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