Day two.
Woke up from a deep sleep as we started descending into New Delhi. It looks like night outside, but the clocks on our screens read 07:34. I have set my watch – India is waking up. Am now sitting writing as we wait for the attendants to let us off the plane. Louise always wanted to come here, I never gave her the chance. I was never bothered, but now it’s the only thing that matters. They’re opening the doors .
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Mind spinning. Have just got to my hotel room on the first floor, after taking a taxi from the airport through the city centre. There is a cold light cast over everything, as if it’s the early hours, the crack of dawn, but with a hustle and bustle that could rival London at rush hour; busy-looking people moving quickly from building to building. I saw a few shop fronts being boarded up, fortified. Protection against looters, I suppose. The driver refused to mention our impending doom, instead assuring me that it was “business as usual here in Delhi, Sir.”
Jet-lagged, beyond tired. At the hotel reception, the young man informed me that the rooms are “not being cleaned, for the time being. Usual rates apply, but all meals are complimentary. I would be happy to recommend – “ I cut him off, just asking for my room key. We used to explore England, the best holiday we could afford. We’d spend our time wandering the streets of new cities and places we hadn’t been before. I lost my inspiration – my itchy feet – after the accident, but this is for her. The only way I can do this properly is to go it alone and roam New Delhi.
The television network here has stopped transmitting, so I’m left with word of mouth for any news or progress. I don’t know what I’m expecting to hear – “it was all a joke” or “the damage isn’t as bad as we thought”? I just feel like I should stay up to date. My mobile phone was dropping in and out of signal in Dubai, and here it has lost it all together. The landline phone next to the redundant widescreen television does have a dial tone, so some communication systems are holding up. I keep thinking about trying to call home, but I can’t think of anybody I’d want to talk to enough to actually pick up the phone and do it. Not that I have any idea what I’d say.
I have pulled down the blind in my small room. She would have hated it, orange and green thick stripes. She was always complaining about the lack of co-ordination in places we’d stay or at friends’ houses. Ours was like a show home while she was around, shiny surfaces and colour themes in every room. She’d hate this blind, but I just needed to keep out the strange, cold light and rely on the artificial glow from the lamps in here.
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writtendown 