5 Things I Hate

I haven’t written in a while. Partly because I feel a need to be positive here, writing about a country that isn’t my own and is some of my friends’. But I’m a critic at heart. It’s just my natural state. So I’m giving in. If you are Indian or otherwise know Indian culture well, your weigh ins are welcome.

1. Air Pollution: I love the outdoors, but not in New Delhi. This city of some 14 million people has the worst air quality in the world. Seriously, number one. I did some research before I came here and nowhere did I come across this little berry of a fact. But after living here for a couple weeks I decided to look into it and was relieved to find that New Delhi wins the award here. Relieved because I was glad that no place inhabited by humans has worse air quality. I couldn’t imagine it. I often can’t believe that so many people live here and breathe this air every day. I guess, like everything, you get used to it. People are adaptable.

2. Dirt: Instead of grass, parks have beds of sandy dirt. It’s rare to see to grass. It’s rare to see the color green. There are many trees in New Delhi but they are all covered with smog and dirt. In fact, everything is covered with smog and dirt. Colors don’t exist for long in their pure form. Orange quickly becomes Dusty Orange. Green, Sooty Green... Sad.

3. Men Staring at Me: Indian society is very patriarchal. Across India, most married women need permission from their husbands to go to the market or visit friends or relatives (this is fact, from a nationwide government study). It’s uncommon for women to walk around unaccompanied. On any given day, I would estimate that 80% of the people that I see on the street are male. Sometimes I see more feral dogs than women.

Anyway, I like to take walks on my lunch hour. To get out of the office, see some sun, etc. Men constantly stare at me when I do. And stare. And stare. And stare. I read in a guidebook that eye contact from a woman to a man is considered flirtatious, so I have taken the tact of averting my gaze whenever it meets another man’s. But an American friend who has lived here a long time told me that she just stares back, so one day I did too. And I started returning the dirty looks that accompany some of the stares. And, who would have guessed, but it’s actually effective. They look away and often even act mildly ashamed in the process. It’s wonderful. I fantasize about telling people to F$%@ off quite a lot. I wonder what the outcome would be there.

4. Feral Dogs: At first I was afraid of the feral dogs that are everywhere. They sleep during the day and bark and occasionally fight at night. They all look the same too. All birthed by the same mother, I like to imagine. The great wild dog mum – mother to all and none at the same time. The only variations among the dogs are their coloring and whether they are profoundly, as opposed to just slightly, malnourished. After a while I let my guard down with the dogs because they generally do not even seem to take notice of people unless you are someone whose hand is attached to a rock aimed in their direction.

Then one day at lunch when I was going for a walk in the park (see 1, 2, and 3 to get some of the ambience of this situation – 3 because only men sit in parks, and from the looks I get in parks in particular, parks may be the equivalent of a public man cave, so unwelcome am I and my heightened estrogen levels) I saw a dog that had just had pups. I could tell she had just had babies because here teets were full of milk, swaying heavily as she walked. I felt bad for her, wondering if she had been separated from her pups against her will. She didn’t look at me and I turned to exit the park because I had had my fill of stares, dirt and smog. And then she briskly trotted up to me and bit my leg. Really. Just like that. She didn’t break the skin but now I am dangerously afraid of Delhi Dogs. Dangerous because they can smell the fear, right? Now I am a bigger target. Now I cross the street when I see a dog trotting even vaguely towards me. I try not to make eye contact. Who knows what sets those scarred canines off?!

5. Social Hierarchy: I have a maid. He is a 14-year old boy. He works primarily for my landlord and every other day comes upstairs and dusts my apartment. My landlord refers to him only as “the boy”. From what I can tell, he works for her all day. Cleaning, cooking, watering plants, fetching things... He does not go to school. This is not uncommon.