Through the bathroom window

I awoke in dim light to the faint clattering of the service cart and muffled coughs of the other dozing passengers on the overnight London to Delhi flight. A quick glance at my watch confirmed it was 4:45am. At least I’d slept for four hours or so. I removed my seatbelt, and gingerly feeling my way along the other seats up the aisle, found myself at the restroom, both groggy from waking and sleep deprived all at once. I pushed in the accordion door, stepped inside from the dim corridor and was immediately washed in a soft, cotton candy pink light. Utterly confused, I squinted at the porthole window over the toilet. The soft pink light was emanating through the window and turning the otherwise beige plastic walls of the small bath into the glistening walls of a glowing cavern. Forgetting the purpose of my mission down the aisle, I leaned towards the window and was even more shocked when I looked down on an endless expanse of snow capped peaks, the pink sunrise radiating off the faces of the mountains. As far as I could see in any direction, there were harsh peaks interspersed with plunging valleys. All the more baffling is that we were at cruising altitude, six hours into an eight hours flight but yet I could see the topography below as clearly as if we were in a puddle jumper. After staring for at least another minute and seeing no break in the endless range, I immediately went back to my seat and pulled up the live flight map on the screen. There on the screen was indeed a mountain range grand enough to explain the phenomenon I had just witnessed. The Karakoram mountain range is among the highest and includes K2, second in the world in height only to Mount Everest. Arguably a defining factor of the history, geography and culture of India, the range defines borders of India, China and Pakistan. I had been warned that India is a place that chews up and spits out foreigners; that it is a place where the sheer size, the complexity of present and past society, the dense cities and the constant churn of activity is enough to overwhelm even the most seasoned traveler. I was expecting to face these and other realities of living in India, but I was not expecting such a literal introduction to the country and region. If I previously had any doubts about where I was hurtling towards at 400 miles per hour, I’d left those behind in the ether on the far side of the mountains. Much like India, the endless facets of the vast range were both breathtakingly beautiful in their complexity and yet foreboding in severity and size. 

I arrived in Kolkata just after sunset. The haze hung heavy around the lights illuminating the tarmac. The city was teeming with an almost palpable energy. I arrived in my destination city via a layover in London and another in Delhi. I’d spent a few hours exploring the former, both a fitting and ironic precursor to my arrival in the city that was the original de facto capital of British rule. First under the East India Company and later under the crown, Kolkata (formerly Calcutta) was the capital until 1911. At one point in time, the city was the second most populous city in the British Empire after London. Eventually, Kolkata was the center of the Indian independence movement which was ultimately successful in obtaining Indian independence in 1947. 

The next 72 hours were a blur of sleepless nights and drowsy days as my body worked to acclimate to the ten and a half hour time change. Fortunately, I had a soft landing in a western hotel so after the initial car ride from the airport, I was able to ease into my surroundings. Though a western hotel, most of the guests were Indian and most also appeared to be staying for the continuous barrage of wedding ceremonies and parties. Unbeknownst to me, I’d stumbled upon Kolkata during wedding season. Though not for a lack of interest, I won’t pretend to know much of anything about the tradition and customs of an Indian wedding. That did not however prevent me from thoroughly enjoying the people watching from my solo perch in the lobby restaurant. Women and men swept through the lobby in exquisite traditional clothing as they moved from one vibrant event space to the next. Family members and friends greeted each other with warm, enthusiastic greetings and bear hugs. While people watching, particularly in a foreign country, is often a solitary and remote activity, I took solace in noting the similarities of social and family dynamics across cultures. One morning, while eating breakfast at the window table overlooking the valet, I watched a middle aged couple pull up in their car, get out and follow the valet around to the back of the car to get the luggage. The hatch opened and revealed that the back was filled with boxes and crates packed to the ceiling. As I watched them grapple with how to start unloading, I suddenly realized I was witnessing the arrival of the parents of the bride, the family minivan packed to the brink with wedding decor. I would recognize the overwhelmed and frazzled look of the parents of the bride the day before the wedding anywhere. While the attire and customs may vary, some things truly are universal~

Quick London layover rooftop skyline view