The Invincible Lines of Delhi

At about 3:00am, safely in the van to the hotel, as we drove away from the stridency of Indira Gandhi International Airport, a calm and quietness surrounded us. The bright lights faded into darkness as we sped through the unlit streets of Delhi. I stared out the window to the left side of the street, which was an unending line of makeshift outbuildings. Shadows were busily moving about selling tires, mechanical parts, food, and tea.

A motorcycle sped past us, with four grown men on it! The guy on the back looking at his cell phone as confidently as if he were seated stationary. Coming from Northern California, this was simultaneously amusing and shocking to me. As my journey unfolded, seeing four people on a motorcycle became commonplace.

I noticed the streets were painted with lane lines, at least that is what we call them on our streets, however, my driver was driving down the center of the lines. When I queried him, he seemed indifferent, even oblivious to the fact that street lines have any significance whatsoever.

Rounding the corner with a little more traffic, yes, it was clear that the street lines have zero implication for guiding traffic, and neither with nor against the flow. Yet, somehow, it all works. Sure, there are near misses, close calls of head on collisions, but that is just the way they roll.

It was quite clear that I was too attached to “living between the lines”. Perhaps I crossed the line with my inquiry. I needed to relax into the flow, silently observe, and not ask questions.

TRAVEL TIP – Traveling internationally, it is a good idea to know the location of your embassy or consulate. Our world has become a crazy place politically, but there are also environmental considerations, Acts of God (i.e. earthquakes, floods, and storms) that are simply out of our control, and elude even the best laid plans. If the “shiz hits the fan” it is a keen to know where to go for help and protection.

Before I left for India, I printed a map of the location of the U.S. Embassy, and kept it with me. Thank God, I had no need for it!

Moving through the streets of Delhi, the streets were now lined with enormously huge gates, one after another. I noticed signs that read “Canadian Consulate, “Embassy of United Kingdom,” “French Consulate”. I thought, “This is Embassy row. The Constitution Avenue of New Delhi”. A few more country’s embassy’s whizzed by. Yes! There it was “United States Embassy”, I breathed a sigh of relief, I don’t know why, I just did.

A few more sharp turns and then an abrupt stop in front of a huge black gate. The gates opened, the van windows opened, the trunk opened, armed guards approached the van. One was wheeling a mirror under the van. Before I could “freak the freak out” a smiling man, with gun over his shoulder poked his head in my window and cheerily greeted me and said “Hello! Welcome to the Clardidges.” I thought “Wow cheerful and holding a riffle”. Resisting the temptation to ask an annoying question, I responded with a smile and said “Thank you.”

Man with riffle not shown

The van pulled in, my door opened for me and two gentlemen politely, yet insistently, ushered me to the lobby. While my baggage was being put through a scanner, an exquisite young woman greeted me with beauty and grace and said “Namaste”. I replied “Namaste” as I put my palms together in front of my heart. She was holding a round golden tray, with a lit candle, exotic flowers, red oil, and rice.

She welcomed me with a Tilaka (Hindi: तिलक). Hindustani pronunciation: [t̪ɪˈlək] A ritual mark on the forehead, as a sign of blessing, greeting and auspiciousness. The tilaka is usually made out of a red vermilion paste (kumkum) which is a mixture of turmeric, alum, iodine, camphor, and, it can also be of a sandalwood paste (chandan) blended with musk.

She applied this with one upward stroke of her thumb on the spot between my brows. The spot between the brows is considered the seat of latent wisdom and mental concentration. This is the spot on which yogis meditate to become one with the Divine. It also indicates the point at which the spiritual eye opens. All thoughts and actions are said to be governed by this spot. Putting of the coloured mark symbolizes the quest for the “opening”of the third eye.

The night clerk asked for my passport, and another gentleman holding my room key, escorted me to my room. I asked about my passport, and he said, “You don’t need to worry about that, Madam. Someone will bring it to you shortly.”

Shortly after he left, a knock at my door was a kind young woman holding a portfolio (the kind you get when you pay your check at a restaurant) with business like demeanor, she returned my passport and took my credit card information.

The door clicked closed behind her, and I was completely alone. Again, it dawned on me that I was here in the womb of Mother India.