Indian New Years Eve

Each day here in Delhi is somehow better than the one before. Yesterday we did several of my favorite things: getting pampered, shopping, and night clubbing. Each was a cultural experience in its own unique way. Some things were the same, some were completely different, and some transcended cultural barriers.
Four of us went for massages at a spa across the park from our hotel. We were greeted with water to drink in a comfortable waiting area. Ashton and Ben were escorted off to the men's area and Elizabeth and I to the women's. We were instructed to put our things in a locker and change into our white waffle robes and slippers. But there was a twist in the old favorite spa routine—disposable bikinis made from the same paper cloth we use as grocery store shopping bags at home. We donned our robes and shower caps and waited in the lounge for instructions…with 8 or so masseuses hovering together watching our every move, seemingly fascinated by the novelty of having foreigners in their company. We couldn't understand what most of them were saying, but gestures are certainly an international language. For the next 90 minutes we steamed, got massages, and took warm showers, emerging relaxed and happy. But we understood the necessity for the paper bikini—not only did they correspond with India's more conservative women's clothing practices for communal steam time, they covered us during the stretches during our massages (which seemed more like movements a trainer  would do at the gym rather than a massage therapist at the salon.)

After lunch, we all piled into the JNU bus (to which we affectionately refer as "Penelope") and headed to Connaught Place for some shopping. We wandered through the Emporium and then made our way through rows and rows of stalls across the street. I started on the fourth floor of the Emporium and worked my way down, picking up gifts for my family. There are wares from cottage industries all over India sold at fair prices—both to the end consumer and the producers. Each area has its own register, and shoppers are meant to leave the items to be purchased at the counter in exchange for a receipt. Once they've gotten receipts from each department, customers bring them down to the cashier who rings up the items on the receipts; then they go over to delivery and pick up shopping bags from each department. I picked up several goodies to bring home, but the best part about this store was the fabric—intricate silk patterns, bold colors of raw silk, thick cotton weaves—all from different regions around India. I bought 3 meters each of silks in bright purple, a golden orange, and a blue pattern for a friend as well as a light periwinkle and gold pattern and a gorgeous baby blue raw silk for myself to be made into a dress. Working with the tailor and the fabric salesmen was quite an experience. I drew a design and tried to explain the sash concept and pockets which couldn't be captured as easily on paper as my v-neck, v-back, A-line drawing. Elizabeth and I had fun communicating with them and making decisions about the dress. I can't wait to go back for a fitting next Thursday after class. Then we went with Dr. Gawande to buy pashminas. That was the highlight of my day. We found a store that had the right weight of cashmere wool—we were taken upstairs to be shown "the good stuff." Dr. Gawande taught us how to judge cashmere to see how pure or how much of a blend it is. If the scarf is pure cashmere or close, you can slip a ring over a corner and it should glide easily down to the other corner. With the best cashmere, the ring will fall by itself—pass over the pashmina from end to end, the entire rectangle of woven goats wool slipping easily through a circle the size of my pinky finger. The ones we found were pretty darn close. Satisfied with the quality, we looked at several colors, spreading each pashmina out to get a good look at it. Burgandies, creams, blues, purples, oranges, beiges, blacks, teals, all feather light and goosedown warm. Rs. 4,500 later, we were invited to enjoy a cup of chai tea with the Kashmiri owner who offered to let us come back and talk politics with him. I hope we have time (can MAKE time) to go soak up his perspective on the conflict over his homeland.

After going back to the hotel and gussying up a bit, we headed over to  UrbanPind where we had booked tickets to ring in the new year. The club was just like any at home—dark but with flashing disco lights, lounge areas for bottle service, not enough bar space, and not enough washrooms to accommodate the number of guests—but for one difference. The music was a mix of Bollywood, techno, and American pop. This was only fun to us—after all, dancing is similar everywhere in that it's just a bunch of bouncing, arm flailing, and twisting to the beat of the music. Lots of us met our fellow club goers who ranged from those native to Delhi to Afghanis to Swedes. (We told the Afghanis we were from Canada…) At midnight, the lights went dark for a few seconds and then confetti spilled down over us. There were no noisemakers, countdowns, or kitchy New Years paraphernalia (crowns and such) and considerably less cheers-ing than I was used to. But it was a great start to 2011. Especially with the war hymn at 12:05. The rest of the club probably thought we were crazy (that may be partially true…), but we had a great time swaying and yelling "Saw Varsity's horns off!

It was a great day with lots of relaxing, haggling with vendors, and celebrating—a perfect close to the year.