30 September 2009
India's Epcot of Lies
28 September 2009
Neighborhood at Night
Protecting the status symbols from dust.
All that remains of a house that has been demolished by hand over the past week.
Late-night eating in the market.
Urbanization and Revitalization in Delhi
In my last post, I noted that Delhi is a city abuzz with change of all varieties. Having just attended a three-day conference addressing India’s rapid urbanization, I wanted to put that remark in a broader context.
Currently, the population of Delhi itself – a 1,500 square kilometer jurisdiction - is ~14 million people. But within the National Capital Region – a 12,000 square kilometer area – there are nearly 40 million people. Compare this to New York, with approximately 8 million people in the 5 boroughs, an area of 900 or so square kilometers, and just 21 million people in the broader metropolitan region – much larger than Delhi’s at 17.5 thousand square kilometers.
from Urban Age
One stark way of highlighting this data is to look at population in terms of density. Despite having no skyscrapers or substantial high-rise development of any sort, Delhi and New York have similar densities of around 9.5 thousand people per square kilometer. But Delhi’s maximum density – again, with no high-rise development – is almost 100,000 people per square kilometer, nearly double high-rise NYC’s maximum of 50,000 per square kilometer.
Delhi’s size and the need to effectively manage city space become even more critical when viewed through the lens of anticipated future growth. In the city-proper alone, the population is anticipated to double by 2020, rising to more than 25 million people. Prior to the economic recessions, NYC was predicting a population growth of just 1 million people by the year 2030. 1643 people move to Delhi every day. And this is expected to more or less happen every day, for the next decade at least.
As you can imagine, this type of rapid growth poses enormous problems for Delhi, and Indian cities in generally. Indian academics and urban planners are desperate to implement policies that shape this growth into liveable, sustainable cities and to avoid the trajectory of many other South American and Asian cities (and even New York) that only began developing comprehensive, integrated and inclusive planning mechanisms after periods of widespread social upheaval and startling economic polarization.
That task is a tall order. Governance is extremely poor in India, and this is particularly so in Indian cities. The “mayor” of Delhi – currently the much-beloved and very progressive Sheila Dikshit – is also the Chief Minister of the State of Delhi (much like D.C.). But significant portions of what would ideally be within her policy portfolio are instead relegated either to federal agencies or one of Delhi’s three municipal corporations, all of whom have poorly defined jurisdictions and are staffed with babus – India’s name for ineffectual, often-corrupt public servants who, in the urban context, are often rural transplants with skill sets that are woefully incompatible with city management.
(Often too, India’s obsession with the engineer class excises urban planners from the city building process, a prime example of this being the master plan for Gurgaon, a hellish satellite city of Delhi, whose guiding principle was a complex mathematical formula that resulted in an urban area with no sidewalks and 33% of all land area covered by roads.)
Poor governance also means poor enforcement capabilities. Indian cities recover only a fraction of levied taxes, fines and utility fees. Local laws are flagrantly violated, with enforcement rare.
All of this means that, despite several concerted efforts to develop “master plans”, most cities in India – Delhi perhaps in particular – are facing serious problems and responding insufficiently. 24% of India’s urban population lives in absolute poverty. 40 million people in India’s cities still live in slums, and, despite rising costs of living, only 16% of Indians in urban areas earn more than 11,000 rupees/month (~$230/month). In Mumbai, 63% of residents still defecate in the open. And in Delhi, 50% of its historic structures –potential development assets - have been lost in the last 90 years due to mismanagement and neglect. In Delhi, the water and energy supply are becoming increasingly scarce (for those who had them in the first place), with outages in many areas frequent and often lasting for days. Sanitation facilities are poor at best. The municipal corporations have no way of knowing where pipes exist, which leads to frequent backups and innumerous illegal overflows into the Yamuna, the river that courses just to the east of Delhi’s downtown center.
And if one thing is making all of these indicators worse, it’s the rise of India’s car culture. In 2002, the last year for which I have accurate statistics, India’s air pollution ranked worst in the world for large cities. Delhi had 8 or 9 times the particulate matter of New York City, and in nearly every fiscal quarter since 2002, car purchases have increased in India by double digits. In 2004 there were 4.5 million registered motor vehicles in Delhi, with motorcycles most prevalent, followed by cars. As car ownership increases, this trend is changing, and though motorcycles are still the most popular form of transportation, cars are quickly closing the gap. Every day, 150,000 cars ply the 8 line highway between Gurgaon and Delhi alone, leading to a 10 minute average wait time at the toll booth, even with the widespread implementation of EZ-Pass-type technology.
from Urban Age
And in India, cars are not respectful of boundaries. Dedicated – and segregated – bicycle lanes are crowded with auto rickshaws. Cars crowd dedicated Bus Rapid Transit lanes. Traffic is pervasive and unavoidable. And so far, the government’s response has been to invest in costly flyovers, elevating one road over another. But these infrastructural modifications are almost always implemented discretely, with no integration into a broader planning effort. Zooming over a flyover, you’ll quickly be stopped at the next light, which hasn’t been changed to reflect modified traffic patterns. Even more importantly, this investment in road infrastructure has been detrimental to equivalent investment in alternative modes of transformation, most notably walking. Only around 10% of Delhi-ites own cars, which means the vast majority take public transportation, bike, or walk. But Delhi is a city of crumbling sidewalks, where they exist at all. Pedestrian fatalities – at the hands of automobiles – remain a leading cause of death. And beyond all of these quantitative metrics, the shift towards a car-dominated urban form represents a serious move away from ideas of sustainability, inclusivity, and livability.
Despite these obstacles, Delhi is a city that is gradually developing appropriate responses and solutions. An enormous metro system is nearly complete. The pilot stages of what will be a vast BRT network has been successful (assuming you’re not a privileged car owner). Delhi will host the Commonwealth Games this summer. A federal urban renewal scheme is pouring billions of dollars into urban infrastructure. And increasingly, citizens and private firms are contributing to conversations about the city’s future. For someone interested in city administration and planning, the potential of Delhi is unparalleled. But progress will likely be slow. Power needs to be centralized and granted more authoritatively to the municipality. The organizational and administrative structure needs to be more holistically integrated. The civil service needs to be reformed, anti-corruption measures enhanced, and enforcement mechanisms developed. And the government needs to start communicating with its residents and become more of a public-facing institution, in order to change behaviors and ensure the successful implementation of key initiatives. And beyond all of these reforms, service delivery needs to become effective. Land use policies need to be developed. Delhi needs to involve its citizens (all of them, not just the car-driving, well-educated elite)and visitors alike in a comprehensive discussion of what it wants the future to look like, what matters most to the people living here.
As for me, I’m still digesting three days of extensive discussions about what this future might look like, and will post my own thoughts here from time to time. I’ll also post more information about some of the urban management strategies Delhi has developed, or is developing, that I find particularly promising, with resonance beyond India, for cities around the world.On With Our Lives...
24 September 2009
Not dead, yet
16 September 2009
I am John, I am an American, and I am happy.
This picture was taken nearly a year ago, and is not indicative of life in Delhi in recent days, both because the people in the picture are wearing sweaters - its 9 o'clock at night and 99 degrees right now, so that's clearly an impossibility - and because it captures a scene not able to be seen from my apartment, which, until this afternoon, I hadn't left in more than 72 hours. Still, I thought a picture might entice you to read on. Only now you know better, and are fearing that what follows will be a banal recitation of my apartment bound life these past three days.
But, your intuition would be wrong, and always will be in India: quiet study and simple domesticity are but dreams here, never to be fulfilled. Banality: if only. Our best efforts to buckle down and study religiously for the LSATs were thwarted at nearly every turn.
First, the water. Or the lack thereof. We haven't had it in three days. Occasionally, a turn of the faucet will produce a slight trickle, enough to wash one hand, or perhaps one dish, if that hand or dish was already clean. This means: showers are infrequent (but with bottled mineral water - ah, luxury - when they do occur) and - worse yet - dishes piling higher by the day.
I don't enjoy doing dishes, and if we were in the US, I'd be content to let them pile for a few days, as disgusting as that sounds. But here, with dirty dishes come ants. Hundreds and thousands of ants, criss-crossing our apartment like graph paper. And unlike any ants I've ever encountered in the US, these ants don't just like sugar: they'll eat anything. We've found them in toothpaste. They devour globs of sunscreen. They've also developed a particular taste for eating pasta and cornflakes, and slowly seem to be adopting the proclivities of my own appetite. The one thing they don't seem interested in is their poison. Which is surprising, given that every inch of the apartment is covered in powdered insecticide that I know to be illegal in the US, and whose possession there would carry a prohibitive fine. And its not illegal because its ineffective. Other people here have described insects running through it and shedding two or three limbs immediately - but not these ants. Instead, I'm sure the powder is slowly becoming airborne and crystallizing in our food, and in our mouths and noses when we sleep. Neurological problems are sure to develop rapidly, and I expect my organs to cease functioning by next week. But what else are we to do? I certainly haven't learned how to request "EPA-approved ant traps" in Hindi.
In fact, the only thing I have learned to say in Hindi is the title of this entry. (To be fair, I've only taken one class so far, but optimism is difficult when a cold shower seems - and likely is - so far away).
(The cruel irony of this drought and its attendant pestilence, is that, for several days last week, it rained so hard that water began to seep into the concrete roof and poor in steady streams into our kitchen. The floor was littered with buckets, bowls and rags, all of which had to be emptied or squeezed every 30 minutes. Even with this Sisyphean effort, there was a half inch of standing water on the kitchen floor at all times. And worst of all, the roof is slowly rusting, and with a rusting roof comes rusty water that stained everything it touches. Clothes, the floor, dishes. Everything. We never expected to be punished so cruelly for the simple and seemingly modest wish that our apartment - what with its four walls and roof - actually effect a difference between the out-doors and the in-.)
So, in this land of extremes, we press on, hoping for a time when the heat and monsoon are weakened by cool, crisp winter air, and the city is once again a land of sweaters, (albeit polyester monstrosities that more resemble bear costumes than clothes). Until thatEdenic time, we'll sweat without respite in the cruel heat, knowing full well that as soon as we forget ourselves in the rigors of a timed LSAT section, the doorbell will ring us back into purgatory, and at the door will be seven or eight toothless men wanting to fix our leaks and mark the tortuously slow march to winter with heavy swings of their blunt tools against the semi-porous roof over our heads.
13 September 2009
Chandni Chowk and My Life as an Electrophobe
12 September 2009
Overwhelmed (Part II)
2. Waiting for a sale (nr. Khari Baoli)
3. Keeping tabs until the slaughter (nr. Khari Baoli)
4. Snacks (nr. Khari Baoli)
Overwhelmed: Chandni Chowk and Khari Baoli
2. Behind the spices (Khari Baoli)
3. Waiting to go home (Khari Baoli)
4. Tea (Khari Baoli)
11 September 2009
Just trying to get a fat ride home
Yesterday, for example, we went to Le Marche supermarket in Vasant Vihar, an upscale and very expat-ed neighborhood in South Delhi to pick up some western foods. The market, though expensive by Indian standards, was just like being in the states, aside from the guard swatting at flies with a tennis racket and the checkout teller with body odor strong enough to remove paint (more on my theory of the subcontinent untouched by deodorant another time). We bought some pretzel bits, peanut butter, and an absurdly large block of parmesan cheese that in order to ever equalize out into our budget will have to last us until 2014 at the earliest.
Then it was time to find a rickshaw home. If you have not been religiously reading our blog (and if not, why not?) you may not have seen the bit about Delhi rickshaws and the meter. They are 'supposed' to take you on the meter, but almost never do and so you have to barter. Though I am sure sticking out like a sore thumb will always work to my disadvantage when bargaining here, I am hoping that being able to conduct the bargaining in Hindi will help.
After yesterday posting the creatively constructed email from our friend and correspondent Bunty Everest in Pushkar, I feel should confess that my Hindi skills are horrific and I could certainly not compose even a sentence about the bright on room with windows on the out side. We are starting classes (nearby the home of the fire escape goat pictured yesterday, I might add) on Monday, so hopefully that will bring some improvement, but so far for a person with a background in foreign languages things have been grim. My vocabulary consists (literally) of the following words:
okay
it's okay
yes
bottle
to urinate
water
fat
I am not a man
I am rich/I am not rich.
You try stringing those together to get a fair price on a taxi and let me know how it goes. I blame some of this on my friend Priya, a Fulbrighter doing research on the Bollywood film industry who spent part of her childhood here and speaks Hindi, who said she would teach me a few words. To her credit she did not explicitly say she would teach me useful words.
I did try to explain once after being quoted a price for a 5 minute rickshaw ride around the corner, the sum of which would have purchased a bus ticket from here to the Arabian peninsula, that I am not rich just because I am western and it's not fair to try to rip people off based on their skin color or something insipidly useless like that. What came out, because I do not in fact know any of the words necessary to express that thought in Hindi, was a much simpler sentence mostly beyond my control about fat and urination that did not lower the price of the ride. Just you wait, rickshawwallahs of the world, until I can express myself properly.
More on the rains....
10 September 2009
Love, Bunty
Date: Thu, 10 Sep 2009 06:59:30 -0700 (PDT)
To: <atchley.john@gmail.com>
if you were wondering, we're planning to go to the Pushkar Camel Festival in Rajasthan at the end of October.
Monsoon Season, Curiously
First, as a little background, we are currently experiencing a rainstorm here. Nothing like the Mumbai monsoon rains of 2005, but still, a lot of rain.
Last night, on my way to a yoga workshop on headstands (turns out I'm terrible at headstands and last night's efforts seem to have bruised my cranium, which I'm sure bodes well for taking the LSAT in a couple of weeks) in Kailash Colony, a neighborhood near here, the sky was dark grey and looking and feeling almost literally like it was about to burst. It was during rush hour, when already bone-jarring traffic becomes almost intractable and drivers begin to lean constantly on their horns. Suddenly, while we (me+autorickshaw) were wedged in a non-lane between two Tata trucks and a man on a bicycle rickshaw ladden with cardboard scrap, the rain came down. And down. And down. Drivers, unable to see and thus unable to drive, gave longer, drawn-out honks instead while the water pooled up around their tires.
The man on the bicycle rickshaw pulling sodden cardboard (that had by now swelled and doubled in size and no doubt weight) produced a small plastic baggie from his pocket and fixed it on his head like a skullcap and kept riding, apparently content that at least four square inches of his body were protected while at least a quarter of his lower half was underwater. A woman walking in a sari along the side of the road held a leaf over her head. I mean, a leaf? Meanwhile, I, white lady in rickshaw, had both a rainjacket and umbrella and was successfully barricading myself in a waterproof fort.
This is the thing I find so curious about a country that experiences monsoon, oh, say, 3.5 months of every year: I have yet to see a single Indian sporting a rainjacket or umbrella. I have seen a few old, fat ladies carrying umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun, but when the weather turns, the umbrellas disappear and they stand staring at the sky in sodden clothing as though it were a freak occurence that they had never seen and were thus unable to prepare for (the fact that it rained yesterday evening, and the evening before that, and before that, and well, come to think of it, every evening since late June not being adequate advanced notice), aside from grabbing the nearest Ziplock snack pack or 4" scrap of flora. Maybe they don't mind the acid rain as much as I do?
II. Cooking
This morning, feeling a little homesick, I thought I'd take a break from the dal, rice, and chappati business and make some poached eggs and toast. We'd ordered organic eggs from a farm run by a Frenchman south of Delhi and accidentally ended up with three whole trout in addition to a dozen eggs, and I thought I could at least make good use of the eggs (anyone have a recipe for 4 lbs of trout?). That's where the fun started. The kitchen roof apparently leaks. I wouldn't have known this aside from the fact that the kitchen floor was covered in 1/2" of water. The socket that the toaster oven (which, I might add, until recently had a large spider living in it---I confess that I couldn't get him out and resorted to toasting him to death) connects to is not grounded, so touching the toaster when it's on, to, for example,take the toast out, means you get a little zing. Combine the two scenarios and I'm having bit of a pavlovian aversion to making toast ever again.
Furthermore, for some reason we currently have no running water in our kitchen, which meant I couldn't wash any dishes to put said electrified toast and eggs on, unless I used the water pouring through the ceiling, I guess, which seemed too disgusting even for current standards given that our roof is what one might euphemistically call 'biodiverse'. Maybe getting a cook to come won't be so bad afterall.
I leave you with the above photo of a goat we encountered while looking (with minimal success and with maximum effort, like all things in India) for our Hindi school the other day.
08 September 2009
Welcome to Delhi, or, My First Encounter with Delhi Belly
It's Dana this time.
I arrived in Delhi last Tuesday night (a week ago) and had been settling in nicely---the jet lag wasn't terrible, I got some of the ever-popular shalwar khameez or "Indian Pajamas" to stay cool in the heat(photos of those to come, as promised), and I had started to explore the nooks and crannies of South Delhi. And then.......I got a visit from the Delhi Belly.
I'll let you imagine the details yourselves (or not) but this morning, properly felled to my knees by the wonders of Indian street cooking, we ventured to the giant, shiny Max hospital across the street. The only thing is that by street, I mean 4 (western,85 Indian) lanes of hurtling buses, autorickshaws, motorbikes, and cars divided by a median of crumbling bricks covered with debris. I'm sure it's fine for sprinting across if you don't feel like you'll expel all fluids from your body while simultaneouly passing out, is all I can say.
Anyway, as eluded to by BJ's visit to the doctor to conquer Lyme's disease, the modern, urban Indian hospital is in fact more like an international chain hotel that happens to give colonoscopies and saline drips. I got the latter (see above) to help bring my blood pressure back up and to make it possible to venture back across the street alive.
After the mini-adventure getting to the hospital, things inside were in fact much cleaner, more orderly, and quicker than any experience I've ever had in an NYC hospital. What's more, in India, where the idea of life insurance is just beginning to emerge in the middle and upper classes but health insurance does not, medical expenses are unbelievably low. The cost of my visit with an internist? 600 rupees,or $12. The cost of five days worth of antibiotics, antidiarrheals, etc? 300 rupees, or $6. Granted, that's still well beyond the reach of the average Indian, so it's not as though the Indian scheme is any more fair than the American one in a relative sense. But, another discussion for another day.
For now I'm taking my $6 pills and drinking the chicken soup that my landlady insisted on sending up (after I refused 5 times and said I was already in bed/asleep/not dressed....it does taste good though).
07 September 2009
We Live Here (Part 4)
Neighborhood street.
Neighborhood ironing shop. (Sheets for just 10 rupees, or 20 cents).
We Live Here (Part 3)
Our $6 MM building (or so I was told). (Owner: ground floor, owner's brother: first floor, John & Dana: second floor).
Our gate (secured by a 24 hour guard).
We Live Here (Part 2)
Stairs to kitchen (but no pictures of the kitchen).
Guest bedroom, which may become the living room, as there is nice light, and a small balcony with plants.
We Live Here (Part 1 of Unknown)
Makeshift desk/dresser in bedroom.
A chair. I sit here sometimes and read. It's very sunny.
The terrace (off of the bedroom). Also very sunny and looks out onto a park (where children play and birds sing).