As a disaster worker, chaos is second nature to me.
I have experienced enough of the unthinkable and unexpected to come to even expect things to go wrong; to expect smooth sailing is to invoke insanity – because as soon as something happens (and it will), all rational thinking goes out the window.
So, chaos is comfortable for me. It’s a knowable unknown. And the past three weeks in Delhi have affirmed that embracing chaos is the only path to sanity.
Getting to India
It all started at JFK while waiting to board our Air India flight.
I cannot express to you the amount of confusion I encountered within the span of 2 hours. We arrived to our gate more than an hour early, after a relatively smooth check-in and security process, expecting to board at noon.
We were soon told, however, that due to mechanical issues the flight would be delayed until 3pm. More than 3 hours later than expected.
Okay, we thought, that’s fine. So long as the plane gets fixed.
The airline workers started making their way through the crowd of people, handing out food vouchers as a way to apologize for the delay. It was a nice thought – and certainly needed – since myself and others found ourselves on the verge of becoming hangry. So, with that $10 voucher in hand, a group of us ventured out to find some food, only to discover that not every restaurant accepted the voucher (despite the voucher stating that they would). Thus began our terribly long endeavor to find a vendor that would accept our modest $10 so we could satiate our hunger.
Around 1pm, still waiting in line at a small food truck-esque stall that we found to finally accept the voucher, we received a text from someone in our group that said: Hey guys, they are boarding our aircraft now. The whole flight at once if you can imagine that.
There had been no announcement over the intercom, just a single man from Air India stopping people in the hall asking if they were on the departing flight. Thus began our panic-filled haste (as well as the other Air India passengers ahead of us in line) to grab our food and book it to our flight’s gate.
We made it just as they were announcing the last call for boarding, exhaled a collective breath of relief that we all had made it, and then settled in for the 14-hour flight to New Delhi.
Little did we know that this pre-flight confusion would be indicative of the next few weeks.
When we landed at the Delhi airport, me and another girl in my group were pulled aside for random COVID testing (which is important to remember for later); then passed through customs one by one; and finally reunited with our checked luggage at the carousel.
And then began the arduous task of finding our hired bus and its driver.
If you have never been to Delhi’s airport, as soon as you step outside, there is an uproar of noise that immediately envelops you: cars blaring their horns, taxi drivers trying to shout over one another, and luggage porters vying for your attention (one of which stole my cart while we were walking, insisting to help me, until I was finally able to win it back by telling him I had no rupees or dollars for him).
To make a long story short, after nearly 2 hours of running back and forth and first ignoring then following a man that may or may not be our driver (read: he wasn’t, but he was from the same company and helped us find the correct one), we all boarded the bus with our luggage in a somewhat harried state.
A collective sigh of relief was released. We had finally made it.
The First Week
For the most part, everything was smooth sailing in that first week, and it was a nice reprieve to be staying in a retreat in the outskirts of the city – close enough to get around but far enough away to escape the constant noise of the streets in exchange for the sounds of singing birds and chirping bugs.
Whenever we left to explore, we replaced one set of sounds with another: honking horns, yelling street vendors, and chatting locals. We explored the old fort and tombs at Hauz Khas; sipped on chai from paper cups; walked through independent art galleries; fawned at the fawns in Deer Park; and watched the sunset paint Chor Minar an even deeper red.
We explored the night markets of Sarojini Nagar, where I clutched onto the hand of a friend as she led me through the crowd of bodies; where each time we stopped for just a moment, a crowd of men selling random items would surround us and shove their hands in our faces; where I learned my first Hindi phrase: नहीं चाहिए (Nahin chaahie), meaning “Do not want.”
We tried momos from street vendors and I had my first taste of Indian McDonald’s. We pushed ourselves onto the overcrowded “Women’s Only” section of the metro during rush hour, clutching onto each other to ensure nobody got lost in the mix.
We toured the famed Qutub Minar with a guide, who shared the area’s long history with us; we watched as the setting sun changed the tower’s color, then watched the color change again later as darkness fell and its dazzling lights turned on, bathing it in a golden hue; we watched bats emerge from the windows and disappear into the night sky.
I saw and learned many things during my first week in Delhi.
(Like how, despite being a large tourist hub, English is uncommon and having others around who speak Hindi and even learning some yourself is crucial to getting around. Like how to wage a daily war with ants finding their way into my backpack because I didn’t package my food well enough. Like how monkeys will casually follow you onto escalators. Like the fact that ATMs are never where Google Maps says they will be.)
There are many things I came to learn (and even enjoy) about Delhi, but . . . it was only supposed to be a week.
The Second Week
As an American who will be living and working in India for the next 9 months, I – and the other Americans I was with – learned that we had to undergo an additional FRRO process to receive a certificate of residence so that we could move around more freely. The initial process was delayed due to paperwork errors and slow processing, and so that meant that our paperwork couldn’t be submitted to the FRRO office until the beginning of our second week.
By this time, the rest of our cohort had left for their placements, strewn across the country and beginning their own projects. The remaining six of us were stuck behind.
It came as a surprise to us all – especially the staff at the retreat we were staying at. With all their rooms fully booked for an upcoming conference, the only living quarters available were some of their office staff’s rooms, where they graciously moved us for two days. Once the conference ended, we were then moved again to different rooms.
The staff continued to inquire about how much longer we expected to stay, and just like the FRRO office’s response to us when we called to check in, the future continued to look murky.
But we made the best of our time. Staying in Delhi longer meant much more free time to explore. We spent some time at a cute coffee shop, called Blue Tokai, before we decided to venture into a local market, Lajpat Nagar, where we embarked on a unified quest to find more work appropriate clothing at a nearby Westside, as well as new nose rings at a jewelry shop (which was also nowhere near where Google Maps claimed it to be).
We soon learned, however, that exploring a busy marketplace during a weekend evening, only a week away from Diwali, was . . . not ideal. Trying to find a rickshaw or an Uber to take us back, in the midst of bumper-to-bumper traffic, was a task in and of itself. Trying to find the Uber who finally agreed to take us, only to discover it was on the opposite side of a jam-packed freeway, was another (harrowing) task.
To make matters worse: the return ride to our retreat was only supposed to be around forty-five minutes – but it ended up taking two hours. Two hours of horns honking, exhaust fumes billowing into the air, and desperately, urgently needing to pee.
(I only lasted a half-hour before begging the Uber driver to pull off at the next gas station.
And when we arrived, the bathroom I found had no lock on the inside, but only on the outside. At this point, I was too desperate to care, so I left the door cracked open and crossed my fingers that nobody would walk in.)
Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.
But the few days after that went much smoother. We finally found a functioning ATM to pull cash from; we visited more coffee shops such as Quick Brown Fox Coffee Roasters to get some work done; went out to multiple restaurants like Diggin’ and Greenr for delicious meals; shopped for colorful kurtas at Fab India. Traipsing around Greater Kailash and Saket with nothing but time on our hands and money in our pockets.
By mid-week, the stress and exhaustion from the past week had started to catch up with me, and I began to feel it in the form of swollen sinuses and full body exhaustion. In my mind, it was nothing new. I tend to fall sick when I get stressed, and was – in all honesty – expecting this to happen. I even attributed some of my sickness to the pollution.
What I was not expecting, however, was for my COVID antigen test to come back positive.
Ashley, you might say. You should know better! It’s been almost 3 years.
You’re right. I should know better. But of the two times I’ve had COVID leading up to this, this time was the most mild. I was used to COVID making me feel like death, so experiencing regular cold symptoms this time around didn’t trigger the warning bells in my mind.
Unfortunately, another girl in our group tested positive as well (yes, the same girl who had been random tested with me at the airport), and thus began yet another round of musical chairs – or in this case, rooms – with the retreat in order to get the six of us separate rooms to quarantine, and also figure out a way to get meals delivered to our rooms.
(Bless the retreat staff for putting up with us for as long as they did – especially uncle-ji, who brought us food, water, and tea every day, as well as anything else we needed.)
And honestly, despite obvious reasons, this quarantine was the best thing I could have asked to happen. It gave me time to finally relax. To sit with myself and reflect on all that had happened the previous two weeks. To spend time rejuvenating before what I know is going to be a jam-packed 8 months.
I even made some cat friends along the way.
The Third Week
My third week in Delhi, was, in a word: better.
But it absolutely wasn’t smooth sailing.
The day I tested negative and finally came out of quarantine was also the national holiday known as Diwali. We were all incredibly excited, because this meant that we would be able to celebrate out on the streets of Delhi.
We soon discovered, however, that most businesses are closed on Diwali. (Which, duh.)
Not being ones to give up, we called various restaurants in the hopes to at least go out for a nice meal, until finally we found a few that said they would be open. That’s how we ended up at a restaurant hidden in between storefronts, called Oh Delhi. With an empty rooftop all to ourselves, we enjoyed the panoramic view of fireworks exploding in the night sky and shared momos, paneer, pad thai, and naan around the table.
Their bar was closed (and the drinks we did order were . . . not the best), so we decided to venture out of the city to a swanky Marriott hotel lounge in Delhi’s aerocity for dessert and cocktails.
A huge contrast from where he had just been.
But after a week of quarantine, we figured it would be nice to treat ourselves.
The hotel staff welcomed us with choruses of “Namaste” and “Happy Diwali!” which we returned in kind. We ordered drinks and desserts and exchanged stories and laughter over tables decorated with burning candles and pink and white flowers.
When we made it back to the retreat for the night, the echo of firecrackers and fireworks in the distance were still going (and continued to go throughout the night). Before retreating to our rooms, we decided to line our balcony with diyas we had received as Diwali gifts. The small flames flickered and waved in the darkness, warding away negative energy and drawing in wishes of joy, prosperity, and health.
Although we were unable to spend Diwali in our host cities or celebrate in traditional ways, we made the best of it, and it was surely a night to remember.
The next day, going outside was near hazardous, as the air quality index (AQI) in Delhi rose to nearly 400. Even wearing a mask outside, it was difficult to breathe without coughing, and I woke up to the inside of my nose colored black.
Not great for someone just recovering from COVID.
And because Diwali is celebrated for five days, the firecrackers didn’t slow down until mid-week, which only contributed to the lingering smoke and haze. But, after a day or so, the air quality dropped down to more manageable levels once again.
Which obviously meant more exploring had to be done.
After too many Western-inspired restaurants and not enough street food, another fellow and I decided that we would take a day to explore Dilli Haat – a famous local street market with various food, trinket, and clothing vendors.
The first thing we noticed upon arriving was that the crowds were far smaller than we expected – probably due to the ongoing holiday – which made it easier to navigate the winding paths, but more difficult to avoid the keen eyes of vendors.
But before we could start shopping, we decided to dive into the menus of multiple different stalls, searching for the food that could satiate our need for more fried, savory meals.
And the food stalls did not disappoint.
(Except perhaps the pani puri.)
Eating street food in India – or really, anywhere in Asia – is, in my opinion, one of the best ways to experience the place you’re in. And Indian street food is a staple of the country. We gorged ourselves on delicious mango lassi, oversized gol gappe (pani puri), crunchy pakkoda, the best pav bhaji, sketchy lime sodas, and sticky jalebi.
By the time we were done, our bellies were full and our eyes sleepy, but there was still too much to see and do within the rest of the market that we soldiered on.
One of my favorite things about Asian markets in general is the sheer volume of color. Tiny, intricate animal-shaped trinkets laid out on blankets; stores upon stores of vibrant fabrics billowing in the wind; and artists displaying their talent everywhere you look.
A few stalls in particular caught our eyes.
One of the main rule with street markets is that you must feign disinterest, otherwise you’re doomed to spend too much. You know it, and the vendors know it, too. But when we stumbled upon a stall carrying the softest, most gorgeous cashmere scarves I had ever seen, it couldn’t be helped. The vendor saw my interest and (literally) leaped over the table to pull us over.
I ended up with two scarves, knowing I had just paid too much, despite bargaining for a “deal.” But it was worth every penny.
My favorite part of the experience, however, was when a local artist’s work caught both our eyes and we sat down with him for a solid half-hour to chat about his work and his life. We learned that he was only visiting from Bihar for 15 days; that his entire family helps create the art in his shop; that each painting was made with colors developed from flowers and vegetables as well as homemade cotton paper; and that each piece can take anywhere from two to six hours to complete.
I walked away with 3 small-sized paintings for only 400 rupees, feeling like I had just won the lottery.
(Even the terrible Uber driver – who nearly made me throw up several times and even hit someone on a motorbike – could not kill my good vibes.)
The rest of the week was surely not as packed as the beginning, but it was more exciting (read: stressful), because we all discovered that despite the FRRO paperwork still being in process, we were going to be allowed to leave Delhi.
*cue celebration music*
But my relief was short-lived, because I soon discovered that finding a way to Jaisalmer from New Delhi was going to be more difficult than I thought.
With Diwali just ending, no flights arriving to Jaisalmer until the weekend – and with no good options leaving from New Delhi – I had to work with the Fellowship team to somehow get to Jaipur (over four hours away) before flying out the next day.
We settled on getting a cab to take me there. It was cheaper than checking my bags on two separate flights, and would be less stressful overall. But the risk was definitely higher.
Up until that moment, I had been surrounded by other fellows for 3 weeks straight. As soon as everyone else left, and I was sat alone, waiting for my cab to take me the 4.5 hours to Jaipur, it dawned on me just how risky it is to be a solo female traveler, especially in a country where I don’t know the language.
There was no going back, however, because I needed to get to Jaisalmer by the week’s end, and this was the quickest way.
Leaving Delhi
In the past month, I have become very used to the driving style of India, and the highways proved to be no different than the city streets of Delhi. That is to say: I’m very lucky that I didn’t get car sick. The drive itself was relatively uneventful (aside from a point where I asked to stop at a Hotel Highway King for some food and a wash room, but my meager Hindi must have confused the driver, so he took me to a random hotel to go to the bathroom, and then he disappeared for like 10 minutes as I waited outside the locked car. I ended up not eating until getting to my friend’s house in Jaipur).
As soon as I arrived, we went to one of her favorite cafes so I could get some snacks and chai to hold me over until dinner. I then accompanied her to the market to get some necessities.
By then, a combination of the pollution-induced headache from Delhi, the exhaustion of travel and lack of sleep, as well as the increased sun exposure and heat already getting to me – by the time we got back to her apartment, I was beginning to feel pretty sick. And once you start to feel sick in India, especially when it comes to the stomach, concern tends to rise pretty quickly.
I knew it couldn’t be food or waterborne illness though, because as soon as her butter paneer was ready, I was able to eat most of it without throwing up, so we tabled the idea of going to a hospital and decided to wait it out. I went to bed with a bucket resting at my bedside. Just in case.
By the next morning, I was already feeling much better, but we decided to take it easy and give my body time to rest before my flight. And despite the flight getting delayed multiple times, it was nice to have Jaipur as a sort of way station to rest before getting to Jaisalmer, and also talk over all of my thoughts and feelings I had been having about my project.
I left her house, once again allowing it to dawn on me that this was the last familiar face I would be seeing in a while, and I was now heading into completely unfamiliar territory – alone.
I got to the airport and was immediately overwhelmed by the chaos in front of me. I thought to myself: There’s no way I’ll make it to the flight on time, since I arrived barely an hour before it was supposed to depart. But luckily, there was a man calling for people on my flight to enter an expedited line so we could check-in faster. I met some lovely women from Singapore who asked me if I was alone, and what I would be doing in Jaisalmer. When I told them that I would be living and working there for 9 months, they all stared at me with wide eyes.
You’re brave, one said.
I didn’t feel very brave, but smiled and thanked her anyways.
Once I was checked in, I had to pass through security, which was even more overwhelming than the check-in counter. And then finally, once I passed through relatively unscathed, I made it to my gate right as boarding was about to begin.
I got on the bus that took us to the plane.
I got on the plane.
And the plane took off.
An hour and a half later, we touched down in Jaisalmer.
And despite sitting on the tarmac for nearly 45 minutes; despite the nerves bundling in my gut as I stepped off the plane; despite the heat pressing down on me as I waited from my baggage at the carousel – the moment that I stepped outside the airport and found the familiar face of one of my supervisors in the crowd – I realized that I wasn’t alone.
I wasn’t going to be alone for a long time.
Looking Back
Now that I am finally in Jaisalmer, it’s been a crazy experience trying to unravel all of my thoughts and feelings over the past few weeks.
In the moment, some of these experiences may have been stressful, but looking back, all I can do is laugh. Everything that has happened to me, good or bad, can be looked back on with humor, and even some fondness.
Isn’t that what makes travel interesting? It’s not just about the beautiful places and the successful itineraries; it’s about the ugly bits, too. It’s also about learning and growing and making mistakes along the way. It’s about the days where you feel lonely or frustrated; and the nights where crying feels like all you can do.
TLDR: If the next eight months in India are anything like the past three weeks, I can expect many more bumps in the road and wrong turns and bad days; but I can also expect many more days of shared laughter and memories made and appreciation for the chaotic moments I find myself in.
Jumping into a new country, culture, and job is about embracing everything – both easy and difficult – that comes your way.
Because wouldn’t life be boring otherwise?
STORYTELLING TRAVELER 