It’s that time of year when people start burning things, lohri, the new year festival is under way and I’d arrived off of flight Virgin VS0300 just in time to get to the party.
The journey over was smooth and hassle-free. I watched the dark Russian mob in London drama Eastern Promise and the Ian Curtis biopic, Control. A bit of sleep following that I then watched half of the already classic documentary “I is for India”. The food on the flight was quite good but my cousin who is head of marketing for a well-known European airline company told me that Jet Airways would have been a better option as the service is second-to-none.
Notice the empty chair – Oh Silvia, where art thou?The first thing I always notice when getting off the aeroplane in India is the smell. It smells of India, that overpowering, pungent odour that your nostrils quickly become accustomed to. I was disappointed upon reaching immigration that PIO Card Holders are no longer in the fast-track diplomat queue and have to line up with everyone else who is a foreign national. It was odd how the official who checked my details didn’t utter a single word to to me, despite my cheerful “Good afternoon!” and “Thank you very much, bye!”
In the baggage collection area I just missed my suitcase as it went back behind the wall but soon enough it came around and I was on my way out. However nobody was there to greet me. I took out my mobile, switched it on and dialed. No luck, it kept powering out before I could get a signal. I searched in vain for my cousin and brother who were due to pick me up but to no avail, although I did find a socket I could cheekily plug and charge my phone in – if only the damn thing worked! I decided to go and get some money and so changed 200 pounds sterling into 14,700 rupees. Right I had money. After a brief moment standing around a tap on the shoulder from behind my cousin Puneet brightened my disposition no-end as I was just about resigned to having to use a payphone or get a taxi.
The drive back was quick and uneventful, quiet streets, Sunday traffic, and strangely I didn’t see a single cow on the roads. Somethings changed in this New Delhi. Vodafone adverts were everywhere, which was good for my network roaming.
Back at the house I met my uncle, aunt, brother and more family turned up later after lunch which was a full Indian vegetarian. It felt strange meeting my grandparents who I’d last seen a fortnight earlier at their home in Wolverhampton. Later my cousin Shagun turned up and we had tea and lit a fire outside and the whole family started chatting and telling stories all night together. I uploaded my photos to flickr during the course of the evening and it was pretty impressive, the upload rate on their broadband.
By bed-time I had to remember power on the boiler, wait a few minutes and have a shower using the classic, annoying Indian bucket system. Although there was a shower it felt odd to use it for my first night in the motherland. Right now I can’t help but feel like “I love my India!”
Tags: india delhi