Destination Chandigarh!

7 July

I sit here at 3am, unable to sleep and reflecting on my arrival in India. My body has no idea what time it is, besides nighttime. I’d really like to go for a walk and watch Chandigarh wake up but my legs refuse to move.

Waiting in the airport today was an exercise in patience, water consumption, and a nagging feeling of ‘I told you so’. Gurinder gave me my travel option at 11:20am, explaining that his driver would pick me up at 5:30pm. Those 6+ hours were agonizing, especially when I misread the clock in the terminal thinking that it read 4:50 instead of 14:50 (so I was a little bit delusional).

I was there for so long that the cleaning crew came through and cleaned the floor, forcing the few people to shift their seats in an odd triangular movement across the terminal. We literally got to a new point only to see the cleaning crew quickly approaching with the lead man throwing out small buckets of bleach and water on the floor, quickly followed by two men with mops and a third man with a large squeegee. I must say they were quite efficient but not at all apologetic if they tossed water on someone. In addition, there was a small group of men using scaffolding to change out screens over fans. Metal scraping over marble is such a pleasant sound…not.

Most of the 3 o’clock hour was spent in utter exhaustion, dozing off for 2 or 3 minutes here and there. People came and sat next to me but had disappeared when I startled myself awake. I started to think I was imagining people or that I was in fact imaginary. Eventually I roused myself out of my chair and purchased an unusual mocha. Supposedly, it was two shots of espresso-coffee mixed with chocolate milk and chocolate sprinkles on top. Whatever it was, it kept me awake for all of 40 minutes. Not much to complain about when you buy a drink for Rs.40 ($0.90).

By 6pm, I had neither had word of my driver or the other program participant I was supposed to meet. Of course, I had no idea what other person looked like, besides one being Indian and the other a tall white male. Telling me to meet a tall white male is not the best line. Many planes with many disembarking passengers arrived between 4:30 and 6. So many in fact that I was constantly getting out of my seat to see if any of them were looking for a random white guy they didn’t know (i.e. me). I felt a little forlorn, tossed aside like a used tissue. Watching travelers being picked up by their loved ones did little to advance my dreams or fears. By that point, I was without a rope to hang myself, a victim of circumstance. Yet, I felt safe and a friend was only a call away.

The bodiless airport announcer was running a post for a Mr. John A. As well, info was being announced about a Kathmandu flight with the call letters J (as in John), O (as in Oscar), and something else that sounded garbled each time it was said. Trying to find out where the announcer was or how to respond to a possible announcement was just like trying to get help at the Help Desk.

My driver showed up late, there was traffic, and he stood where he could see the arriving passengers – not me lounging in the now all too familiar seating. Besides, he didn’t look like any of the drivers I knew Professor Mann used. Mohan was short, dark skinned, and holding a sign with my name in orange ink. He was nearly on top of me before I could read his sign. At least he spelled my name right.

In addition to me, Mohan was to retrieve Trevor who was supposed to have arrived at 4:45pm. He wasn’t there and we couldn’t find him. Another fiasco ensued as we tried to locate him and any info about his arrival. We had his name, he had arrived on Air India at 4:45, and it originated either in Newark or New York. The Terminal Controller sent us to the Air India office. The office sent us to the Controller. The Controller again sent us to Air India. On the way to and fro, I had caught the attention of a Sikh police officer and his junior partner. Unlike in America, in India, a white man in a turban attracts positive attention and downright curiosity. They had the right plan, use the info we had gathered and exploit the staff window for ticket and airline flight manifestos. With this trick under our sleeve, we learned that Trevor had been on the correct flight. He was still nowhere to be found, having probably taken a taxi or private car.

Mohan and I saddled up in his ‘Tourist’ economy car for the six-hour trip back to Chandigarh. Much to my delight, seriously, the car was without air-conditioning. To experience the true India, one must sweat and feel that bodily waste slide down one’s sides and back. Once we got out of Delhi and its ring roads – and smog – we began to pick up our pace and our spirits lifted. Mohan seemed to know a fair amount of English until I asked him questions. There was a fair amount of uncomfortable silence. We left around 7:30; by 9:30, Mohan was tired so I suggested he stop for coffee. At 10, we stopped again, this time at a dhaba (roadside restaurant). Dhabas are quite unique, serving a quick turnover of Punjabi food, bottled beverages, and tea. It’s a bit like fast food with a feel of eating a homemade meal. There are insects everywhere, cockroaches scuttle across the floor and flying insects are constantly exploding in black lights placed on the floor. Nevertheless, the food is clean – although the glasses certainly aren’t.

Mohan had every right to be tired. I wasn’t the first person he had picked up from Delhi that day. He started out from Chandigarh at 6am, picking up our program participants at the airport in Delhi and dropping them off in Chandigarh. Basically, he dropped them off only to return to Delhi to pick me up. Tomorrow, he’ll do the same thing but for another group.

We made good time, driving hard on the horn and flicking the dimmer switch. He dropped me off at my hotel at 1:30am. That’s good considering we stopped at two dhabas for a good 20 minutes each time. Mohan knew the road and the characteristics of driving in India, having grown up in Haryana. My check-in was smooth, especially since my heavy luggage is AWOL. Trying to get a tip, the bellhop tried to carry my tiny guitar bag to the elevator. Not a chance bub.