Decisions in Old Delhi (November 23-November 25, 2008)

After breakfast, the German man and I part ways.

I wander the streets of Old Delhi, probing shops, trying to find cheap Kashmiri pashmina shawls and a place where I can exchange books I've read for ones I haven't. I am looking for a shawl similar to the one a Pakistani friend of mine gifted me in college, the kind with hand-stitched embroidery embellishing the corners and borders. I learn that Old Delhi, such a touristy place, is probably not the place I will find a good price. In fact, although pashmina shawls are probably cheaper in India than in the States, they are still more expensive than I had expected. After trying on some real (and expensive) pashmina shawls, and interrogating the salesman about discerning an authentic pashmina, I find another salesman selling cheap, wool shawls that have embroidery similar to what I had been looking for in pashmina. They are clearly of much lower quality than I would have hoped, but he takes me to his upstairs room and shows me his whole selection. I try on a red and black one, and as he has no mirror, he uses my digital camera to photograph me so I can see how I look.

I bargain hard and he offers them to me for the incredibly low prices I had requested (I think Rs. 400 for the two of them). I didn't think he'd give me that price, and I realize I don't really want them, so I say, "No, never mind, I've changed my mind." He says, "No, you can't do that." I think I've violated a rule of bargaining here, and begin to feel guilty. He begs me to buy the shawls. I will be his first sale for the day, and he's having a slow day. If he can sell these to me, it will guarantee he'll have a good day. The first sale is always a lucky one, he indicates. I buy the two shawls, justifying the purchase by telling myself they'll make good gifts for my mother and Nonna, or at least keep me warm as I travel. Only thing is, they're pretty thick and bulky (compared to pashmina).

I look for some books, but I can't find anything. I cannot remember if it is today or the following day, but one day while I am eating my thali lunch, a parade starts up in the main street of Old Delhi. It is a Sikh festival, and the Sikhs bring their communal kitchen to the streets for all to enjoy. There are brass bands and groups of school children marching through the street in parade fashion. A bus comes through decorated with strings of flowers. The Sikhs have prepared food dishes to share with all the people lining the streets of Old Delhi--chole bhature (spicy chick peas with maida flower fried bread that puffs up like a bubble), and others. Crowds surround some men giving out juice boxes and food. A good time is had by all, but the streets are left to bear the brunt of the festival.

Later in the day, I bump into the German guy. He tells me he's left a note for me with the front desk staff at our hostel. When I get to the hostel, I ask for the note. "Think about it. Do it. You may not get another chance," it reads. Of all the people to give me such advice, he must know something about not getting another chance, I reason. This is the kind of serendipity people come to India for, the kind of coincidence I had heard in other's experiences, but hadn't yet experienced myself. I've been waiting for this all along. Something outside of myself to direct me. My inclination to stay in India for another three months is gaining validity.

Now, I must insert here, that I think I was in Old Delhi for approximately two days and three nights, before I headed off to Gurgaon for Thanksgiving and R&R at Austin's Google guesthouse. I cannot recall the exact order in which the aforementioned events took place, and in what order they occurred.

In any case, I believe it was on the evening of my first day in Old Delhi, after the shawls and the Sikh festival and the note, that I had another serendipitous encounter. I returned to the cute, comfortable cafe where I had been treated to breakfast that morning. I sat alone, looking around at all the travelers who had others to talk to, or who were reserving places for friends. I felt alone, but strong. In came two travelers. They tried to sit down, but another person said, "these seats are reserved for friends."

"Sit here," I said, "I have no friends." I guess I was a little down on myself. They sat across from me, and I recognized American accents. I hadn't talked to an American in a while. Although I was a bit sick of talking to travelers by this point, I asked them where they were from, how long they'd been in India, when they were heading home, etc. They were both originally from San Francisco, but the woman was currently residing in Oregon and running her own travel and outdoor recreation business. They had come to India for a friend's wedding. "I'm leaving early tomorrow morning," the woman said, "but he's..." Stephen was his name. Turns out he was scheduled to leave with her, but contemplating extending his flight.

I told them I had the same quandary. I couldn't believe I was meeting someone even more indecisive than myself, someone who would wait just a few hours before his flight to change his itinerary. He said he felt that he hadn't fully experienced India, that he was still waiting for some spiritual inspiration, the thing people come to India for. I think that for both of us, the decision-making process brought us into our first serendipitous moments in India. For me, these were with the German man and Stephen, and for Stephen, it was with me. I told him about my experience with the German man, about how with his advice, I was leaning very strongly toward staying another three or so months in India, and fulfilling my goal of staying at an ashram and visiting spice gardens. I think this was the mirror Stephen needed to look in, to learn that his soul also wanted to stay a bit longer.

He decided that night to call his airline and change his ticket. He told me that it was because of his meeting with me that he was able to make this decision. I divulged that now I felt very responsible for his well-being and positive experience in India, but he assured me that it was not my responsibility. He seemed very happy about his decision and promptly made plans to leave some of the heavy luggage (for example, a bike kickstand) at the hotel so he could travel light.

I stayed one more day in Old Delhi, and probably met up with Stephen after his friend left on her scheduled flight. But I cannot remember exactly what I did on those days in Old Delhi.

I do know that Stephen was a wonderful person to have in Inida. Although we did not meet up after Old Delhi, we kept in touch via Facebook messages, offering each other our joys and struggles, our doubts and assurances about our decisions. He thanked me many times for helping him fulfill his personal destiny and deepen his spiritual journey in India. He sat in a 10-day Vipassana meditation course and made good friends with a Keralan family who owned a guesthouse. He ended up staying in India maybe 1-2 months longer than I, but we still kept in touch.