Here I spent 2.5 months, visiting four different cities in four northern states. The main conclusion is that India is very diverse from within and yet appears very homogeneous from the outside. Everywhere there’s a sense of madness, crowds, smells, sounds, and animals. But as you move within, in each new point, you think that everything here is completely different.
Delhi is a huge city with 40 million people, the liveliest city among all that I have seen. Insanely ancient, having survived not just one millennium but multiple empires, this city partially reveals its history through parks with ancient temple ruins, English quarters, and modern slums. However, there’s a catch. Other wandering Russians we met in the mountains called this city a purgatory and assured us that even after continuous years in India, it would be tough to handle Delhi. The intensity of the city, the vibrant life, too much happening around, too many things to consciously or subconsciously keep track of.
Jaipur - the ancient capital of the Rajput warriors-rulers, leaving behind a city-monument filled with fortifications (you can climb them!) and palaces. Compared to Delhi, it’s a small calm city. Compared to Moscow, it’s small but extremely intense. But despite such a comparison, I wanted to escape to a village in the mountains and sit there, allowing my cognitive apparatus to rest.
The first impression of the country is at customs. We entered on electronic visas, and the immigration officer had to put two stamps in the passport - one for the visa and one for entry. To ensure the officer didn’t forget anything, there was a special old man sitting on a stool after border control, checking these stamps. But it seems the old man didn’t know that there should be two stamps. We also found out about it too late when we were waiting for the baggage and discovered that Katya’s visa was missing. The problem of a missing visa becomes evident immediately. They ask for it literally everywhere they ask for the passport. From checking into a hotel to buying a SIM card. So we had to go through the maze of the local immigration office. Among the pyramids of document boxes, about ten people were sitting and discussing something important. But as soon as we came in, four of them got distracted and collectively stamped the visa.
The fact that this country is different from anything I’ve seen before is evident even at the airport. Huge cardboard boxes roll on the baggage carousels instead of sports bags, fire points with soldiers are inside and at the entrances, creating a sense of general nonchalance and simultaneously a surge of seriousness towards the rules that no one takes too seriously. Even to get a SIM card, you need to go to an official sales point and fill out an endless form, with the most notable item being the mobile phone of someone local. Since I had no local acquaintances, the guys who were arranging my SIM card just entered the data of a random person from the street. Literally, someone passed by, they took his phone and put his data in my application. Interestingly, the branded Airtel point in Delhi - the local operator, with employees in branded merch and a big sign, turned out to be unofficial, but they escorted us to the official one. The official point was just a hundred meters away. It looked like an average store in India - a counter sticking out onto the street filled with all sorts of things. Specifically, these guys were selling SIM cards from different operators, chargers, candies, and pastries.
In the cities, you mainly move around using transportation as walking is difficult due to the heat, lack of sidewalks, and the distances in million-person cities. Most of the time, you ride in tuk-tuks. You can order them through an app or simply catch them on the street. They are easy to find as they are everywhere. But you have to bargain and negotiate with them. Sometimes it can be challenging. Some Sikhs (distinguished by their all-white garments) cannot look at the phone screen, and you’ll have to explain where you want to go using words, which is quite tricky if you don’t understand where you need to go yourself. You can call them using the app. In Uber, there is even a special category for these guys. But it’s better to download the local app and pay in cash. Otherwise, they might not show up.
People here are extremely sociable. They often approach you on the street to talk. Sometimes to deceive, sometimes just to have a chat. The most popular request is to take a picture with a tourist. This is mostly asked by other local tourists in touristy places. All interactions can be divided into two undistinguished clusters. In one, there is an extremely friendly communication, occasionally causing awkwardness. For example, our host in Jaipur said to tell him if we needed anything for household purposes. We asked for an extension cord, and he immediately went to the market. In the other cluster, they try to deceive you. They deceive you with small things - they overcharge, a tuk-tuk might ask for more money after the ride, or they aggressively push unnecessary services, excursions, or encounters with gurus in a village. The same tuk-tuks can drive alongside you for several hundred meters, inviting you to get in. The funniest scam we fell for (or not?) went like this: In Jaipur, there’s a monkey temple. The road to it is a mountain trail through the pass. When you reach the temple, you see a booth. On it are remnants of a torn sign “Tickets,” and on the window, there’s an A4 sheet with prices. The entrance cost 100 rupees per person. We gave 200 out of the only 230 we had and were about to go further when an Indian - a guide stopped us and started arguing with the seller. It was unclear what they were arguing about, but after the dispute, he told us that we should be welcomed inside. Not understanding anything, we went on, didn’t look for anyone, and later saw the inscription “Tickets - scam?” on this booth’s location on maps. The temple was operational, and you could enter the sanctuary by taking off your shoes. The monk, letting groups of believers inside one by one, allowed us in without waiting in line, telling us what each thing was. It’s a tile, this is an altar, this is Krishna, this is Shiva, this is something you don’t know, give 200 rupees. We didn’t have 200 rupees, so we gave the last 30 and went looking for more adventures, this time with no money at all.
And, of course, the animals. Chipmunks, bats, a huge number of birds, roaming pigs, cows grazing in garbage dumps, monkeys stealing food from food vendors. Having lived in Moscow my whole life, I thought that a city and animals were conflicting entities, but in India, this rule doesn’t apply. Perhaps it’s because of the tropics, or maybe because of the culture of absolute pacifism, where any life, whether human, fish, or cow, is considered sacred."
