Impassively active.

Impassively active.

Since I last updated, I:

• recovered from my stomach flu, and went for kebabs with the gang on India's Republic Day
  
  
• spent the whole of Sunday afternoon sitting along the corridors and tanning the Indian way with Erwin, Nuria and Marine
  
  
• had the odd experience of a haircut and head massage, the latter involving rubbing nausea-inducing oil onto my hair and flopping the ends about my face
  
  
• had a morning yoga session with coursemate/yoga guru Venu. Marine and I were so relaxed, we lost track of time and had to run to make it to class on time.
  
  
• agreed to sign up for the badminton mixed-doubles tournament with a coursemate, then tried playing with Romain and found out just how bad I was
  
  
• have to wake up in just over five hours for a day-long field trip
  

Shit?

Sun kisses.

Sun kisses.
feeling: cold

Curling under three blankets, I drifted in and out of sleep amidst the intermittent cheers from the cricket match on the field downstairs. As the late afternoon light warmed and dimmed, and day gave way to dusk, dreams flitted in and out of my drowsy mind.

Earlier on, I'd stripped down to my tank to sit on the balcony in the sun. After almost a month spent wrapped up in layers and sleeves, the feel of its rays on my bare shoulders felt like silk. I've been feeling a little like a displaced girl of the tropics, especially on days when the cold gets a tad unbearable.

Maybe the combination of harsh heat and cold breeze pushed me over the edge of health. Ambitious I was, thinking I could cheat Lady Luck and not fall sick at all on foreign land. Thankfully, there are no classes to attend for the next three days, so I've got that time to recuperate.

Hopefully I'll be well enough to get up for morning yoga early tomorrow, and maybe kebabs with the gang. Hopefully I do not puke out my instant-mee dinner. For now, more snuggling under the blankets.

*I am feeling strangely comforted that CH is missing his Chinese New Year style consultant.
**I am also feeling touched that HM, who upon hearing I was having Maggie mee, offered to send me a box of rice, bread and instant porridge. We've established that I could get those in the supermarket, and he's sending over bak gwa and pineapple tarts instead. Yay.

Syrius doesn't seem to dim.

Syrius doesn't seem to dim.
music: bonnie mckee - somebody

Erwin and Nuria have had their what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here moments, and now that the sheer incredulity of the education system here has set in, I suppose it is my turn to grapple with this vague turmoil.

What the hell am I doing here? Half the time we have no idea what they are talking about in classes, and the only module I find semi-gratifying is Services Marketing, which throws up terms I vaguely remember from my Hospitality Marketing days.

Everyday feels like an extended holiday, while every other class we have to attend feels like a temporary jail term.

The familiar warmth of my bed I miss in the moments after I awake in the dark, muddled and disoriented from dreams.

Yet, I am saved from drowning in this land of paradoxes by unexpected moments of truth.

Each time I huddle up a little more in my jacket when the cold cuts a little too deep, I am thankful that having lived 21 years in the tropics complaining about the sun, I now finally appreciate the rays of warmth it provides in unrelenting cold. And however satisfying a cup of hot Milo can be on a rainy day in Singapore, it would never come close to the pleasure of sipping hot chai on a cold Indian winter's night.

Each time I laugh out loud, be it during yet another MICA-blasting session with the French at Chhota or while reading an absurd email from Jinli; I am reminded of how little I laugh back in Singapore, and how minuscule the pleasure I drew out from each laugh. Getting stripped down to the basics has taught me the forgotten pleasures of the very basics.

And just yesterday, I stood in the biting breeze with my hands tucked snugly into my pockets, learning to identify the stars in the midnight sky and losing track of time while listening to the legends of Orion.

I'd never reflected and realized how I had actually lived my life around the clock back in Singapore. Here in India, time is something remembered on hindsight.

And it is with almost breathless liberation that I am embracing this timeless culture, for life now is about living in the moment, and not for the next. And each moment lived is one lived in vivacity.



So, what the hell am I doing here?

I'm learning how to live life, the proper way. And frankly, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

All Delhi-ed out.

All Delhi-ed out.

I'll recount my Delhi trip mostly through snaps and captions, for pictures speak a thousand words, and I'm really encouraged by those of you who have told me that my photos made you wish you were here. Now if only I could find a way to forward your comments to the Indian Tourism Board... haha! Here's a pictorial summary of my week in Delhi.




The night before Delhi, on Makar Sankranti. That's us on the Silveroak rooftop, attempting (very unsuccessfully) to fly our kites.


Hello Delhi, hello traffic jams. Even functioning on three hours of sleep couldn't dampen our spirits at having gotten out of Ahmedabad.


Streets of Delhi, taken during our six-hour bus ride to Agra to see the Red Fort and the Taj Mahal


The little breakfast stop along the way.


I asked for French Toast, and the cashier told me that they served it with a savory omelet on the side. I was puzzled, for I thought French Toast was bread dipped in sweet egg. I decided I didn't want it, but amidst broken English phrases and plenty of hand gestures later, he promised me, "no problem, we can make it sweet". I couldn't stomach a bite, but I sure did get the giggles when they served up this sweet Indian "french toast" - tomato and cucumber slices on a jam sandwich.


The Red Fort at Agra.


I could wiki a load of information about the fort and plunk it here, but I'd be honest and admit that I was too busy taking pictures to listen to the guide, who was too much in a rush to be informative anyway. So here's the Agra Red Fort, and I have no idea what it is built for.












Intricate carvings and towering columns.




I ran quite a bit after this (oblivious) old man for a good shot.


The obligatory tourist shot.


Towards the Taj Mahal.




See it?



The people in Agra seem to only address men when they speak, so in this case, Erwin was unfortunately stuck in looking interested in what the guide had to say while I snapped away.


The Taj Mahal. I was feeling rather drained after the long bus-ride and the uninspiring Red Fort visit, but standing before the Taj, I was filled with an odd sense of awe. While I am pretty sure it could draw the crowds solely through its reputation, I think the sheer magnificence of its architecture is what has fueled that reputation.




The architecture supporting the main building is no less magnificent.


The crowds.


A man looking up in fascination.


You would too if you were there.






Trusting my Lonely Planet guide, we made our way to the backpackers' district the next morning for brunch at the Kitchen Cafe on the roof of the Hotel Shelton. We loved the place so much (and hated Hotel BB Palace in Karol Bagh so much) that we immediately reserved a room for the next three nights.


BEEF enchiladas. It's written as buff on the menu though.


Paharganj Main Bazaar, where I got my first India-grope by a shopkeeper who held a skirt against me, and then while looking into my eyes moved his knuckles onto my chest. Thank goodness my reflexes were quick and I knocked his hand away, cursed the f-word, and walked out. Unknown to me then, this row of shops was where most of my rupees would go to for the rest of the trip.


We then went back to Connaught Place for dinner at Nirula's, a supposed famous local fast-food and ice-cream chain.


Burgers, but chicken this time. I may have missed the taste of beef, but not that much to have it for both brunch and dinner!


Early Friday was spent in quiet contemplation at the Bahá'í Temple. Photography was prohibited inside the temple, but pictures would not have captured the peaceful silence that enveloped me the moment I stepped inside.

According to the brochure and the official website, the Bahá'ís believe in the "oneness of mankind, oneness of God and oneness of religion". A faith that actually unites instead of segments - now this makes sense to me.


We hopped on an auto and headed to Khan Market, the Delhi equivalent of Singapore's Holland Village. The expat community shops here, and having been in gourmet-deprived Ahmedabad, seeing gourmet produce almost brought us to our knees. Haha. Jostling was at a minimum here, and like Erwin said, it was a relief to be able to walk around without having to be on guard all the time.





Taking a breather in one of the back-alley cafes.


And on it was to Janpath, a tourist strip selling Tibetan-influenced clothes and knick knacks. It was here that I polished my haggling skills, and stamped my two star haggles - a pair of sunglasses from 650 to 150 rps, and a skirt for the same price.


Picked up a tarot set as well, as I'd left the set Ceci gave me back in Singapore.


We headed to nearby Sam's Cafe, another roof-top cafe for Saturday's brunch.


The French breakfast of floury croissants and sze-chuan potatoes is nothing to rave about, but...


This fruit bowl had to be the highlight of the morning. You have no idea how difficult it is to get fresh fruit back here on campus. However just a couple of hours earlier, I made a pact with the friendly cafe-operator on campus, and he's gonna bring me a banana and an orange tomorrow.


Onward to the Jantar Mantar, an astronomical observatory cum giant sundial. I couldn't figure either out, but I did manage to get some unexpectedly good shots here.














Connaught Place - Delhi's Orchard Road.


The alley near the rundown book stall where I was groped, again. This time, the tender jutted his knuckle into my boob when passing me my bag of books. What was infuriating than the pawing itself was the fact that he didn't bother to disguise it as an accident, but instead looked me straight in the face when he did it.


Cows basking in the sun on a Sunday afternoon.


The chaos of Paharganj from Club India, yet another roof-top cafe.


This one serves so-so Japanese food.


See the Shelton sign? It's been our beacon of light on many a night when cabs refused to enter the crowded road but instead dropped us off outside the main bazaar, and we had to walk through the entire stretch of touters.


On our last Delhi night, we went down to Ploof at Lodi Garden, and blew S$60 on a fine-dining meal, with alcohol. Pretty reasonable, and I was pretty glad I had my Saffron training so I knew the basic rules, like not moving the side plate and all.


Bread and salsa to start.


Fiery calamari for starters.


Odd choice I know, but beer-battered fish and chips for the main. You have no idea how hard it is to get fish, not less un-Indian fish and chips here.


I can't remember the exact name of the dessert, but they were chair-rockingly good.


After an arduously cold night, I spent my last morning in Delhi shipping home 9kg worth of shopping that I couldn't possibly lug back to campus.


We then headed back down to Khan Market, this time for brunch at The Big Chill.


I had the best ravioli in parmesan cream sauce I'd ever tasted, for a mere S$9.60.


The chocolate brownie with Toblerone ice-cream satiated.


A dog sleeping on the sidewalk. It's incredible how coming to India miraculously cured me of my dog-phobia.


Whiling the afternoon away at Cafe Turtle, a cafe above Full Circle bookshop.

And that's all for Delhi.