Sitting in the rickshaw on my way into the market area of Paharganj in Delhi, India the only thoughts running through my mind was “What am I doing in this godforsaken country, I need to go back to skyscrapers and civilized people.” Harsh, one may say, but the muddy streets, scabby dogs and unfortunate people made me scared and feeling lost. The smell of India was a blend of fuel, spices and excrement. My dream of India as a country of colours, tea and welcoming people was shattered into a thousand pieces and I felt nauseous. I realized I was outside of my perfect little bubble with a sheltered childhood in Norway with issues such as no money for an ice cream as my biggest challenge. The sorrow of people on the streets, and the desperation of the men trying to sell their dirty, dusty textiles on the streets got me in the gut. The ‘hotel’ we were staying at disgusted me with a brown toilet/shower and men making chapatti (bread made of water and flour) in the halls outside my room making the nights smell like gas. The night of Delhi slowly got more interesting with talking to a little boy named Raj who was charming and helpful. We also met his uncle, brother or whatever he was who owned a little hotel. He showed us all his photos with his girlfriend from Estonia. His girlfriend was amazing according to himself, she was a dolphin trainer, a maths teacher, English teacher, medical teacher, singer and Russian teacher. The photos of the lady looked real, but the stories of his beautiful woman opening a world of opportunities for this poor man was shining through the laughter and offers of orange juice. His way out of the dirty streets of Paharganj was this woman, maybe someone he had met for a day or someone he did not know at all – but who remained in his heart as a dream or an opportunity to flee India. I suddenly felt more safe in the streets of Paharganj and more sudden than later I got familiar with the smells of sick dogs and cows mixed with jasmine incents and masala.
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