After seven weeks of traipsing India—from south India to
Darjeeling, Varanasi and Rishikesh—I went back to Delhi (where I lived for ten
weeks) to fly out. Literally, I pulled into the city at 11 pm, crashed with a
friend, and headed to the airport the next morning.
It felt just a bit like coming home. For seven weeks I’d pulled into a new city, uncertainly pulled out my guidebook, and slowly figured out where to go and how to get there. Sometimes I walked for ages, unsure if I was being cheated. But when I stepped off the train in New Delhi Railway Station, I was all confidence.
To the rickshaw drivers: “How much to Vasant Vihar?”
“Vasant Vihar is very far, ma’am. It is 25 kilometers. 350 rupees.”
“Sir, I lived here, and it is not that far. So how much?”
“300, ma’am. This is night price.”
“That’s still too high. Night price is just 20 percent higher than the meter. Why don’t we use the meter then? Or maybe I’ll take the metro.”
“The metro is closed now.”
“Metro closes at 11 pm, sometimes later. It’s only 10:45 now.”
We settled for 220, although when he asked for more I threw in another 20 rupees.
I’m glad I took the rickshaw. On the way to my friend’s place we passed several of my old haunts—Connaught Place (where I had jeans tailored), Palika Bazaar (where I fixed my camera), Sarojini Nagar (where I bought cheap scarves and clothes), Chanakyapuri (where I played softball), Safdarjung Enclave (where I lived), R.K. Puram (where I volunteered), and even, from far off, the Gateway to India, the first tourist spot I visited.
I loved how familiar it all felt, and was saddened that I didn’t leave at least a few hours to see Delhi one last time.
It felt just a bit like coming home. For seven weeks I’d pulled into a new city, uncertainly pulled out my guidebook, and slowly figured out where to go and how to get there. Sometimes I walked for ages, unsure if I was being cheated. But when I stepped off the train in New Delhi Railway Station, I was all confidence.
To the rickshaw drivers: “How much to Vasant Vihar?”
“Vasant Vihar is very far, ma’am. It is 25 kilometers. 350 rupees.”
“Sir, I lived here, and it is not that far. So how much?”
“300, ma’am. This is night price.”
“That’s still too high. Night price is just 20 percent higher than the meter. Why don’t we use the meter then? Or maybe I’ll take the metro.”
“The metro is closed now.”
“Metro closes at 11 pm, sometimes later. It’s only 10:45 now.”
We settled for 220, although when he asked for more I threw in another 20 rupees.
I’m glad I took the rickshaw. On the way to my friend’s place we passed several of my old haunts—Connaught Place (where I had jeans tailored), Palika Bazaar (where I fixed my camera), Sarojini Nagar (where I bought cheap scarves and clothes), Chanakyapuri (where I played softball), Safdarjung Enclave (where I lived), R.K. Puram (where I volunteered), and even, from far off, the Gateway to India, the first tourist spot I visited.
I loved how familiar it all felt, and was saddened that I didn’t leave at least a few hours to see Delhi one last time.
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