Postgrad Women's Network Monthly Meeting

Postgrad Women's Coffee Club

Reflections: from the Nepalese Himalaya's, to India, to the United Nations.

My fascination with the Himalaya’s began when on a whim, my then fiancé and I decided to trek to Mount Everest Base Camp…for our honeymoon. Almost a year in planning, you cannot imagine the grave disappointment of arriving in Nepal with my new husband to what was actually quite typical weather conditions, which prevented us from flying up to the starting point for our adventure, Lukla. In hindsight, the disappointment I felt was undoubtedly selfish. There I was, in a land that I now long to return to, and I was unable to enjoy the sheer beauty of that which surrounded me. The beauty masked the pain and suffering of a Least Developed Country (LDC), a post conflict country. This was a beauty that existed not just among the mountains, but also among the people. Meanwhile, I was pissed off that I could not fly up to Lukla, the most dangerous airport in the world, because there was no visibility. It was an outrage! 

Driving along the Prithvy Highway there are frequent, but gentle reminders of Nepal's post conflict, least developed country status.
Photo credit: Peter Lynn

I am forever disappointed in how I responded to the news we would not fly, and that my tour could not be refunded because of a breakdown in communication between the local operator and global adventure travel company. I will also be forever disappointed that instead I did not squeal with joy at the news that we were to travel along the infamous Prithvi Highway to Pokhara by bus, so we could trek one of the most famous mountain trails in the world; the ancient trade route between Nepal and Tibet. Hindsight is indeed a beautiful thing.   

 

It is not always recognised, what will become our greatest achievements.
Photo credit: Peter Lynn

 I learned some lessons during my time in Nepal that I now carry with me each and every day. Our Sherpa was a Buddhist, his patience is something that I continue to admire when I reflect on those days that we walked with him along the Nepali ‘flat’ trail; a little bit up, a little bit down. We would hear stories about his family in Kathmandu and his life as a Sherpa in the mountains; the passion he has for his country despite all of its heartaches. Had I been able to embrace all of his philosophies about in the way I can now, my journey would have been quite different. But there is an importance to that which I could not understand on our days in the mountains. 

Moments of fear were met with an unwavering sense of accomplishment.
Photo credit: Peter Lynn

 Not within a moment of leaving Nepal, I missed it. After almost three weeks there I had only just begun to relax, and I had started to piece together the meaning of everything that had happened in that time.  I had started to walk freely around the tourist centre of Thamel, though still somewhat scared of what was beyond the confines of that familiarity. When we flew into Hong Kong the civilisation was almost terrifying. It seemed boring, lifeless. But we were exhausted. We slept for almost ten hours on the ground of the airport as we waited for our connecting flight home, feeling out of place in our Nepali clothing that had become our comfortable daily attire. 

Full of colour, and beauty; such is life in Kathmandu.
Photo credit: Peter Lynn

It must have only been a matter of a month or two before I started looking at how I could return to Nepal. I made contacts with people who work in the region and hoped that I could do an internship with the United Nations. The country had no constitution at the time and opportunities were scarce to non-existent; the Resident Head of the UN told me despite its importance, social development was far from on the agenda. Peace and security were what was and is still important.

Agriculture remains Nepals' primary economic activity.
Photo credit: Peter Lynn

It was during my weekly search of the Internet that I came across the United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific (UN ESCAP) and that they were offering internships in their New Delhi office. This sub regional office represents the countries that comprised South and South West Asia; Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, Iran, Maldives, Nepal, Pakistan, Turkey and Sri Lanka. This was my opportunity to travel back to the region, gain exposure to governance, politics and social development in the region. I was extraordinarily lucky to be selected, that I could fundraise enough money to take three months out of my PhD Scholarship and that my husband and family supported my decision to go away for three months and live in New Delhi. For that, I will forever be grateful.

A once in a lifetime opportunity to participate in the United Nations Internship Programme.
New Delhi, 2012

 The work experience I gained while I was with UN ESCAP was invaluable. I made lifelong friends with other interns and staff, I was acknowledged in an annual report, I worked on a research project about women’s entrepreneurship in India and assisted with policy briefs. I saw first-hand how the United Nations Secretariat operates. I had the opportunity to meet the Human Resources Director from Bangkok and the most inspiring person of them all, the Executive Secretary of UN ESCAP and Under Secretary General of the United Nations, Dr. Noeleen Heyzer. 

 

Acknowledged in a United Nations publication. A proud moment.

Living in New Delhi I had many challenges. Many of which I was able to understand and accept from lessons learned during my time trekking the Himalaya’s, and my reflections on that time. After three months my patience with New Delhi had been worn thin, I was often scared and alone. I knew my way around my local streets of Saket and how to take a trip on my own to the depths of Old Delhi to do some shopping, followed by a little peace and quiet in Hauz Khas Village. I was living a normal life of a worker in New Delhi but I found myself questioning why I was so special that I should not have to take the public bus, and spend ten times that amount on an auto rickshaw. That is something that any Delhiite would do, if they had the cash. I looked at the (few) women I saw in civil society and wondered what their lives were really like, when they went home, when they walked at night, when they went to school. I knew that unlike me, they did not have a one way ticket out of India to a country where there was economic prosperity at all stages of the life course, clean water running from the taps, men who opened doors for us and were sent to prison if they raped us. Were these women grateful? Were they happy? Were they yearning for something else, an altruistic goal perhaps? Or were they simply surviving?

We are but the same.
Photo credit: Peter Lynn

I returned from India thinking that on one hand, I never wanted to go back. I did not have the same peace within me that I felt when I left Nepal. I was confused, filled with more questions than answers. As time passes, and it has now been over four months since arriving home in Melbourne, I still struggle to come to terms with my journey there. I long for understanding and I long to know more about what I left behind. I also still long to return to Nepal. And most importantly, I long for understanding about the way women live their lives in these countries. 

 

Here I am wearing an 80 year old Rajasthani wedding dress, in Udaipur, 2012.
Photo credit: Peter Lynn

There are lessons to be learned; lessons we can learn from our vantage point of white western citizenship that without internal and external enquiry we will never know. I will go back but not to just serve my own inner needs, but to exchange lessons. The greatest gift we can give is to share.

Jodhpur, 2012.

Twelve Weeks in Delhi: Three

After having spent one of my two previous weeks in Delhi, feeling moderately bored, it was high-time that something exciting happened. And it sure did deliver.

My third week in this wonderful city was all about why I came to Delhi. I woke up excited on Monday morning knowing that I wouldn't be spending this week blogging about my modes of transportation in and around Delhi. And I knew that I would have experiences that I would keep with me for many years.

Again, a typical Monday, it started like all the others. YAWN. Instead of the usual mundane-Monday, at 3pm I was whisked down stairs and into an awaiting UN vehicle with one of the professional staff. We were on our way to an Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) and Global Development Network joint event which was the launch of an article that my aforementioned colleague had worked on during his time at the OECD. 

We drove first to the Ashok Hotel for my colleague to register for the OECD World Forum which is a four day event, to be held form Tuesday to Friday. The Ashok is a five-star, state owned monolith of a hotel with Lutyen era architecture and ridiculously over sized chandeliers. Having been confined to a guest house it was some what un nerving (but becoming the norm) to have to walk through security and be frisked. Coming off the back of the bombings in 2008, it is no surprise.

For about half an hour we stood around frustrated waiting for the hotel staff to work out how to register my colleague for the conference. Sometimes (all the time) the littlest thing can be the biggest thing, 'Hello Sir, can I help you Sir? Please go that way Sir', only to be sent back in the opposite direction. Three times.

The highlight for me? It wasn't the grandiose chandeliers or the opulent decor. No, it was that I finally the mythical light blue passport - A United Nations passport! Aha! I thought to myself, they really do exist! 

Climbing back into the UN car we made our way to a far more understated but arguably nicer hotel, The Claridges.The event was amazing but my favourite part was definitely the free wine.... Here in India, wine is somewhat of a luxury and a very expensive one. It didn't take much for me to be feeling a little woozy!!

OECD & GDN Joint Policy Dialogue: Social Cohesion in a Shifting World. 

The following day, Tuesday, I woke feeling a little tired. I had not got home until 11pm which is a very late night for me at the moment. Add some wine into the mix and I was shattered. I got through the day and stuck around at the office until about 6:30. That night was the launch of an Australian festival that is held all around India for four months, Ozfest. Quentin (a French intern) and I bought the 'free' tickets a few days earlier so we went along. It was an amazing night. I had the opportunity to catch up with one of my husband's colleagues (why on Earth they did not send Pete, I will never understand!) and also my Dad's cousin who I have never met.

With Dad's cousin and childhood friend, Mark Atkins.

That evening was quite incredible, I did feel really proud to be Australian at that moment. The Prime Minister, Julia Gillard made an incredible speech (I am quite a fan of her public speaking; not a political endorsement!!). Mark Atkins played as well as Gurrumul and sitar legend, Anoushka Shankar. There was something very special about watching these beautiful indigenous instruments, from their respective countries being played against the backdrop of Purana Qila which was lit up by 3D projection.

 

As we were leaving that evening the typical Delhi transportation nightmare ensued. Well, I am sure it would have been ok if you were one of the expat's with a driver. For me, it was a little more ad hoc. with Julia Gillard's presence, all  of the roads were closed down. The traffic wasn't diverted, it was simply stopped. These long boulevards of emptiness (and enough sniper's to make any layman uncomfortable) were flanked by traffic jams. Added to this irrational logic was that there was no public transportation for the punters leaving the festival!  As Jule's made her way out we walked along the cracked and tired road until we could finally flag down a rickshaw. 150 rupees and 45 minutes later I was home.

Thankfully, Wednesday proved a little more quiet but amazing non the less. With our upcoming conference later that week, the Under Secretary General of the United Nations and Executive Secretary of ESCAP, Dr Noeleen Heyzer  was coming to visit our office. To be honest, I had totally forgotten. However, something told me at breakfast that wearing jeans that day was going to be a bad idea.... I madly rushed upstairs and got changed into a skirt..... just my luck!  It was wonderful meeting Dr Heyzer and I quite liked her style of management; she is firm and all about the substance. Incredibly outcome oriented, I like that.

After a quiet Wednesday evening, ny phone went off at 6am the next day and I crawled out of bed. I was headed to the office to do some final printing before a major conference hosted by the ESCAP sub regional office (where I work). It was the 'high-level policy dialogue for regional cooperation and inclusive development in south and south west Asia'.

The report produced by my United Nations office.

Part of the purpose of the event was to launch a major report that the office had been working on long before I arrived. I was lucky to be involved in the tail end of the production of the report. We spent endless hours doing the tedious referencing, abbreviation, sourcing and editing tasks and this often spilled over into the evenings and weekends. Roughly 10,000 words long, it was the true definition of team work.

After day one of the conference had passed, it was time for the evening dinner. One thing I can confirm is that public funds are not being spent on alcohol! Despite this, I had so many engaging conversations with brilliant people that I went home drunk on excitement.

Final copy of 'the report'!

There were so many highlights of this conference that there would be too many to list here. There are two that I will mention.
The first is more of an observation. Each time a new session started I made a point of counting the women in the room. At no one time did I manage to find more than ten per cent of the delegates as being female. I know that gender development in the region is poor and until more women begin to move into positions of power within government and other high level think tanks, there will be no progress as there is no gender agenda.
The second is that the most engaging session of the event involved three women on the panel (and the discussion was not about gender). It was a discussion about the agenda beyond 2015 and how the region has fared in terms of the Millennium Development Goals. Without going into too much detail, what is interesting is the 'othering' that seems to happen between this region and the west. There are challenges in the relationship, particularly with the United States but I was quite disappointed in this. For me, I like the think of this world as one world and that we can make progress together. However, it is clear that mentality is not shared among everyone (from both sides...). I was incredibly impressed with dialogue between Professor Jeffrey Sachs , Dr Noeleen Heyzer, H.E. Dr Syeda Hameed (India), Dr. Hafiz Pasha (Pakistan) and Professor Jayati Ghosh (India). The session ended with a presentation by Mr Karma Tshiteem from the Gross National Happiness Commission in Bhutan. What was highlighted here for me is that these conversations are critical for sharing perspectives and strategies for development and that blame will only send us as a society backwards.

A much deserved relax on the lounge after the high-level policy dialogue.

My apologies for the rushed writing in this post, I am quickly falling behind on my blog posts and have another two to go to make up ground. Time is passing faster than I expected which is mostly to blame.

I will be back online with another post in the next few days, until then......Xx

Twelve Weeks in Delhi: Two

This week I have found it more challenging to write an update on what has been happening here in Delhi. Once the reality set in that I was here alone, I began questioning why I would choose to live here for three months - without my husband.

My week started like any other, I woke up on Monday and wondered where the weekend had gone. I had worked on both Saturday and Sunday so maybe I didn’t necessarily feel like I had an overly relaxing one. I had decided that I would start to explore my options for how to get to work each day. In Delhi, you have a lot of options to get around, however almost all of them are unpleasant.  So last week I walked, caught an auto rickshaw and caught a bus. The idea was that I would choose one that I would prefer and stick to that... The only positive thing to come out of this experience has been this blog “the commuters guide to Delhi: how not to travel to work each day”.

Travelling on the metro as a lady, certainly has it's perks. Carriage one is always "Women Only"

There are a lot of options for travel in Delhi. The best way to travel is with your own driver, however I am not sure that this would be an intelligent way to spend my money as I have no income while I am here. The metro is new, clean and relatively cheap. The first carriage on each train is reserved for women. This means that it is much less crowded than the rest of the train and unwanted attention from male commuters is avoided. The metro is also quite safe as you are required to go through security and have your bag scanned before you even swipe your ticket. There are always a few guards with machine guns deterring punters from not scanning their tickets; an effective means to reduce fare evasion! Might I add here, that the Delhi swipe card is more streamlined than Melbourne’s failed Myki system. The metro is my favourite way to get around Delhi, however there is no station near work. I am left with my three dreaded choices.

A typical auto rickshaw in Delhi. This is outside the malls in Saket - epitomising the city of contrast, gigantic malls parking BMW's in its Valet Parking, slums and broken down infrastructure litter the streets outside

Auto rickshaws are somewhat luxury when compared with walking or the bus, however they come with their challenges. Firstly, they don’t have any doors or windows and the pollution in this city is horrendous. I often have a scarf that I put over my mouth to avoid bits of ‘stuff’ getting in. More people wore face masks in Kathmandu than they do in Delhi, however I am not sure if this was because it was more polluted or people were more aware of the dangers of what was lurking in the air. The second, and most frustrating challenge of the auto rickshaw ride, is the initial haggle on price. This price depends on your skin colour, time of day, where you are going from and to, and a whole range of other variables. I know that I get charged more than the locals, but I also know that the auto rickshaw drivers are doing it tough. With fuel prices increasing dramatically, it is driving up prices but the people who use the autos are resisting the higher cost of travel. On my way to work it can be hard to get an auto so I often walk to the bus stop, wait five minutes then start walking to Malviya Nagar Metro where many autos often stop. As a white woman, the auto drivers will slow down and come right up to me if I am walking along the road. If there is an empty one, they will also come to me first over locals, mostly because they can charge me more money. It then usually requires a conversation with two, three or even four autos before you are prepared to part with your rupees. There are a few techniques that tend to work when haggling. You can offer below the expected price so you pay what you should or try whacking the meter and offer your price “or meter!!!!”. You can also just offer half of what they ask. Sometimes none of these work and you find yourself standing on the side of the road with ten autos in front of you and no ride home as they are all making it difficult. In this scenario, eventually one will meet your price. I won’t get upset about ten rupees, but I will over 50 rupees more than I should be paying. The third thing I hate about autos is the lack of safety. If we get hit, I will die.

A typical bus at the intersection on my way to work. These are the most common, followed by the 'green' buses (basically, just a newer version of these), then the 'orange' air-conditioned buses. Catching a bus as pictured above usually involves having to listen very closely to hear what people are yelling out of their windows in order to know where they are going. 

From the auto rickshaw to buses, it just gets worse. There are two types of buses that I would consider getting on and these are the green or red ones. The green buses are non-air conditioned and always crowded. The red ones are air-conditioned and were introduced around the time of the Commonwealth Games. In India, it is normal to get on the bus through the back doors; there is no interaction with the driver. Just behind the door there is a man who sits there taking money and giving tickets. For me, it is about 10 rupees a trip. The problem with the buses is that they are so overcrowded that as a woman, getting on the bus is not a pleasant experience. There are usually about ten women and the rest men - think sardines, think 30 odd degrees, think poor hygiene…. The women sit in the chairs at the front on the left hand side. It is accepted that you can shoo men off the seats if they are sitting there. It is also acceptable for women to jump on at the front of the bus, which makes buying a ticket a challenge. I have been told that I can buy a monthly ticket for around 400 rupees which would mean I could discretely jump on and off the front of the bus. I am going to give this a go this week, it is my last and only hope. What I like about the buses is that they shield you from the pollution outside, however their schedules are so unreliable that it is painful to wait for one to arrive. One evening last week I was almost in tears at the bus station whilst I waited for a bus that I was able to get onto and still maintain my dignity as a married woman. It was getting dark and Vinod (another intern) walked past and said it was probably not a good idea to wait. He flagged an auto for me and I jumped in, feeling grateful that I had been saved. As the auto driver took off I realised that something was wrong -he was trying to take me somewhere else. I yelled at him as directly and assertively as I could and despite him trying to say that it was me who was wrong, he eventually turned in the right direction. His driving was so erratic, and eyes so puffy that I concluded that he was drunk or stoned (or both). He dropped me off at the metro and I dodged cars, buses, autos, motorbike, bicycles, beggars and hustlers to get across the road where I was shaking like a leaf. It was absolutely terrifying and that was the moment when I decided that I would walk to work in the morning. Stupid move.

Somewhat fashionable in Delhi, these practical shoes were to be my favourite ride...

On Friday morning I set out in my dorky open walking shoes (which are actually very common here) and began the three kilometer trip. I was feeling excited as I haven’t done any real exercise since arriving in Delhi . Now was my time to work off all of those aloo paratha’s! By the time I passed the metro station I had already made a fundamental error that turned out to be blessing in disguise. I ran out of road and the only option was a path between two fences. Not ideal. But crossing the road was a lot easier here and I ended up on a wide footpath that stretched all the way to my next turn. When I got there, I stupidly decided to cross. It took about ten minutes in total and I ended up on the right side of the road to get to work, but the wrong side for walking. I was trekking through a partially constructed footpath where whole families were working together, sans machinery. Cars, buses and motorcycles flew past me, I was walking with the traffic and I felt very uneasy. I was hot, sweaty and my lungs were full of pollution. My feet were dirty and my jeans (another stupid move) were sticking to me with what felt like clag glue. As I turned the corner towards my office I felt relieved that I had arrived and that I would be in the comfort of air-conditioning for the rest of the day.

The only decent footpath between my house and work. The lack of traffic can not be explained - possible taken on a weekend or at 2pm when we come back from lunch.

I guess the only conclusion I can draw from my experiences of commuting in Delhi is that it is hard work. But I keep promising myself to not go the easy route and get a driver. Whilst it would not cost too much money, what makes me so much more special than everyone else? Why can everyone else get to and from work in the same conditions but I can not? While I am in Delhi want to challenge this side of who I am. To quote what my father would say in response to my anguish - “it’s character building, Erin!”.

Twelve Weeks in Delhi: One

The best way to describe my perception of Delhi so far was put succinctly by my sister-in-law yesterday evening...

'Delhi is that it is everything that everyone tells you it is going to be. And the exact opposite'.

We arrived in Delhi on Saturday at lunch time. Our excitement was peaking as we had been chatting away to a 'Delhiite' on the plane whilst enjoying a glass of wine and our exit row seats. As we disembarked the plane I was underwhelmed by the heat and smell. Yes, underwhelmed... The impression I had from various sources was that I would be hit with a wall of heat and stench beyond belief and I would be left vomiting on the tarmac into a pile of rubbish. To be honest, it was all rather civilised. We walked through the air bridge and into a large, modern and very clean airport terminal. Not too different from Melbourne, Heathrow or Kuala Lumpur. In fact, the only thing different about this airport was that as we lined up in a queue of mostly men, us females were very quickly ushered to the front and sent on our way leaving scores of young Indian men in snaking lines at the immigration desk.

Our nerves only started to peak when we couldn't see Sanjeev from our guesthouse that we were expecting to meet at the arrival gates. A few frantic phone calls and apprehensive looks around the airport we found him and his driver outside. We walked the long distance to the car and loaded all of our gear and only had to shoo away one pesky man trying to help out (and subsequently demand money for his 'services'). Already I was shocked at just how developed this city really is. We drove out of Delhi airport and despite feeling somewhat apprehensive given that we had just piled into a car with two men in a foreign country, we started to take in the sights of this incredible city and hospitable nature of the locals.

The view from the rooftop at Grace Home in Saket, Delhi. Qutab Minar is in the distance. The huge round, red sun sets on the horizon makes for a stunning evening with a cold beer up on the roof.

As we started to get closer and closer to our guesthouse we became acutely aware of how the scenery around us was changing. This time it was becoming wealthy. Very wealthy. The houses were grand, the cars were luxury and the malls were extravagant. We finally arrived at a four-story guesthouse on a beautiful street and whilst we still felt quite strange about the whole experience, we also felt at ease. We had not been scammed, somewhat of an achievement according to the guidebooks! Our lunch was ready when we arrived but we were first ushered into the lounge room to be shown through their son's Bollywood wedding album. It is this kind of hospitality that I have come to get used to it the last week. Every day we are welcomed by the Nagpal family yet left to go about our day as we choose. Perfect. The guesthouse is everything you imagine an urban Indian home to be in an upper middle class area. The ceilings are high, the décor is stunning and the rooftop has the most spectacular views over Delhi. You can see more than 180 degrees around and at night the giant red sun sets over the horizon with Qutab Minar ever so slightly in the way yet perfectly positioned. Christiane and I would sit up there and chat until late at night and often try to speak in broken English and Hindi to one of the two housekeepers. They are both from rural India and have left their families to work in the city to send money home. They support their whole families on their income. Whilst it can be difficult to communicate now, we are planning to teach each other their respective languages. I have decided that one of my plans for tomorrow is to buy them a Hindi to English dictionary so that they can practice with the guests. Mrs Nagpal said they are not very educated so it must be a simple dictionary. Despite their lack of education and my considerable amount of education we are just as hopeless as each other when we can’t figure out what each other means. It always ends in a good laugh and being rescued by Mrs Nagpal who speaks fluent English and can translate.



My street in Saket, Delhi. A security guard crosses the road.

I probably don’t need to explain what it is like for a westerner to move to a city like Delhi. We have all seen the documentaries, read the books and for some people, vowed never to visit. The thing that I find the hardest to adjust to is that there is always someone to do something for you. Whether it is open a door, drive you, carry your bags, cook you food or bring coffee to your desk. The workforce is set up in such a way that everyone at my end of the social spectrum relies heavily on others around (or 'beneath') them. The beauty of it is that it creates jobs and I need to remember this every time someone takes my laundry, or offers me a driver. Granted I am paying money, but at a hotel in Australia you pay your money and it is fend for yourself all the way. Not here. And it is weird.

This week I have settled into work relatively quickly. My first day I was offered a driver by the Nagpal’s and we picked up one of the other interns on the way. Helene and I had met the night before which made me feel more at ease about getting to work the next day. I didn’t know what to expect but as you can imagine it is very ‘UN-like’. We are away from the main UN estate in Delhi, which is located at a place called ‘Lodi Estate’.  I believe the offices there are very formal where as we only have one agency (us) and it is very relaxed. The thought of wearing a suit in this city horrifies me! The actually work content is very similar to what I have done for the last few years and I am happy that I do have skills to offer the team. As is to be expected, there is a very international team. Out of 5 professional UN staff and 4 interns we have Australia (x2), USA/France (x1), Thailand/France (x1), France (x2), Sri Lanka (x1) and India (x2). You can only begin to imagine the accents and cultural differences that I am encountering on a day-to-day basis! Even asking about something very simple can often be challenging as we all try to understand each other. The office epitomises the phrase 'lost in translation'. I can see how this experience does prepare you to work in a truly international environment. It is very different to Australia and the UK where I have worked previously.


At the Red Fort in Old Delhi. We were asked for photos here because of our light skin which is considered beautiful in India.

 I seem to be easing my way into the swing of life here. I get up early and have my breakfast downstairs. I take an auto rickshaw for 40 rupees which I negotiate by saying “metre or 40!!”. I know I should be paying 30 but baby steps… (by the time I edited this and posted it I was struggling to get an auto rickshaw for 50 rupees, petrol prices have risen, but I doubt this is to blame). I am going to start walking once the weather cools down. For lunch we go to a college a few hundred metres and one major road crossing away. Just going to get lunch makes you break out in a sweat – a combination of playing chicken (with buses, cars, auto rickshaws, the occasional donkey, motorbikes and bicycles), the super hot curry and the walk in the heat of the day circa 35 degrees. My lunch is 40 rupees and is a thali set. I have stopped asking for rice now as I don’t need so much food. One thing that strikes me as both ironic and heart breaking is the food wastage. As people who have money, we are served gigantic meals while young women beg in the street whilst holding their naked, gaunt and sick babies.

Lunch is a thali set from a local college. At 40 rupees it is 74c and I have to ask for no rice, as it is too much food.

I try to avoid coming home any later than 6pm when I am alone. The area I live in is fine to walk around and in fact, many of the houses on my street have their own 24 hour security guards which gives me great comfort.  Once you venture further without some kind of transportation then the streets can become quite confronting. Scores of men sitting around fires, families asleep under tarps on the side of the road and a city where no one would flinch if you screamed can be nerve wracking.

Next time you are in peak hour in your car and feel like complaining, think of me stuck in this. My daily auto rickshaw ride to work.

Fortunately, staying in a guest house means there are always people around and it offers a sense of security. On one hand it is a safe place to stay, on the other it serves as 'rent-a-friend'. On Saturday night Sanjeev (the son of Mrs Nagpal, Sanjeev and his wife live on the second floor) and his wife took me and another guest who they have known for many years to an Indian classical dance show at the Old Fort. The stage was set up in front of a beautifully lit, ancient building and scores of expats, tourists and cultured (and wealthy) Indian's came to watch. As with anything here such as going to a mall, catching the metro or going to a movie we were required to be scanned on our way through. Security was lax there, we didn't have to put our bags through an x-ray machine! That evening when we arrived back at the guest house we all had dinner together and then I went to bed around 11pm after drinking a cool beer. My side-kick/wing-woman/sister-in-law left on Friday night and I had already noticed a significant difference in how I was feeling about Delhi. But nights like that where I was taken under the wing of the family at the guest house, at no cost, makes me feel comfortable in this crazy city.

At India Gate. Designed by Lutyen. This part of New Delhi is known as Lutyen's Delhi - created to house the expats away from the 'real' Delhi otherwsie known as Old Delhi.

When you read the Lonely Planet guide or any westerner's blog, there is always the obligatory mention of being scammed whilst in Delhi. Other than paying foreigner prices for auto's and anything else you can haggle for, I have managed to avoid any major scams. The only time we came close was whilst looking for the government tourist office in Janpath which is in central New Delhi. We asked the auto driver to take us there and as per the Lonely Planet we were taken to a private company which was a tiny hole in the wall down a back street. Now, I am not expert but my impression thus far of government extravagance told me that we were in the wrong place. Using our intitution we decided to not go in and walk towards another major road. Of course we were intercepted by a local promising that he was 'selling us nothing' and 'just talking'. Trying not to be ride we pointed to the monolithic gates next to us and asked what was behind them, 'ah the Imperial Hotel', he tells us whilst diverting back to asking us where we were going. We gave in and told him we were looking for the government tourist office. He reassured us he knew exactly the direction to point us in and we duly followed his lead. After walking through a string of backstreets, which were concerningly empty, another 'kind' gentlemen pointed us towards a different agent, just two doors from the one our other new friend told us to go to. This time, we actually went it. It wasn't until I took his business card that we realised that we had dodged a bullet. This was not 88 Janpath! Despite the government tourist office actually being closed that day after all (once we found it!) we found a nice bar and had some mega hot chilli veggies and a cold beer. Across the road we found shopping heaven and we spent the afternoon haggling to save 20 rupees on a 100 rupees t-shirt. Sometimes seems silly, but it is the thrill of getting the merchant down in price.

An afternoon in Hauz Khas village enjoying a cool beer and dinner. Hauz Khas is the Melbourne of Delhi.

As you can see in this one blog, Delhi is a city of contrast. The rich and the poor, the hungry and the indulged. It is chaotic, it is dirty and at times it is scary. But I love this city already. There is so much life, so much history and so much culture that we do not encounter in Australia. It makes me sad to think that often we don't welcome Indian's in Australia the way I have been welcomed here.

An extravagent mall in Delhi. It is actually three malls that are all joined at the hip. The rise of the middle class in India brings the west to the masses.

I am sure by next week I will have some more ramblings for you from this wonderful city. Until then, hug your loved ones and tell them how you feel. You never know when you may end up a world away and wishing you could do that every day.

Erin Xx

The Story of Human Rights

 

I'll admit, I cried watching this video.  I seem to be a little behind the eight ball, three years in fact.  However this message is timeless.