The Hard Road to Delhi

From Delhi I'll go west, out across to Rajasthan, then scoot around down south to Tamil Nadu. I always wanted to check out Mumbai, for some reason, try out the real Pao Bhaji (a simple potato and tomato dish). After that I think I'll come back up to Delhi, rest for a while, maybe do a two-day trip over to the Taj for sunset. Aruna Masi says she'll drive with me if I can wait until Chingoo's exams are over. Then I think I'll hit a trail up north#0151;would love to catch a toy train somewhere around Shimla. Besides, a couple I met on the plane from London got me curious about Himachal Pradesh. It sounded fun to say even. I practiced. Himachal Pradesh.

"Excuse me?" said the ticket counter attendant.

"No sorry, I mean, I mean...I'll go to...what's that? Does it leave tomorrow? Yeah, I just want to go somewhere in Rajasthan. Yeah, that's fine."

"How many?"

"One."

He gave me a funny look.

Oh boy, I thought. Here we go again.

Chai tea stands everywhere, the blurred lines of people in motion. Buses, buffalo, the jangle of bells and clink of jewelry against glass, horns beeping at every corner and glints of sun caught off reflected side-mirrors in your eye. Peanuts for sale there, and here's corn on the cob. A girl of five or six wears a tattered orange langa, comes up at a stoplight with open hands and a face that knows too early life's not a bowl of cherries. I'd been in Connaught Place all morning meeting her sisters, wandering through the bookshops for paperbacks for the road. Crime and Punishment is in my day pack and I'm on my way back home.

Yes, I know it is going to take some time here.

I guess I was a little overconfident. I'd just got into Indira Gandhi International Airport straight out of a two-week hop through England. I thought I was used to the idea of being a stranger.

And yet in India I am only a half-stranger.

Juxtaposed in the land of my parents' origin is my Midwest American accent. Crazy really. Every time I open my mouth, I seem to baffle those who assume from my name and features I am theirs.

So here I am.

Where have I wandered that I felt so strange? (Read: What, exactly, am I doing here?)

Tonight, my candle snuffs out as the last trails of agarbatti incense wash away trails above my writing desk. I close my eyes and try to catch some z's, but think of Mom and Dad back home, who are probably worried sick. In my heart I know they can't help it—I am their one and only daughter. And if I've learned anything so far, I know that in India they say a child is a gift from God.

I am alone, single, young, and traveling through India. Tomorrow, I leave for Udaipur, the Lake City of Rajasthan...

Dipika Kohli is a freelance writer and owner of Design Kompany, based in West Cork, Ireland [www.design-kompany.com].

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