Revived by Chai
Old Delhi, India—It had just turned spring in New Delhi, India, when I had expended about a month under a four-month contract with a Canadian nonprofit. Aside from the excitement of the job I sought for years, working with mostly locals and a couple of expats, New Delhi, thus far, had been an incredible place to explore on weekends. Alone, I walked the city streets, all day long, both days of every weekend, eager to see every place of interest and non-interest. I visited the many public gardens, home to ancient Islamic structures and lush with trees, shrubbery and countless flower beds full of spring blooms, as well as the various monuments found around the city. Exploring was easy to do in this well-organized part of town, thanks to British colonizers.
But there was still the old city to see. So, one weekend morning, I grabbed a bajaj (motorized rickshaw) from the main road just outside my dwelling and rode it to the gateway of Old Delhi. I paid the driver and hopped out to explore on foot.
Not surprising, the streets of Old Delhi were teeming with people going about their business at the plethora of indoor and outdoor markets found in the wild array of streets and alleyways that characterized the old city. Within just a few steps, I was at once overtaken by an intense wave of smell—that of fresh urine evaporating under the rays of an intensifying sun. It was an odor I frequently encountered in a city with few well-maintained public toilets. I covered my nose with my shirt and pressed on passed the odor. Excitedly, I weaved through throngs of people and tricycles passing by from behind and in front of me. Stray dogs and cats darted about it. Sacred cows lazily milled about, seemingly unbothered by the hustle and bustle.
The scene was wild and adventurous. Yet as I continued on, the intensity of people, animals, bajajs, tricycles, noise, and smells became increasingly overwhelming. Though my nose was no longer infiltrated with the smell of urine, soon in its place were the smells of body odor amid Indian street food, spice markets, motor vehicle exhaust, scrappy animals, and their droppings. All. About. Town. The sun was also intensifying as it got closer to noon and there were no trees nor shrubbery to provide relief or any sort of pleasant escape.
I hadn’t been there but an hour before I found myself beginning to dizzy.
I had been wandering around the city for weeks at that point, with no problem. Was it the heat? The smells? The noise? All of that - together? What had I eaten that morning? Did I have enough water? I wanted to ignore the feeling but couldn’t any longer. I ducked quickly into the next tea shop I could find. Desperate to sit down, I found an empty table in this large open-air and rather nondescript tea shop with its empty beige walls and basic wooden tables. Several people milled about tending to business. I made brief eye contact with one of the staff but was unable to muster any words. About to faint, I quickly sat, lay my head down on my arms, and closed my eyes.
Still conscious, I could hear the shop chatter and the clanking of plates and silverware all around me as I rested, anxious for this indisposition to pass. Within a couple of minutes, a cup of hot chai was placed on the table for me. I raised my head barely enough to acknowledge the gesture and quickly dropped my forehead back onto my arms. Eventually, I forced myself to sit up and have some chai, hoping for a cure. I took a sip and soon felt it reach my bloodstream, helping to snap me back to normal. I took in more chai, small sip after small sip. After about 20 minutes, my head was no longer spinning, and I felt strong enough to trudge on.
I gathered myself up and purchased a couple bottles of water and a snack, and expressed a simple “thank you” in English to the staff. I was so glad to have found this tea shop before fainting in the street, and for how they immediately recognized my need and predicament, and responded without question or hesitation the Indian way – with a simple cup of hot chai.
I went on to enjoy Old Delhi, grateful not only for their kindness, but for the promise of humankind in times of need.
#1world1people
