adventures in Delhi

We went to the Independence day parade our first day in Delhi, and met a man from Texas.  Our prefessor is from Texas so of course they knew each other (joke) and there was instant connection.  We planned to all have lunch together but went back to his hotel first, which was nearby, to grab some water.  He was staying at a very very expensively rich hotel.  We had fun playing on the mod couches and riding the elevators.  Our friend (Steve) was leaving town the next day but would be back later on.  A few days ago he called us to say he was back in Delhi and invited us for dinner and drinks at his hotel.  So 6 of us girls, Patricia, Martin, and their two sons, and the token male student all giggled and drank wine in his hotel room replete with vanities, sundries, and “mood lighting” options of orange and blue.  After dinner, we students went to a bar lounge where our host catered to every possible whim (waiter: wine, water, chips, chocolate, waiter: please turn down that light, waiter: could you change the music?).  Fascinating.  I danced chatted with 2 Hollanders and a man from Denmark dressed as Aladdin.  When the bar/lounge closed and everyone else was ready to go home, I wanted to keep dancing, so said goodbye to my friends, promised to be safe and good, and went with Aladdin to another club.  Two locals in front of us in line at the door got us in quickly.
Alladin quickly became upset at the attention I was getting (males and females alike).  I felt no need to give in to demands that I felt were silly and controlling, and while trying to explain myself he removed himself of his “responsibility” for me and we parted ways.  One of the men who had gotten me into the door, Karen, tried to entertain me with magic tricks.  I didn’t get to dance very long before the club closed.  Karen and his friend drove me home to the hotel.
The next day Karen phoned and begged to go to dinner.  I was tired from the previous late night, and knew I had to get up for school relatively early, so was just planning to grab a quick bite nearby with my roomie, Brett.  I told Karen this, and he said he’d join us.  He said he would meet us at 8:00 at a more central hotel than ours.
In India, if you ask where something is and the unfortunate responder doesn’t know, he (I say he because this has been my experience) usually gives you directions anyway.  “down the street, take a left.”  Not there.  20 questions later, Brett and I mounted a cycle rickshaw that turned out to be broken, and arrived at the “central” hotel at 8:40.  Karen wasn’t there, so I phoned him – “I’m so close.  10 minutes, I’ll be there.”  An hour later, I phoned him again – “I got into an accident with a motorcycle.  I’m so close.  10 minutes, I’ll be there.”  20 minutes later he arrived with his friend, Also Karen.  But before we went to dinner we had to pick up a shirt from another friend who lived nearby.  Karen was adamant that Also Karen not get out of the car when we got there, but that Brett and I should come meet his friend.
Karen described his friend as “very fair, my best friend since elementary school.”  He turned out to be the most feminine man Brett and I had ever met, very sweet and gentle – the demeanor of Mr. Rogers, a shirt like where’s Waldo, and the hand gestures of Albert in The Birdcage.
Back in the car, we asked Also Karen what the conflict was between the two.  Also Karen said, “You know, he just likes me too much, like he’s obsessed with me, he’s just too sensitive, like if we became friends he’d be too afraid of losing friendship.  He’s totally straight, he’s just a sensitive guy.”  Brett and I knew full well the taboo of homosexuality in India, but Brett asked, “Do you guys know any homosexuals?”  “No no, of course not.”   Brett asked, “Do you think it’s strange that we have homosexual marriages in Canada?”   “I mean, homosexual sex happens all the time, just behind closed doors, no one talks about it.”
We drove and drove and drove, Brett and I looking at one another with suprise, because we thought we were going somewhere quick and close.  Of course not… 30-45 minutes later we arrived at a club.  Hungry tired Sylvias aren’t so good when it comes to not getting what they were expecting, especially when GETTING FOOD IN THE BODY RIGHT NOW and SLEEP are on the line.  I try to not let it affect those around me, but I’m pretty terrible at being opaque.  Brett had a much better attitude.  We found seats in the crowded loud upstairs, ordered food, and looked in awe at the model-esque Europeans all around us.  Maybe a third of the patrons looked Indian.  Downstairs, imitations of erotic Indian sculptures canoodled on the walls.
As we waited for our food, our suspisions that our driver was completely insane were confirmed.  He constantly asked us about his hair, his appearance, he introduced us to all of his friends! but got upset when we talked to other people for too long, he asked us to marry him an tell others of our plans.  He was practically manic.  Brett guessed coke.  I didn’t know.
After too long at the club, I demanded that we leave.  “Let’s dance for 5 minutes.”  “By 5 minutes do you mean an hour?”  “You are so rude!”  “I want to go home.”  “Let’s just say goodbye first, okay?”  So we did.
Also Karen had left earlier because of work.  On our way home, Karen talked to Brett in the front about how upset I was, what was wrong with me, about how fair his father and friend were, about his own appearance, about who was the prettiest girl at the club, about how amazing club climax was on a Saturday night!, about his birthday on the 6th of Feb!.  Brett, the incredible actress, played along.  When she tried to explain why I wasn’t happy chipper, he became very defensive.  Denial, not a river in India.  It is a strange experience to sit in the backseat of a car listening to “she’s upset!  she’s upset!  what’s wrong with her!  such an attitude!  so rude!”  With curiosity, I said nothing, aware that my silence probaby perpetuated the problem.
When we got to our neighborhood, Karen was lost.  He asked me to drive because he was tired.  “No, thank you.”  He begged for 2 minutes to rest.  “No, we need to go home.”  When we stopped to ask for directions he appeared to sleep.  When Brett said she needed to go to the bathroom, he insisted that he stop – “No.”  He complained about us not going to his house to drink champagne and have a good time.  He was somehow unable to follow the directions that we tried to gather 4 times.  When Brett and I said we would find an auto rickshaw to take us home, he became very distressed and hurt.
The next time he stopped, I got out of the car.  As Brett tried to get out, he started driving.  She escaped with no trouble, and we approached some auto-rickshaw drivers (who are relievingly and unbelievably ubiquitous) to take us home.  As they debated over where our hotel was, Karen joined us, arguing that he would drive us home.  Brett and I got into the rickshaw.  Karen followed us all the way to the hotel.  We said our goodbyes when we paid the rickshaw driver, but Karen followed us into the hotel “to use the bathroom”.  Brett and I joined the comforting arms of a few of our friends who were in the lobby lounge finishing their journals for school; Karen came to talk to us but the hotel administrators pulled him away.  When we went up to our room, he was still talking to them.
Since then, our phone has rung at least 8 times.  We don’t answer it any more.
Hooray for bonding times and funny stories:)