here! From within the window I could see a lot of towns and country side. I saw a few wild peacocks! Two galloping cows. And of course, plenty of poverty. People working in the fields, now I understand, must prefer even the most menial jobs in a city. Sitting there in the merciless sun harvesting or seeding or fertilizing. I saw women with huge bags of green stuff on their heads. Though it probably didn't weigh more than the bricks I saw a woman carried on her head in Lucknow, the pay in the city must be better and more consistent. Got motion sickness writing this blog while on the train (this sentence is written many hours later). I hate that feeling, this nauseating feeling that arouses so many other feelings inside, like self-loathing for allowing something so preventable to happen. I knew I would get sick and even after the first signs of motion sickness I still went on. Hopped into a taxi and traveled through the mountains on very curvy roads, talk about aggravating the motion sickness, but thankfully Ruuma gave me some sweet (of course) pellets against motion sickness. Could be just sugar pills, but I got better. Ate in a very good restaurant, really the best food the whole trip. Is it objective? After all, we haven't had any great food for a while! The homemade meals were good, but not amazing. Today we behaved like recently released prisoners found in a buffet with all you can eat. Non-stop. I would have eaten more if I didn't risk my stomach exploding in figurative or literal ways. We arrived finally in the cottage we would be staying in for a few days in these foothills of the Himalayas near the capital of Shimla. It belongs to a real character named "Mitwa". He is a Sikh but not with a turban. He has long white hair and a long white beard, almost like a sage but he talked a lot and nearly every sentence he uttered had a pun in it (which he often was the first to laugh about before most people figured it out or rolled their eyes). He said he loved the mountains and loved these mountains around him more than any others (he even compared to the Alps he saw from the airplane, but I wondered how he could make comparisons with mountains he saw from a plane and not from land!!!). He liked to tell stories too, and he had plenty. He fit my view of a certain kind of old men who spend the remainder of their lives telling stories over and over again to whoever was around. At first he seemed charming, but as the frequency of puns built up, I started to find him a little annoying. Some notes about where we were staying. Feels really like a bed and breakfast. Very homey, very welcoming. Better than our own apartment because there's actually furnitures, working kitchen, servants that work! In the middle of the woods, very quiet, a huge contrast to the month of noise and bad air and chaos. I really appreciate it. It's not the Himalayas as I have seen but it is much appreciated. Got to know the travel companions more, who know a lot about the place, very knowledgeable. Forest is a bit sad, lots of empty patches because of deforestation. Lots of resorts so there isn't a spot you could find to be all alone. The rain lashed down on us and the violent sound of the storm brought even more peacefulness to this tired mind.

traffic jam train attendants men pooping along the train tracks selling food at the station enjoying ice cream with some innocence