3 days in Delhi

Delhi Airport

Mar 3-6 2014

Delhi whirlwind. Cousin Bonnie and her driver Biru picked us up at the airport after an overnight flight from Istanbul. We left at 8pm and arrived at 5:30 am, flight duration 5 and a half hours. Two children behind us did not sleep and neither did we. Delhi slapped us awake. Drivers use horns to maneuver their passage forward; painted road lines for decoration. The horn blowing is encouraged and used politely not born from frustration or anger. 

Bonnie's 4 story mostly-marble house sits behind a closed gate on a busy road where part of the new metro is being built. 30 years ago it was all fields. We spent the day touring the clothing factory she and her husband Tony Uppal created - he creates the brick and mortar and systems and she fashions the end product.  It's soup to nuts, or rather raw cotton to designer ware. Machines preshrink, bleach, dye, decorate, sew lace, plus talented hand work with beads and sparkle. Truly amazing. Buyers from Gap and Anthropolgie and Free People come to shop. 

Dennis and I were not allowed to nap in order to get on Indian time. Next stop was her "farm" where she retreats to escape the city frenzy- vegetable gardens and a tennis court and a pool and pea hens and dalhias galore and king palms, scented breeze. Biru and the mali who lives here with his family hit a  ball around with a fat stick that may have been a cross between a baseball bat and a cricket utensil. We filled the back of the Honda SUV with produce and bounced back to town. 

I am beyond tired and getting my second wind so I smiled when Bonnie said let's go to the movies, it starts at 8:30. Now this is not a theater I have ever experienced. Only 40 seats, all leather cushy arm chairs with a table that swings over your lap if you want to order food. If I wanted to speak to Dennis I had to pass him a note or use sign language - I was in my own world along with the Dallas Buyers Club and Matthew Mc. and I cried three times. 

Lodhi gardens, the lotus temple of the Bahai faith, Khan market filled the next day with dinner at the Oberoi Hotel the grand finale. The next morning Biru drove us to the airport. Biru is Nepali and quite pleased  we're on our way to Kathmandu. He visits his family once or twice a year when memsahib travels to the states in the summers. 

My mother was called memsahib when we lived in Nepal, and I now I look over my shoulder when this honorific is directed to me. And who knew I am married to a sahib!