Clouds and Daffodils: 2010.12.23: Walking In Circles

Whenever I pass a pond I want to throw a stone in it. The collision with the water is wonderful. The waves emerging afterwards have something destructive and spiritual about them. A while ago someone, who probably shared my feelings about ponds and stones, passed by Delhi and threw Connaught Place in it. Connaught Place is an inheritance of British Colonialism and now a metro station with a park on top. Around it is a large roundabout; the first circular wave on which cars surf. In between the next ones is a shopping extravaganza. The waves run furthest down south, along luxury hotels, exclusive apartments, important offices and more shops. The last days I’ve spend many hours exploring this pond. I was seduced by its debaucheries.

Ever since Jammu my sister and I have a fondness for rotating rooftop restaurants. And once I found out there was one near Connaught Place, there was no option left but to go. Together with a dear friend of my sister we went at lunchtime. Traffic noises and stench were far beneath us; thick windows excluded us from the outside world. All we could do was look around. An intriguing revelation of monuments in a city literally drowned in smog unfolded itself to us. It seemed as if buildings were swimming in it; at the horizon graceful domes of temples were rising out of a grey veil. From our high vantage point it had something mysterious if not magical.

Regrettably the food and service weren’t near as good as the view. It didn’t matter. Soon another place, also nearby that insanely large roundabout, had caught my attention. I had a drink at a rather awkward hotel bar, named “1911”. It was the year New Delhi became India’s capital and the hotel was founded. The hotel’s ostentatious mixture of colonial pride and luxury aroused my interest; a dinner reservation for one of its restaurants was made for the next day.

The establishment serving: “A culinary tour through Asia” was decorated in a most fantastic manner. One had the feeling of sitting in a Hindu temple. The ceiling was hidden by ornamented woodwork and supported by beautiful columns. The walls were completely covered in larger than life paintings depicting mythological sceneries. Only enormous wine glasses, towering on top of tables, were out of place. The mural painting I was sitting next to made up for that. It was awesome. It exhibited a man with a spear pierced in his back and blood dripping out of the wound.

If not eating, or drinking banana lassies, I would be walking past and inside shops. A tsunami of boutiques surrounds Connaught place. There are many luxury, western orientated stores, a couple of trendy coffee bars and two or three of McDonalds’s sheds. A few hotspots sold magnificent saris or male party costumes that, once in it, made me feel like a wannabe maharaja. Other outlets sold just about everything. Of course there was an underground market, a handful of government run arts and crafts enterprises and swarm of street vendors. Many Indians told me, if compared to a few other shopper’s paradises in Delhi, this area wasn’t impressive at all.

Connaught Place is for me a showcase of how India is changing. Fancy modern shops are ten meters away from an outlet one encounters in rural villages too. The metro station is state of the art, but once outside a horde of children and teenagers — who should be at school — attempt to sell things, or lure tourists to places they probably don’t want to be. A bank markets itself, in between street vendors, with the help of a dj. It’s not difficult to spot Indians who look just like westerners. One can observe how they drink alcohol and eat meat. I don’t know if all change is good. I do know it’s definitely interesting to witness.