So we took it easy, stayed within familiar boundaries. Our days were punctuated by the short walk to Intel to go online and make phone calls, and any number of errands. There it was, the familiar smell, a putrid stench, and the ever present sound of the two-wheelers. Interestingly, the slums outside of Gate 8 were gone, replaced by a medical relief agency. The smell remained. I have since learned that the smell is actually coming from a small waterway that flows – or rather – stands, directly past the hotel and has nothing to do with the trash or the slums. Then one afternoon, the air seemed to be a bit cleaner, the sky bluer, and I was actually able to enjoy the colors and the surroundings. Although it felt different walking down the streets alone, trying to keep my head high, avoiding the curious stares. Different taking the auto on my own, rejecting the quoted sum and insisting on the meter, and learning to recognize the street corners in order not to get taken for a ride. But when I think back to those early days I realize that we hardly noticed anything. There is too much to take in, it’s a constant onslought on your senses. I just looked at some pictures recently, and the sheer range of colour is astounding.

My dreams in those early days tell a story of their own. Snakes and monkeys figured prominently – a result of the things I had heard and read, no doubt. Both these animals are revered as manifestations of God, as is the elephant, and of course the cow. By the way, contrary to what I had imagined, the cows on the street don’t block traffic at all. They behave no differently than the humans who move slowly, indifferently, and almost defiantly, when they are walking along in the middle of the raad or trying to cross it. As part of getting your Indian driver’s license you are required to know the hand signals: It is common to see pedestrians, bicyclists or riders of the insidious two-wheelers simply put up their hand and expect you to stop. Surprisingly, the number of traffic deaths is fairly small, due to the relatively low speed with which everything moves. On the highways, this is a little different, but the indifferent behaviour remains the same. We tried riding our bicycles once…. Ted, as only Ted would do, with a whistle in his mouth, trying to compete with the various honks and associated rights of way. We haven’t done it since. In our own car, we avoid using the horn and simply keep manoevering around the obstacles that present themselves at any second, for example the group of young boys pulling in vein on a brightly decorated wooden wagon-cart one morning, on the way to the office. This is when Ted coined the phrase “Temple on Wheels”.

Open displays of religious activity, or the preparations for them, are frequent. I haven’t managed to keep track of the number of festivals, or their significance, since we arrived. Now we live right next to a temple so if we hit it right, we get to watch from our apartment windows (from the balcony I can see the temple toilet, Indian style for squatting, and the young priests with their dhotis and bare chests, getting ready or taking a smoke between poojas). One day, they were building a fire in the middle of the street below our complex, right next to the small transformer station that services the building. This was for Maha Shivatra, I believe, the Night of God Shiva, a very auspicious occasion. Ladies in brilliant red saris were leading the procession around the fire, offering what appeared to be ghee (melted butter) and coconuts. Later, the coals from the fire were collected in small metal buckets and (presumably) taken back into the homes as a symbol of God’s presence. Another time, a small cart was being readied for a trip around town, taking God into the streets. It was elaborately decorated with paper and flower garlands, strings of blinking light bulbs and freshly painted wheels. Eventually, the throne on the platform was obscured with curtains, to maintain a sense of mysterium with God being paraded so openly. After a little pooja the whole procession set off, a group of drummers ahead, a bunch of guys pulling and pushing the cart, one pulling the generator that kept the lights going, and another one holding up the strings of election flags strung all over the streets with a long wooden pole so God could pass underneath. And not to forget, constant sparks and booms from the fireworks accompanying the event. Amazingly, nothing went up in flames and God and his people returned home safely.