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April's
Musings
Friday, August 19, 2005
"Landing in Delhi"
A hop, skip, and a jump took me from Boston, London, and to
Delhi, India. At midnight, two of our intrepid designers and
I touched down on the warm soil of the sub-continent. Within
ten minutes, just after customs, my heart was rising to heaven.
As we crammed around carousel four waiting for our bags, the
squads of interesting people who visit India were all around
us. There was a large group of outdoor adventure travelers,
announced by their oars and then their kayaks on the luggage
belt! "Where are you going?" I asked one of the athletic
young guys.
"Zanskaar," he said.
"Oh wow," was my response. Such wild and wonderful
and challenging a place—I want to go too! I will be looking
it up on the map in the morning!
Then there were the little sisters in pink pajamas sitting on
the luggage cart, their long brown hair falling down their backs,
gold earrings in their ears, and their mom fashionable in her
Indian pink voile kurta, with multicolored Diesel shoes.
Hair—this is the place for long hair. Almost all Indian
women have long hair. It is a hot country, so many wear it up—buns,
pony tails, braids and loose flowing hair—it is so beautiful
and feminine. My grandmother always told me that hair was one
of women's weapons—I mean attributes—and I find it
beautiful.
There is a beautiful color of grey hair too, not the snowy white
of my Scottish relatives, but a wonderful, colorful steel grey
mixed with all kinds of shades, and thick and wavy too. There
is a beautiful older woman with her sweeping grey hair pinned
back with a beautiful clip traveling and looking so feminine
and elegant.
I see dignified looking men in button-up-to-the-throat Rajasthani
vests (such a handsome style) and bearded men with coiffed Sikh
turbans—these are very tailored turbans and not the haphazard
type worn with casual grace by the Afghans. They are full of
style too as I quickly sketch a fellow in a navy turban with
white polka dots and a bright blue shirt.
My bags come quickly and I pull out my notepad and pen and hastily
sketch the interesting people around me. There are Indian families
coming home; there are many older travelers in wheel chairs;
there are students arriving; there are backpackers and safari
vest wearing wanderers; there are young people star-struck with
happiness at arriving in India; there are fashion folk; and
we are they, in stylish poses with huge piles of luggage. There
are young couples adventuring, and old couples doing the same;
there is an array of pretty pants from grey and white tie-dye,
to white parachute pants and softly printed rayon trousers;
there are babies in strollers and a tired woman who has brought
her own collapsible stadium seat to sit and wait with. There
are diplomats (efficient), and business people (busy), and people
carrying large gift-wrapped parcels (smiling). And there are
wedding parties, and I don't feel bad, because this is the one
place in the world where people's luggage is bigger than mine.
And it is midnight and it is just the best place to be.
New Delhi
In the night I hear the crash of rain—monsoon is still
on.
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