Semi-charmed kind of life.
It’s a Thursday that feels a little bit like a Friday thanks to a slightly-more-than-usual filled week. Work for my growing coaching practice, a tour and a small group meeting for Seven Cities, prep for Nicolas’s upcoming birthday party, plus a run-in with our first real case of Delhi belly (thankfully affecting only Joe) has had me on my toes.
But I’ve just settled into one of the armchairs in my office and I am feeling pretty content.
I didn’t really need them, but I had a hankering so I took a short walk just a bit ago to the market and procured a couple of piping hot samosas. For only 60 rupees (less than 1 USD), I walked back home with five of the crispy triangular pastries packed with potatoes, onions, and peas as well as two little baggies filled with sweet and spicy chutneys. And while my mug of pre-mix 3-in-1 tea was certainly no substitute for the chaiwala’s just-slightly-too sweet, burn-your-fingers-on-the-dixie-cup 10 rupees chai, it wasn’t half bad either.
I had lunch today with a small group of expats here from all over for all sorts of reasons. And, as I sit here pleasantly full on on my street food snack, I can’t help but think about the turn in the conversation as we talked about whether we liked living in Delhi. One woman admitted that this is just not her place. My heart knew exactly the life she described because everything she said reminded me of what I experienced and how I felt at our last post. In the end, it just wasn’t my place.
But Delhi? I’m almost afraid that I might jinx it if I say that I’m kind of loving it here.
Delhi has its things, for sure. The pollution and air quality are worrisome even to a mostly non-worrier. (For the record, I am a worrier.) The traffic is next level chaos. It’s a pain in the butt to have to do your grocery shopping at 3 different market stalls and 2 different online retailers rather than just stop in a Western-style grocery store. Washing dirt and unseen, gut-busting microbes off of veggies and fruits gets really old by the third or fourth rinse. Walking around as a woman — even a very privileged one — isn’t always awesome (or safe). And living in proximity to extreme poverty wears on my heart in a way that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully measure.
But it would be a lie to say that I don’t live a semi-charmed life here.
Before I launch into all the reasons I feel as though I’ve found one of my places, I feel the urge to disclaim the hell out of what I’m about to say. I know my privilege is showing. It is one of the things I wrestle with the most lately: how my turn of the karmic wheel landed me in this body and this life while others struggle so much more than I may ever be able to imagine.
But here I am.
We live in a very nice flat in a decent neighborhood (that even comes with its own herd of street cows!). I could bitch about the Drexel furniture that is the unfortunate side of living in embassy housing, but I won’t. Because you almost don’t even notice it if you put up enough art.
I’m able to split my days between working on growing my business, taking care of Nicolas (who spends a good chunk of the day at preschool), getting out to see the city, doing some volunteer work, and actually getting regular exercise with the guidance of a trainer. After years of 55+ hour weeks, it feels almost wrong to have this much “down time.”
I suppose then, the challenge is what to make of it. To maintain the balance of rest (that I so desperately needed for so long), play, and productivity that will have me looking back someday saying that I didn’t squander what I had been given.
Like I said, it’s a semi-charmed kind of life…
