H is for Horrendous: A Godawful Morning Gives way to a Rewarding Day in Delhi

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

New Delhi

H is for Horrendous: A Godawful Morning Gives way to a Rewarding Day in Delhi

     Namaste from New Delhi!

     As days go, this is the worst I have had in India so far! So be prepared for an account of untold disappointment and unforeseen stress. 

     So after having gone to bed at 4.30 am in the Fulbright Guest House in New Delhi where I landed an hour previously, I felt relatively sure that things would move along as planned, i.e. I would go to the Bank at Vasant Vihar, pay my visa fees, then head to the Embassy of Uzbekistan, hand in my passport and supporting documents and get my visa in the evening to allow me to head back to Bombay on the 9.30 pm flight this evening.

     Except that none of this happened. It occurred to me, when I awoke in the morning at 8.00 am after 4 hours’ sleep, that the reason the Fulbright Office staff were not here on the premises today was because it is a Bank Holiday—it happens to be Mahavir Jayanti! I had no clue—and it seems neither had it occurred to the Fulbright office staff.  Or maybe they did not know that while it was important for the Embassy to be open (which it is as they do not follow Indian holidays), they did not realize that my visa procedure involved going in actual person to a bank to make a transaction. 

     So when I called my Dad first thing in the morning to tell him that I had arrived safely in Delhi and that all was well with me, we realized in the course of our conversation that there would be no bank open for me to make visa fee payment in the specific account of the Embassy!

     I ended up calling Anupam, the Fulbright staffer who is in-charge of my travel, and he called his colleagues and they reached the same conclusion I had done—no banks would be open today so no payment could be made.  He called me a little later to suggest another course of action. Why don’t I go to the Embassy and explain to the Consular staff that I had the money (both in US and Indian currency) and could pay them in cash for the visa directly if they could make an exception in view of the bank holiday.

     And that was what I did. Because the Consulate would not open before 10.00 am, I headed to the Fulbright cafe where I had a complimentary breakfast: a masala omelette with two slices of toast and butter and a glass of lassi. It was a lovely breakfast and it fueled me well for the rest of the ordeal that I did not know would lie ahead.

     Just as I was finishing my breakfast, I found Olga, wife of the Director of the USIEF Program, Adam, playing with her dog Patrick on the lawns outside. It turns out that her apartment was in the Director’s residential wing, a few feet away, on the top floor. Sadly, I could not meet Adam as the two of them were leaving in about an hour for their Easter holidays in Sri Lanka. However, it was great to see Olga again as I had become quite friendly with her when we met at the Fulbright Conference in Cochin in February.       

In an Uber to the Embassy:

I called for an Uber that took me from the Fulbright Office gate near Connaught Place to Chanakyapuri’s diplomatic enclave to get to the Embassy. I have to pause her for a minute to tell you how thrilling it was to be in Delhi again and how excited I felt to be viewing this urban masterpiece of Edwin Lutyens and Herbert Baker, designers of this glorious city, all over again.  I had last been to Delhi in 2008, i.e. 11 years ago and one tends to forget how appealing it is. 

       Fortunately, in some minor ways the Gods of Good Fortune we’re smiling down on me—although in big ways, they were really taking the mickey! The weather was gorgeous: I had been dreading Delhi in the heat of a North Indian summer; but believe me, it was like spring in Connecticut: the air was crisp and devoid of humidity and so much better than Bombay has been in the last couple of weeks. As I coursed through the city in my cab, I passed by India Gate on Raj Path and swiveling my head around, I saw the magnificent domes of Rashtrapati Bhavan’s rose and gold sandstone edifice: such a symbol of imperial power that is now a symbol of post-colonial independence.  On beautiful broad boulevards and avenues we drove, past very clearly marked institutions—the National Archives, the Shastri Memorial Library, the Indian Railways Headquarters—they made me feel so proud of my Indian heritage. And, of course, when we passed the National Museum of India, I made a mental note, that time-permitting, I would saunter in there. 

     Along the way, we passed also those clusters of Lutyens bungalows—built as residential quarters for colonial officials—Two up, two down brick structures that are uniformly painted off-white with wide wraparound verandahs and Juliet balconies. Today, they are occupied by Indian ministers who live in secluded privacy behind tall off-white walls. Delhi is also lush and green—each boulevard is lined with established trees that form a shady canopy above and each radiating rotary is a fairy-tale garden with a shot of delightful color in the form of perennial Indian flowers. This is modern urban design at its best. 

     Also, since it was a holiday, the streets were emptied of all traffic and human habitation. They were nothing but a pleasure to drive through—I kept thinking that this must have been how Delhi looked seventy years ago when the British were leaving and the Indians were taking charge again. I felt truly exhilarated to see this city in this light when nothing but its brilliant architecture could be appreciated as my hungry eyes took in the urban eye candy. 

     So, by the time we reached the Embassy, I was filled with renewed excitement and I looked forward to a brilliant day ahead.

At the Uzbekistan Embassy:

    I could not be more mistaken. Dropped off at the Embassy gates, I made my way to the tiny window (no larger than a bank counter) to a virtually-hidden chowkidar who asked me the nature of my business. I told him I had come for a visa. He asked me which country I was from: I told him the USA. He asked to see my passport. I handed it over. He asked if I had my telex number. (This was sent to me from the US Embassy in Uzbekistan). I gave it to him. He asked me for my bank receipt for payment. I told him I did not have that as all banks were closed today. That’s when the trouble began...

     A conversation ensued between him and someone inside—all on the phone. Turns out they could not issue my visa unless payment was made. When I asked if they would accept cash, the chowkidar told me that someone would be coming out to talk to me. I am positive they did so only because I happened to have a US passport—the chowkidar kept referring to me in his conversations in Hindi with the folks inside as the “US citizen”. 

     About ten minutes later, two Consular officers came out to meet me: a man and a woman named Mafrat. They treated me with the utmost courtesy as they invited me inside into a small office. They told me that as an international embassy, they are prohibited from entering into any cash transactions with anyone—hence the arrangement with the local bank. They understood my predicament and when I told them that I had a return flight to Bombay that evening, the man suggested I do a bank wire transfer—NEFT as it is known in India—from my personal account in my bank to their bank account. He gave me the bank details and told me that it was a simple matter, could be done in two minutes and the instant transfer of the money would be reflected in their account. Once they received the money, he said they would issue the visa.  In my case, they would make allowances, he said, and allow me to deliver my payment receipt and papers past the 12 noon deadline. He instructed the chowkidar accordingly.

     With nothing more to say, I thanked them profusely and called for another Uber to take me back to the Fulbright office. Anupam instructed the security staff to open the office for me so that I could use one of the computers that is attached to a printer and we set to work. Luckily, Anupam stayed on the phone with me as I tried to make the wire transfers. 

     I will not go into the painful details but I will tell you this. At every stage, I was made to feel frustrated.  Either the system was too slow or the system was shutting me out or technical errors made it impossible for me to make the transaction.   It was simply endless.  Feeling more and more stressed, I had to take deep breaths to pull myself together mentally. Finally, when I did get through, I discovered that my bank had a  day limit of no more than Rs. 10,000 on wire transfers. My visa cost about Rs. 13,000–so I had a firewall that came up to prevent me from doing any further transactions. Meanwhile, I had misunderstood and thought that I could do no more than Rs. 10,000 per transaction (not per day). So I had decided (with advice from Anupam) to do two transactions for a total of Rs. 13,000. That was a bad move because, as it turned out, the Embassy would not accept anything other than a single transfer for the entire amount. It was a nightmare, if you can imagine it!

     Anyway, with Rs. 9000 already deposited in the Embassy account and no way that I could deposit any more until tomorrow, I called the Embassy again. This time an accountant informed me that they would make an exception in my case provided I write a letter to the Ambassador explaining why it had been necessary for me to make two payments. He told me to make the second installment of the payment tomorrow, bring printed receipts for both payments, bring the signed letter of explanation and return with all these documents to, hopefully, get the visa. 

     This meant that I had no other choice but to cool my heels here in Delhi for another 24 hours. Believe me, I had tried all possible options in attempting to get my visa today and I had failed. I had to pray for the serenity to accept that which I could not change. And I did. 

     I left Anupam to sort out the business of putting me up for one more night here at the Fulbright Guest House (which is very safe, really luxurious and in an incredibly quiet part of the capital) and to adjust my ticket so that I leave tomorrow night instead of tonight! It also meant that I had to contact the folks in Bombay with whom I had scheduled interviews for my field research as I am booked solid with work assignments until the rest of the week—I cancelled both of them and told them I would reschedule them. I also called the person in charge of Lectors to let her know that I would not be able to do the Second Reading in church on Maundy Thursday. I also told my Dad about my predicament. He was close to tears as he had been looking forward to seeing me home for the Holy Week services. 

Off to Explore Delhi on my Own:

     You know by now what my philosophy of life is, right? When Life gives you lemons, make a ruddy G and T! So I was off and hitting the roads of Delhi before you could say Jai Hind! I took an auto and asked the driver to take me to the National Gallery which was not far away at all.  It was about 2.00 pm and Delhi’s population had finally awoken. There was some traffic build up but still...nothing of the sort one could expect on a working day. It was still a pleasure to be ferried around this stunning city.

At the National Museum:

     Like all official buildings, the National Museum of Delhi—known also as the National Museum of India—is a solid pink and yellow sandstone edifice that houses some of the most significant national treasures.  Of course, I could quite easily have spent the entire day here, but I decided instead to head straight for the most magnificent exhibition one could ever have the good fortunate of seeing. The Jewelry of the former Nizam of Hyderabad, that the Indian Government had acquired instead of allowing them to be auctioned off to the highest international bidders, was on display. I had been telling my students for years about this collection which was reputed to have diamonds and emeralds and sapphires and rubies as large as hen’s eggs. Well, today, I had the chance to set eyes on them myself.  And I was simply blown away!

The Jewelry Collection of the Nizam of Hyderabad:      

      All of you know that the Jewelry section of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London is my favorite part of that museum. So you can just imagine what I was looking at: a collection that puts the entire two floors of that section completely in the shade.  You had to see this collection to believe it: apart from the Jacob Diamond which is 185 carats and is valued at Rs. 450 crores plus its antique value; there were necklaces, ear-rings, bracelets, armlets, anklets, rings, turban-ornaments and such that were absolutely staggering. I was literally dumb-founded by the miles of strings of pearls and the size of those emeralds. The Moghuls had a fondness for emeralds because the color green is associated with Islam—and indeed they were as large as small bird’s eggs. There was a stunning Navratan brooch that is on the brochure and there were matching bracelets that were gifted to the Nizam’s faithful retainers! The collection truly beggars description.  What’s more, it is so impeccably curated with pictures of the ladies of the harem and close family members actually wearing these items in black and white photographs of the period that have sepiaed with age. Truly, my enjoyment in being in Delhi was full enhanced by this completely unexpected treasure trove on which I could actually set eyes. The collection is protected in a vault and has round the clock armed guards keeping watch. By the way, the ticket to enter the Museum costs Rs. 20 but you pay an additional Rs. 50 to see the Nizam’s Jewels.

     If you remember, when I was in Hyderabad in October last year, I had spent a lot of time in the Salar Jung Museum—now Salar Jung was the Dewan or Prime Minister of this Nizam—the Nizam off Hyderabad. I remember thinking as I feasted my eyes upon Salar Jung’s treasures that the horde of his employer would probably be a thousand times more dazzling.  Little did I know, when the thoughts passed through my mind in October, that by April, I would actually get to see the Aladdin’s Cave accumulated by the Nizam! How’s that for coincidences? What’s more, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time as this Jewelry exhibition only began in March and will be on until May 5. So in the midst of the horrors I had experienced at the Embassy, the silver lining to the gloomy cloud was seeing this once-in-a-lifetime collection. Truly a highlight of my year in India.   

     Before I left the museum, I browsed through its permanent collection that included wonderful miniature paintings from the Moghul and Rajasthan schools, superb Chola bronzes, grand stone and metal sculpture, an entire section devoted to the Indus Valley Civilization which contains the famous Dancing Girl from Mohenjo-darp and other major archeological finds. The Museum is huge, beautifully laid out,spotlessly clean and well maintained. Truly a national treasure.

Lunch in the Museum Canteen:

     By then, it was 3.00 pm and I was hungry—so I asked where the museum canteen was and I made my way there.  The thing about having such a glorious city is that you cannot find the sort of roadside shacks that you see all over Bombay in a place like this—and thankfully so.  Should you need sustenance, you will need to head to an area far from the diplomatic or artistic enclaves—and I did not want to waste time trying to find food.

     The museum canteen would do just fine: I had a special thali which came with rice (which I did not eat), two heavy parathas, dal, paneer masala, raita and papad and I ordered a glass of lassi—no one makes lassi like the Delhites. I remembered the amazing lassis we used to have as a family when we were on a holiday when I was in my teens. They were so creamy and so rich, we could only have a few tablespoons of it before feeling satiated. 

     

Heading to an Interview:

     One of the things I’d had the intellectual foresight to do when I knew I would have a few hours to kill in Delhi between submitting my passport and picking it up was schedule an interview with someone I was very keen to meet as part of my study: Ibrahim Alkazi is known to be a giant among contemporary Indian developers of culture and the arts. He is Delhi-based and has been since 1961 (having started his work in Bombay where he was eminent in English-language theater). Sadly, he is now 94 and unable to speak. His daughter, Amal Allan, however, a theater director herself, had been very happy to fix an appointment with me and it was her that I was meeting at 4.00 pm. She texted me the address and in an auto rickshaw, I was there in about 10 minutes. As she was running late, I had a chance to see the wonderful exhibition on the lower level of the Art Heritage Gallery (which Alkazi had started and which his children now run as a family business) of the recent prints of the artist Devraj Dakoji whose work I had first seen in Bombay  while I was in my teens and had still lived there. 

  

An Exhibition of the Work of Devraj Dakoji:

     So, while waiting for Amal and after meeting her son, Tariq, I feasted on the work of Devraj Dakoji who has been living in New York, on Long Island, for the past 25 years. He is a print maker par excellence and I was thrilled to become acquainted with his recent work. In the style of the American poet, Walt Whitman, who had lived not far from Babylon, New York, where Dakoji lives, Leaves of Grass, the poet’s masterpiece had been created and printed at his own printing press. I told Devraj this when I met him a little while later. It was fascinating to see what he has done with the Long Island Railroad tickets as he commuted from Manhattan to Long Island—he sketched on them to pass time and many of those sketches became full-scale prints or lithographs—this was very exciting for me to see. 

   

An Interview with Amal Allana:

     My interview with Amal took place in her office in the basement of the Triveni Art Gallery complex where her own art gallery Art Heritage is located. I found her a delight to chat with as she told me about her father’s contribution to the Performing and Fine Arts in contemporary India. She showed me the books she has edited, the volumes that were brought out for his 90th birthday and about all her memories of growing up in the illustrious Padamsee family (her mother was Roshan Padamsee, Alyque’s sister) with this multitude of cousins. As the oldest cousin, she is a storehouse of memories and she could reiterate for me what Yohan  and Raell had told me earlier. Plus she should tell me about the family life she enjoyed with her father and mother Roshan, both in Bombay and in Delhi. It was simply amazing. I loved every second of our dialogue and truly wished it could have lasted longer. 

     Later, I met her husband Nissar, a theater set designer, who also owns an art gallery in New York City that is called the Alkazi Gallery. He told me about the number of plays the two of them had done in Bombay before they migrated to Delhi—mostly the work of Bertoldt Brecht as Amal had trained in Germany on dramatizing Brecht’s plays. I was deeply excited by the contribution of this family to the work I am currently pursuing. I was also happy to participate in the opening called Urbania of the 12 artists they are featuring in their multi-artist exhibition right now. There was tea and rather delicious snacks but as I’d had a very late lunch, I could not stomach much at all.   

Browsing Around Connaught Place:

     After a fabulous evening in the midst of a thriving capital art community, I took another rick to Connaught Place and decided, while twilight fell softly over the city, to browse through the handsome shops there. I reached there in another ten minutes in a rickshaw and made a beeline for the Oxford Bookshop. It had rained quite suddenly and the temperature had dipped rather fiercely. I was very cold in my shirt-sleeves and was happy to be in the book shop for a while as I lost myself in the travel section.

     Connaught Place is very smart these days; it is newly painted and gleams in a pristine white. The Doric columns that made up this arcaded shopping area looked grand. It is suitably adorned with designer showrooms and all the international brands you could want. I needed a new cable for my phone and went into a store to buy it. I have decided to go in for the cheapest brands I can find as these cables only last about a year on an average—whether one buys Apple or anything else. 

     With my buy done, I went into Burger King and bought a meal: A Tandoori Chicken Burger with fries and a Pepsi for my dinner. I carried it out intending to eat it in about two hours when I would feel hungry again. 

     I then took a rick and made my way back to the Fulbright Guest House at about 7.30. I settled down to have a chat with Llew and tell him about my woes of the morning which I had decided to put behind me as I focused on enjoying a little bit of Delhi now that I have the unexpected opportunity to be here. Tomorrow, no doubt, will bring a fresh share of tension and I need to steal myself for the worst that I can expect. I had, meanwhile, received the updated ticket from Anupam—so, hopefully, I will get my visa tomorrow and be able to get on with my travel plans.  

     Until tomorrow.