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Stories from Trip to Delhi March 2004
The following stories are from the experiences of this year’s trip to New Delhi in March. The amount of Family reunions, Dinners/Teas, Shopping, visits to Cultural events and Dramatic twists must be some kind of record. There was even a 24 hour mystery case solved by our resident Sherlock Holmes (AKA MamaJi) involving disappearance of a large sum of money that added to the excitement of the trip. It is true to say that we arrived back in London with a sigh of relief and totally exhausted.
Uppinder and Jasvinder from Sydney and New Jersey respectively joined us during the March trip and this added another dimension to the range of activities planned daily.
The stories:
· Pooja Sood. Everyone knows Marisol’s interest in Art, so when we get together with Uppinder, he suggests we meet Pooja who has an Art organisation in Delhi, and whom Uppinder knew during his time in Chandigarh, many years ago. Marisol is very interested when it appears that Pooja has some artists studios near her house that we can go and visit.
Pooja and
Marisol outside the Khoj Artists Studios
We are having tea with Pooja and admiring her art collection, and she is telling us a bit about herself. We learn that she runs an organisation which allows artists from the world to come on residencies to Delhi, where accommodation and studio space is provided through funding arranged by the organisation. The name of the organisation is “KHOJ”, and she offers to take us to meet the artists and see the studio space. Marisol is interested, and begins to tell Pooja about an artist friend in London who had recently been to an event in Bangalore in India for a two week residency and exhibition.
Pooja asks “what’s the artists name”. Marisol says Melina, and before she can finish the sentence, Pooja says “Oh, Melina Birkenwald, I invited her to Bangalore, that was an event organised me!!”. We are amazed at the coincidence. Later Marisol buys a magazine called Art India, and inside is an article on the event in Bangalore with pictures of Melina’s work!! We buy several copies to bring back to London.
What a small world.
· The Case of the Missing Cash – When I say that almost everything happened during the two weeks Marisol & I were in Delhi, its no exaggeration. This story reads like a Sherlock Holmes mystery. Mamaji is SH, and he was brilliant in this role.
I had at some point rather a lot of money in my wallet which I carried around in my bag, this being the result of various financial arrangements with Dad, the Bank and Mom’s instructions (with cash) to buy presents for all and sundry in England and Spain.
One evening when Marisol & I are out shopping, and we did rather overdo this activity, I take out my wallet and discover that I have little cash left when I thought that I still had a significant amount left. I am slightly confused, maybe I have miscalculated what I have but I am sure that I have lost some. On the way home I am in thought and calculating the money spent and how much I should still have but cant be absolutely accurate.
Slightly worried we look for arrive home and notice that there is an envelope missing which also contained some money. We begin to notice that our suitcases have been opened and left in disarray, our clothes have been searched, all the windows and doors are open and a state of panic sets in. The bin contains the missing envelop ripped to shreds with the money missing. Looks like nothing but money is missing.
We walk down to Dad’s floor below ours, they have been out with Sis to see an ophthalmologist and have just returned, to find that there is policeman at the door, who is saying something about a phone call to the police, from the house by a “distressed” female identified by a name which is not familiar to us.
The plot thickens. We convince the police that there is a mistake about the call, but I have yet to reveal the robbery to the family. A gloom descends once the extent of the entry upstairs is known, everyone examines everything. Dad looks like he himself had done the robbery!
After a while Mamaji (now known as Sherlock Holmes arrives. The police has been examining their side of the house as well. Mamaji is convinced that the culprit has to be the maid, who was at home alone, and could also have made the phone call. But she is so young and we find it hard to believe, suspecting some construction workers next door. I am resigned to a loss, we calculate something like 12 or 13 thousand Rupees (about $250) are missing.
Mamaji has an idea, we keep the maid occupied while he searches the maid’s room. No money, but some expensive cosmetics which look suspicious. Its late, we agree to renew the investigation in the morning. We sleep with hearts in our mouths. Any noise, we fear the worst!
In the morning Mamaji dispatches one of his employees to inquire from all shops in the neighbourhood, if they have sold some of the discovered cosmetics the day before. Sure enough one pharmacy has seen a girl who has bought some expensive items using large denomination notes, and are willing to identify the girl. The mystery is soon resolved, we confront the girl’s mother with the evidence. The girl admits the deed and somehow from the maid’s room the mother appears with a pile of notes that have been found miraculously!
Dad and I feel and look a lot better.
· Dad’s car – Generally taxis in Delhi are relatively cheap. A whole day with a driver may cost around $10. So normally I prefer not to drive Dad’s car, as driving in Delhi is a nightmare. One day we want to make a trip to the Delhi market known as Dili Haat. It’s a lovely state run market for clothes and other goods crafted in the villages all around India. Very well organised and excellent quality, and prices!
Dad says that we should take his car, and Uppinder who is more used to driving in Delhi, volunteers to drive. Fine. Dad warns that the petrol tank is empty, and we should refuel immediately near home. We agree, but while starting our drive we begin to talk and due to the collective effect of the chatting and old age, we forget the petrol requirement totally. After about half an hour we remember with horror that the warning light is on and we could run out of petrol on the three lane highway. We look out for a petrol station but generally have gone past them by the time we have seen them.
Soon in a state of some worry we arrive at the market and find with a sigh of relief that there is a petrol station around the corner. We fill the tank, pay, and in trying to get going, find that the car does not start!!! More anxiety, some men push the car, and we drive around the corner to park outside the market. There is a small raised bank on which several cars are parked. Uppinder takes the car up the bank and parks.
As we climb out of the car we can smell the fumes of a fire and joke that perhaps the car is on fire. Having locked the car we are about to move off, when a policeman approaches and warns us that we cant park at that spot. “Why” we all protest “everyone else is”. The policeman smiles and says “parking is allowed here but there is a fire under the car”! We rush in panic to move the car!
Now consider the worst case scenario:
We run out of petrol on the highway.
We walk a mile to get petrol, and when we get back to the car it does not start.
At the market when we return from shopping the car has been burnt and destroyed
What do we tell Dad?
· Geeta Kapoor & Vivan Sundaram
Many of our friends and family know that Marisol is part of this Artist group known as the London Biennale, and at earlier visits, David Medalla, who is the chief of the group, has suggested that we should look up Geeta, who is a famous curator, and among her achievements is the Century City exhibition at the Tate modern in London, and several books on Art. Although we managed to talk to Geeta by phone on one or two occasions but we never managed to see her.
This year, we found that the Delhi press had in its cultural listings, an installation by an artist called Vivan Sundaram, and Marisol & I decided to go and have a look. To our surprise when we arrive, we find the whole group from Pooja’s Khoj academy there, and that an evening of discussion with an invited presenter, is in prospect. All this seems very interesting and we decide to stay.
We notice a desk in one corner with some magazines and books for sale and several people who look like the artist and others chatting. I notice one of the books has Geeta’s name as the author and I toy with the thought that one of the ladies in the group is perhaps Geeta herself.
I ask if that is possible, and am surprised to find that is indeed the case.
I identify myself and Marisol, and she remembers talking to us from the year before. We begin to talk, and it turns out that Vivan, whose installation we have come to see, is her partner, and it so happens that he knows David from having exhibited together in other parts of the world.
Smiles all around. The evening belongs to a more sinister discussion about the plight of shanty dwellers who are being offered small plots for homes thirty miles from Delhi, where they have no work and no amenities like shops markets and other social spaces to survive & live.
· Khari Bowli – From earlier visits Marisol has heard that there is a street in Old Delhi, that only has shops that sell spices. Imagining a colourful display, she is keen to go see for herself. We make a plan to visit Old Delhi, to revisit some Saree shops and then go and investigate. Everyone at home says that we should ask for a street called Khari Bowli. Jas & I deduce that Khari Bowli means a lake with chalky or murky waters.
We arrive in Old Delhi, and begin to inquire about the street, everyone knows it, apparently its just down the road, we cant miss it. “You will be near when you begin to start sneezing”, volunteers one local with a knowing grin. It turns out to be farther we are led to believe, but sure enough as we get nearer we feel itchy eyes and nose, begin to notice many people sneezing and similar symptoms.
We go around a corner and there it is. Its not as colourful as we imagined because most of the spices are in sacks, for wholesale business, but shop displays are beautiful. Lot of the spices are in their ungrounded state. Turmeric looks a bit like ginger pieces. There are all kind of exotic stuff. Wild smell of spices everywhere. The spices rub shoulders with dry fruit and other concoctions that bring childhood memories and recollections of eating such things when Jas & I were kids. No sign of a lake.
We take a rickshaw back to where we started. The street is really wide but the traffic is restricted to a single lane in the centre. The rest of the street is full of cart loads of spices in sacks!
· Holi – Our visit includes the day of the Holi festival. This is a huge festivity where it s customary to spend the entire morning sprinkling colour on all your neighbours and anyone who happens to go by, or you meet in the street. Everyone buys loads of colours in large quantities for days in advance, to use on the day of the festival. Large mounds of colours are on beautiful displays at shops in the markets. One can also buy what look like bicycle pumps which are like giant syringes. These are used with buckets of coloured water. You use the piston to suck the water into the syringe and then can spray the water really far at someone or have a colour spraying competition with people in the street.
On the morning in question Uppinder Marisol & I spend hours walking around the neighbourhood. Marisol is fascinated by the feeling of friendliness all around. Everyone wishes “Happy Holi” to everyone else. There are street parties where everyone invites us to food and drink. There are many people in little Garden fountains, where all the water has been coloured and everyone is playing and “having fun”. Marisol is cautious and does not accept any invitations to join in, although the weather is very warm and water looks inviting. A woman pours a jug full of blue water all over Marisol, and its like Marisol’s baptism into the spirit of the festival.
It takes us hours to wash all the colour out of our hair, but it’s a great experience, perhaps a must for once in everyone’s life. Comparable to the “battle of flowers” and “Tomatines” or tomato fight festivals of Spain.