Sabres and Spitoons and Sikhs, Oh My !

Eight women. Eight white women. Eight white women speaking English.

Went to the Red Fort and became the sun-stroked backdrop for some family photos. The heat was a killer, as was the 4-to-a-rickshaw ride over. But parrots and puppies galore ! The Red Fort is a massive fortification of red sandstone and white marble, surrounded by a grassy moat. Small details of mostly flowering plants catch the eye both in the sandstone as well as in colored marble inlaid in the blindingly white. One museum on the fort grounds displayed Mughul artifacts including sabres, spittoons, and beautiful manuscripts with miniature illustrations in fine detail. The Red Fort labelled our group as an oddity; our flushed red faces are obviously not acclimated to the heat. We all hopped in the back of a Land-Rover-turned-taxi and preceded to battle our way back to Connaught Place to find the highly recommended Banana Leaf for lunch. Not a minute too soon either; I went into trip leader mode at the fort, asking whether the other ladies had been drinking enough water and snacking to get salts and sugars into their bloodstreams. No matter that I am the youngest out of our group, I was adamant; we needed food and water.

The pattern of ordering food has been this: I'm not sure what it is, but it is fun to say, so I will order it and see what happens. Thus far, it's been delicious. Mixtures of sweet and salty, vegetable, dairy, and flavor and texture accompany almost every meal (plus a lassi a day to keep the Delhi belly away!). Post-luncheon, we made our way to Humayun's tomb, known as "the second Taj Mahal" for it's architecture and splendor. The cooling temperature combined with a yellow glow give the red sandstone a particularly nostalgic air, and the emptiness of the grounds save for birds and dogs enshrouds the place with a feeling of content sleep. After following a footpath to a crumbling staircase and scrambling up a short wall, the large tomb offers a brief glimpse between palm and eucalyptus trees. When I finally make it to the entrance gate, the symmetry and eye lines of the garden canals and fountain stop me. The plans of arresting visitors at the gate are no accident, to be sure, but the meticulous structures built for a man in death elicit responses of awe, an intended legacy, perhaps. 

Walking the perimeter, music sounded from the far corner. A Sikh temple, starting a service just outside the grounds, contrasted the red stone with its white marble. Hours could pass unnoticed while listening to those sounds. 

We stop at the busy India Gate, constructed under British rule, and the bustling circulation is reminiscent of l'Arc de Triomphe, seemingly a million worlds away. Back at the Y, a cleanse and then a tired but excited supper, as we realize we are leaving in the morning to head to McLeod Ganj, our new home for the next month. Our last night in Delhi passes quickly and we are up at 4:30 to begin the 14-hour drive. We travelled not in true India-style, but in three cool cars. In traditional American driving, the drive would have lasted for almost an entire, 24-hour day. However, when the road feels like a race track, no matter the curves and other vehicles, it speeds past. Picture golden monkeys guarding the turns of the road, cows ruminating through traffic, and startlingly bright sari cloth fluttering from the women sitting on the back of motorcycles weaving amongst colored trucks; the drive was long but not dull. 

With an hour or so left to go, the cars stop and Asia points out the window to the east. It takes a moment for my eyes to focus through the haze, and then my mind short-circuited and my jaw dropped. A literal wall of rock with blue-white ice sluicing through ravines as the peaks hid in the clouds: the roof of the world. HIMALAYAS. My ability to communicate regressed. The rest of the ride was mostly silent staring out the window. Passing through Lower Dharamsala, we could see McLeod Ganj from afar. The rode became more narrow and the switchbacks increased in number. The eucalyptus gave way to ponderosa pines, the vanilla-scented bark mixing with the rolling tea plants, and the wind carrying it all through the air. The cooler mountain air was like a welcome home. We finally made it. An incredibly beautiful and simply furnished guest room was ours for the night. 

Tired from the road, Asia and I found a cafe with fresh ginger tea and a terrace from which we could see the yellowed moon. The night was electric. What awoke me was not the light, but the resounding guttural thunder following. I have a magnetic fascination with storms and displays of nature's magnitude, and last night delivered. The rippling prayer flags outside our balcony sounded like running water in the wind, and the crashing bolts lit up the hillsides. If there was a better way to be welcomed into these hills, I do not know it. 

This morning, the cool air and overcast skies did not dampen spirits, but rather made it easier to stroll the small roads of McLeod. Out before most of the shops and cafes were open, we wandered up. The huge mountains and cascading ravines were cleansed by the rains, and my walk to discover a waterfall was a breath of fresh air. 

Going to luncheon with other students and Geishe-La, our teacher, in 1/2 hour at the Institute of Buddhist Dialectics; more later, ever more.