Delhi

 

Namaste…🙏🏽

When in Rome, do as they do.

I was flying to New Delhi, India for treatment.

I had to give names that I thought befitted us. I called my cousin Ranjeet just because it sounded mischievous and my dad, Sigh Sam because it sounds serious like the man he is. 

My name is Aryan, to mean warrior. I picked this just because I love myself too much. 

One mischievous guy to clown around, a serious man to help in decision making and a warrior to conquer the fight. The three musketeers; 99% African and 1% Indian. These characters would make a good movie, I thought. 

Upon arrival, some airport attendant was appointed to help push my wheelchair and when we were almost at the exit I could hear him whisper something like, “tiiip, tiiip, tiiip, tiiip.” I couldn’t comprehend what he meant at first but due to his persistence I learnt that my fellow brother wanted some money for pushing a sick man and was asking for a “tip.” I was left wondering who was sick then. I hastily but politely declined his request with the usual Kenyan say, “kesho.” Hoping he would understand what I meant.

I had a different picture of how the city would be. I imagined streets filled with buffalo sized cows, Rice farms that stretched out to Punjabi (I don’t know where that is but it sounds far), cobra snake tamers or charmers on the streets, women dressed in sari’s that exposed their tummies, men dancing while performing “unbelievable” stunts like they do in the Bollywood movies and the air was to be filled with spices and flowers littered everywhere.

Surprisingly, I saw none of that. None!! 

What a disappointment.🙁

The airport was big and beautiful and immediately we stepped out that early morning, we were greeted with very cold air. 

Fog filled the sky and mist on walls. It was winter!!🥶 Forgive my ignorance but, winter??

Our driver was a short man: not sure he was even five feet tall. I kept wondering how he clutched his stick shift vehicle. The driver’s  chair was pulled very close to the steering wheel and we quickly set off. He reminded me of a few ladies I’ve seen back in my country. You even wonder how they breathe with the seat set at right angles and chest almost touching the steering. Driving looks like a punishment on them.

The roads were beautiful and I quickly realized that the Chinese had visited them way earlier than they came to Kenya. The new Nairobi expressway that stretches from Mlolongo to Waiyaki way that we are so proud of couldn’t match the roads I saw. I was quickly humbled by that. On one side of the road I saw what looked like a hotel that was the size of Highrise Estate along Mbagathi way; it was beautiful.

Back home when I hear such kind of sounds i always assume that it’s road rage, politicians motorcade, a wedding procession or back in the village I would assume it’s a funeral. Every minute, every second, drivers and motorbike riders were  constantly hooting. Even the rickshaw pullers ring their bells all the time. The sounds go on day and night. It’s like everyone is on a frenzy and announcing that, “hey, I’m coming, give way!”

With the constant hooting I got confused. Didn’t know whether to look behind, sideways or the front. 

The annoying sounds are everywhere… it’s so much that beats logic. You keep on wondering if you are being greeted, cursed, being given way or asked to give way. Chaos!!😫

Or just maybe it’s a game for road users… 

What I’m sure about is that hooting and honking is a special skill that surely must be taught in their driving schools.

Our vertically challenged cab driver with his chest on the steering wheel, one hand at ten o’clock and the other right at the center of the steering; hooting at the sight of any vehicle, bike or anything on the road was a sight to behold.

We have learnt some sign languages since we got here. Maybe not the real sign languages but something… Sigh Sam is the best of us.  Most of these wonderful people would greet you in English and talk Hindu for the rest of the conversation and then expect you to understand. I was amazed. It even became funny because I could speak to them in Swahili or my mother tongue and they would nod in agreement.

The famous nod or shaking of the head is real. Even while conversing you would see peoples heads wobble… Ive tried so many times but it’s not working. It’s only left me with neck pain. 

I’ve eaten enough rice for years to come. Plain rice, pilau and biryani. I’ve eaten it all. Breakfast, lunch and supper, rice rice rice… it’s enough!

Sigh Sam has suffered the most. My dear father doesn’t like pepper and unfortunately in this beloved country, if pepper isn’t in a meal then I guess it’s not food. My old man eats with a glass of water besides him. With every spoonful, a gulp of water follows to cool his burning tongue. I feel for him…

On the other hand, Ranjeet seems to be on  holiday. My dear cousin loves rice and chicken in ways I can’t explain. The thought of it brightens his face. You can lay a trap using a plate of rice and chicken for my dear brother. I just hope he won’t disappear on the day of our return just to continue feasting on Biryani, chicken tandoori, curry or tikka. I’m worried…

At the hospital, a young boy that was about seven or eight years old touched my heart. He had spinal cord injury and was being taught on how to walk using a walking frame and other gadgets. The boy was always in a good mood and everybody loved working with him. While some of us wake up stressed and poorly handling the struggles life has given us, the young boy was always laughing and playing.

On his last day, he came to bid farewell to the doctors and staff. He even gave me candy and called me Michael Jackson. Everybody was in tears as he left… I was touched too yet I hardly knew him.

Bonds are created here. You spend so much time together with them in the hospital, laughing and conversing though not understanding each other fully but somehow communicating: you become friends.🥰

It’s always good to feel important. I’ve been enjoying a lot of VIP treatment since I became “Mr. Chairman.” I’m always being served food, offered front rows at events, I never que for services like banks or wherever, I’m always offered front seats in cars, I enjoy free parking and zero harassment’s from our famous city council askaris back home, I’m even first to board the plane and people are always so kind to ask if I need some help or anything. I can’t help but say I enjoy it. I’ve been accorded VVIP treatment here.

The people I’ve met, like the short driver who looked like he was being punished, the noisy and chaotic drivers, doctors, nurses, ward attendants, hotel staff, all these people have been more than kind and very hospitable. 

We might be of different races, tribes or religion, but we are all human. All children of God and we need to live in peace, love and harmony. Im far from home, but Im home.❤️ 

Someone once said, “Kindness is tenderness. Kindness is love, but perhaps greater than love…Kindness is good will. Kindness says, “I want you to be happy.” 

हमेशा धन्य रहो 🙏🏽