In Delhi Again

The march is 30 km from Delhi. The foreigners are now based in Delhi for the remainder of the march. Despite the short distance, the drive into Delhi takes 1 1/2 hours because of the traffic. The march organizers and the police are worried what will happen as the march enters Delhi tomorrow. The marchers usually take up one side of the highway where traffic is not allowed to enter. Police escort has been more prominent since the traffic accident.

Yesterday, an old man died of a heart on the march. The organizers wanted to send him home, but he refused. He said the march for him is do or die. If he goes home, he will die at home, he would rather die on the march so he could serve out his purpose.

In this last leg of the march, more foreigners have joined us. Hotel changes and car rides have become chaotic. Late arrivals, usually the younger people in the early twenties, don't get a bed. They park themselves on the terrace, hallway, or wherever they can find a spot. The foreigners are resigned to the Indian way of doing things and often remind each other not to impose our Western ideas of efficiency and order in ths country.

The good thing, I suppose, is people think I am 35. And when I start talking about my 17-year-old son, they take a second look and say, What do you mean? Then I tell them I am 51. They are taken aback. One of the translators said, We knew there was something different about you. We were talking last night and we decided of all the foreigners we love you the most because we have the most respect for you. I said, It's because you are good boys and you respect your mothers. He said, Maybe that's so, but you also treat us well, not like we are servants. Some of the other foreigners treat us like servants and make us carry their things.

I am aghast at that, though I have seen it as well. These boys speak English, they have a college education. One of them is finishing his PHD. One boy's father is a senior scientist, another's is a doctor. They all come from educated families. They are always kind to me and tell me they are happy to help, even at the hotel, in the street, when we are not on the march, because "you are our guest", they say. I only hope Nic is as gracious as they are and I hate the idea people treat him like a servant when he tries to help. So despite the chaos and heat of India, I am glad I have not betrayed my values.

I like walking from the back of the march to the front. As I pass by each group, some of them invite me to dance and I usually join in. They show me the steps and I manage to mimic the simple ones, though I feel like I have three left feet. I am especially fond of the transvestite dancers. They are hermaphrodites, apparently a large community in India. Except they are referred to as genderless. They don't fit in main stream society so they live with their own kind.

In the process of dancing with them, I have learned a few nifty steps. I am hearing the different kinds of country music on the march. Some of them sound kind of country and western, and even...what is that music in Oh Brother Where Art Thou? I am forgetting some English words, but I am sure I have not picked up much Hindi.

I am taking today off again as I am bourgeois at core. I want to rest my feet and to sort out my flight to Afghanistan and return to Canada. Some of the French women returned to Delhi yesterday. When I saw them at night, they were armed with purchases for home. They told me about going to The Big Chill, where they ate pasta with pesto and grilled chicken. They had fresh salad, washed in purified water. They had ice cream. I look forward to going to The Big Chill for lunch today.