Europe invades the Barbarian Gym (grr)

With a rather oppressive work schedule at the office (Mon-Sat from about 9 am to 9 pm, with every other Saturday off), I noticed that I had been getting little or no exercise. Luckily for me, a gym opened up right in the Sunder Nagar market -- literally a stone's throw from where I'm staying.

The Barbarian Gym (pictured) is not much different from an American gym, except that it's probably a little more expensive (any outfit like this has high costs from the extortionate import duties on machinery such as gym equipment -- same goes for electronics and furniture).

I went to the gym early one morning last week with my iPod in hand. The membership is low because the gym is very new, so I was one of perhaps three people working out in the whole three story complex.

Headphones on, I went straight up to the treadmill in the cardio area. I turned on a dance melody I've had for a while -- it has Indian lyrics and distinctively Indian beats. I felt it appropriate given my setting, and it was a nice change of pace from my usual gym mix consisting of cheap power ballads and one choice song by Eminem (nominated for a Grammy, I might add).

As the music started to fade out, signalling the end of the Indian dance beat, the gym's music system became more and more audible.

What was playing?

The Final Countdown

Even in the middle of a south-Asian country, I can't get away from crappy 80s music by Europe.

Afternoon Naps in Sunder Nagar

Enjoying the sun and a cool breeze in the market garden.

A stray enjoying the heat of the warm pavement after
what was probably a chilly night.

An Evening with Titou (Part Deux): Humayun's Tomb and a Delhi Right of Passage

Read part 1 of this story

"You go pay, and I'll be here when you come out" said Titou as we pulled up to the gate of Humayun's Tomb.

As I approached the ticket booth, I noticed that they charge more to foreigners than they do to Indians. In fact, it's a 1000% markup. I guess the monument, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is meant to be a park for the Indians who work in the area and as a tourist attraction for foreigners.

As I passed under through the deep gateway tunnel, I gazed upon the Tomb for the first time. It's beautiful in pictures; to be in its presence is indescribable (see picture).

Humayun's Tomb is a textbook example of 16th Century Mughal-era Indian architecture, similar in style to the Taj Mahal (in fact, it's believed that this tomb was the inspiration for the Taj Mahal). The Tomb is built on a pedestal roughly 15 feet in height that meets the earth with an arcade on the perimeter. Anyone can enter into the arches and climb one of eight sets of steep, dangerously weathered staircases to reach the entrance to the grave.

The cube-like Tomb is topped with a dome; it's flanked on four corners by Chharti, or ornamental dome pavilions. Humayun's Tomb is set among a Charbagh, which is a grid-form garden bearing symbolic reference to the rivers of Islamic paradise. There were lots of families having picnics, and young couples getting cozy (Titou would later inform me that they recently had to install gates in order to close the park at night because of "frisky" young couples).

I took it as an opportunity to practice photography, as I walked around trying to capture the setting sunlight reflecting off the marble and red sandstone facade. My attempts are shown at right, but probably the best of them all is in the first post in this series.

After leaving, I wanted to check out the Qutub Minar, another famous Delhi landmark.

Titou graciously obliged, but not without a stop along the way.

Arts and Crafts

"T.K. I take you to this place, eh?" he confirmed, pointing to the postcard of the Qutub Minar.

"Yes that would be great."

"But first, I take you shopping!" he blurted as he turned on the motor of his tuk-tuk. Before I could voice my opposition, we were already on our way, and the beeping of the traffic was too loud for me to speak over it and tell him that I had zero interest in shopping.

We pulled up to the Padma Arts & Crafts center which is apparently "on the way" to the Qutub Minar. "T.K. (Hinglish for "okay") You go shop for 10 minutes, and then we go to Minar," he bargained.

"Ya know, Titou. I'm just not interested, and we're losing sunlight quickly. Can we please just go?"

"You shop."

Not one to argue with authority (at least in this setting), I went in for a look. This place had a wide variety of what one could only call "stuff." Lots of cloths and trinkets and nik naks and chachkhas. I went deeper into the store, checked out a couple of rugs, and then retreated to the Tuk-Tuk.

"You buy anything?"

"No." I replied.

Dismayed, Titou backed up the tuk-tuk (he did this by pushing, because they don't have a reverse gear). I hopped in, and he made some gesture to the doorkeeper at the shop that, if I had to guess, was disrespectful.

"He didn't give me a gift. You didn't stay long enough," he said with a smile.

Realizing that I had just been duped out of 5 precious minutes of precious daytime, I felt a tad annoyed. That was quickly replaced by an internal celebration over the fact that I had just gone through a sort of right of passage: I had been mildly swindled by a tuk-tuk driver. I was almost glad to take part in it.

We continued on to the Qutub Minar.

(to be continued . . .)

Super Stop & Shop . . . Delhi Style

Rodeo Drive. 54th & 5th. Khan Market?

Resting on top of the most expensive commercial real estate in all of India (and 24th globally), Khan Market (pictured) has a most unorthodox way of filling up high-priced FSI.

Peaking at a measly two stories, Khan Market serves up anything and everything for a portion of the Delhi population. I like to think of it as a big box retailer without a box (it's set up like a strip mall). When I initially arrived in India, I was dismayed to learn that Wal-Mart had not made any inroads with the Indian economy. Say what you want about this. I'm not really interested in debating why I wanted there to be a Wal-Mart here. It's not that I particularly enjoy or patronize the store while I'm at home; however, you can always count on it to get inexpensive necessities if you're in an unfamiliar area. When I arrived, India certainly met that qualification, but the closest Wal-Mart is in China.

Without Wal-Mart, where is the discerning shopper to go?

Mark to Market

I didn't know what to expect when Aarti (one of the friends with whom I'm staying) and I pulled up to all the confusion of the market. After a couple of visits, I can confidently say that if one were to visit the various storefronts, each no more than 10 or 12 feet wide, every necessity is available. One store sells only prescription medication. Another sells only bath and shower needs. There's a fruit stand, a butcher (sans beef), a sunglasses shop, book stores, a coffee shop, a baby shop, a dogfood store, cafes, a McDonald's (also, to my frustration, sans beef), a United Colors of Benetton, a hardware store, and general grocery stores (pictured at right), a magazine shop, etc. There's a small ice cream shop called The Big Chill, named after that stupid movie with that guy from Jurassic Park and that lady that was in Fatal Attraction.

The method of shopping is a little different than what a westerner is used to. While everyone is indeed permitted to browse the stores, I'd hesitate to say that they're encouraged to -- this is not a great idea because of the cramped floorspace. So, capitalizing on the insanely cheap labor in India, shop owners hire employees to fetch lists of items for local residents. If one were to go into a Stop & Shop looking for a certain brand of deodorant, a stock boy would tell you to "check in aisle nine." Here, a worker knows instantly whether or not they carry a product (because the inventories are so small) and they save you the hassle of finding it by going and fetching the item for you. The'll do that for an entire list if you'd like. After you pay, they'll carry your purchases out to your car, bike, tuk-tuk, elephant, or other mode of transportation (Kidding about the elephants . . . but not really. I see people riding them in the middle of the street all the time).

There's nothing earth-shattering about this market, except when you consider the knowledge that it's the most expensive real estate in India. American shopping centers on expensive real estate generally cater only to the rich, appending expensive label premiums to items of questionable utility and real value (see: Gucci, Maserati, Bang & Olfusen, etc). Whereas in India, the most expensive real estate caters not to the tastes of the uber-rich (they all go to America and Europe to shop) but to the necessities of the middle class.

Thots?

An Evening with Titou: Part I

"You like Bollywood?" asked my tuk-tuk driver as he whisked me away from the Rashtrapati Bhavan, or Presidential Palace (pictured at right).

"I'm not so sure," I replied. "There's a little too much singing and dancing for my taste, but the ones I've seen have had their charms."

"Ah!" exclaimed Titou. "You're from California! You like Hollywood?!"

"I've seen my fair share of movies, yes," I replied, grossly understating my familiarity with American films and declining to correct him on my home state (New York) for the third time in under five minutes.

"Ah. Me too," he said proudly. "I've seen many American film. You seen Titanic?!"

Such was the conversation during the better part of my evening with Titou, a Sikh tuk-tuk driver in his late 50's who charged Rs.100 per hour (roughly US $2) to drive me to all his favorite tourist attractions in New Delhi.

Racial Profiling

Prior to the aforementioned exchange, Titou (read: TEE-too)drove up to me outside the Rashtrapati Bhavan. Looking back, I guess I had set myself up to be targeted by trekking out with a Jack Baueresque manbag slung over one shoulder, a camera in one hand, and an Eyewitness guide to New Delhi in the other.

Titou shut his motor off and coasted to the gate of the palace as he approached, I guess to maintain stealth capability.

"You look like you're from California," he blurted, while consequently scaring the dahl out of me.

I corrected him, informing him that, no, I am actually from New York, and anticipated his next question by saying that I needn't hire a tuk-tuk right now, but thank you.

"Here," he said, showing me a tattered book full of postcards from a gift shop. "How long do you have?"

"A few hours."

"How about I bring you to these places?" The postcards pictured the parliament house (which I had already seen), Humayun's tomb (pictured at left), the Qutub Minar, and a smattering of other Delhi landmarks.

I initially hesitated to take him up on the offer, probably because he seemed like such a nice guy. You can chalk that reaction up to a New York upbringing ("He can't really be this nice. There must be some sort of ulterior motive! Maybe he needs a lobotomy?"). Still, I weighed my options, and decided that, given my utter lack of familiarity with the local tongue, I was better off getting mildly extorted by an English-speaking driver than by a non-English-speaking one.

So, manbag in hand, Titou and I embarked on our three-hour tour.

The Sikh Gurudwara

Titou brought me to a very well-known Gurudwara, a Sikh house of worship. In India, these temples are often gilded in gold leaf.

Before approaching the Gurudwara, which is built atop a tall, marble pedestal, we went into an anteroom for western visitors. There, we removed our shoes and socks, I covered my head with an orange scarf, and a temple employee gave me a brief introduction to proper etiquette.

Just short of the stairs was a very shallow pool where we washed our feet and hands. As Titou climbed the stairs, he would kiss his hand, and then touch each step. At the top step, he lowered himself so that he was parallel to the slope of the stairs, and kissed the top step. He repeated the ritual every time we climbed a step within the confines of the temple grounds.

As we walked across the marble pediment, barefoot along with everyone else, Titou explained how the temple offers a wide variety of basic human services to anyone who is willing to partake. Worshipers volunteer to make vegetarian food for anyone who wants a hot meal, no matter their religion, race, nationality, or even economic status. Additionally, they have hostels offered virtually free of charge (about $1 per night) all over the country. At a reflecting pool outside the temple, anyone can take a bath in safe water (photos at right).

As we entered the temple, it became apparent to me that he was not bringing me here solely for my own benefit. I read in a pamphlet something I did not know: Sikhs are required to visit the Gurudwara daily. I was coming as a tourist, but Titou was coming as a daily worshiper. This knowledge made the experience seem more authentic.

We passed the Granth Sahib (otherwise known as a Sikh holy book) which was covered and draped in fine cloth and covered by a golden arch about 15 feet high (similar in adornment to that of a Catholic tabernacle).

"Muslims, they make women sit in another room. Christians, they only let other Christians participate in their ceremonies. In Sikh religion, everyone is equal. There is only one authority, and that is the book," Titou explained with a great sense of pride.

Indeed, the entire temple, plushly carpeted with an intricate red and gold design, was populated with all different types of people. I spotted a few westerners praying amongst a multitude of Indians -- men, women, and children.

Following our excursion to the temple, I decided to surrender my itinerary for the rest of the day to Titou, having been very satisfied with his choice of bringing me to the temple. This was a blessing and, in two minor ways, a curse.

(part II to follow . . .)

Update 7/22: Part Deux

Right about now . . .

Today marks the beginning of my fifth week here in Delhi. In my time here on the other side of the world I've seen many things. The more positive elements can be described with words like "glorious," "breathtaking," "life-changing." The less positive elements arouse feelings of horror, pity, and overall confusion.

The goal of this page is to document my experience here India, with a keen interest in outlining the reasons that many journalists call this place a "country of dichotomies."

However, don't be quick to judge this as haughty observations of some self-loving angrezi (the cook's name for me, as "Ryan" has apparently proven too complex. It literally translates to the noun "British", but is used colloquially to mean "foreigner") with an overinflated sense of self importance. I'm primarily going to use this as an outlet for any and all observations I have over the next couple of months-- some may be serious in nature, but most (like many things I do) will inevitably be perceived as foolish. Stick around, as I'm sure there will be something for everyone.