Pulitzers and Whiskey Part 2

When I first arrived in India a colleague told me how important it was to make my home a sanctuary.

Now that I’d been here for a couple of years, I understood what he meant. Some countries allow you to rest…to be. They don’t force themselves on your senses. Attacking you as you sleep. Pollution, mosquitoes, and heat. India is exhausting.

As soon as I stepped out of my apartment - smack! The stifling wall of heat in the stairwell. But, today was different. I could smell the sweet jasmine that grew outside the front door. The light filtering through the stairwell was warm and soft.

Sanjay, my driver, and friend was waiting in the big white Mahindra Scorpio Jeep to take me in to work. I hopped into the driver’s seat. I liked to drive myself sometimes through the chaotic Delhi traffic. I know Sanjay thought it was bizarre that I would choose to drive but he never said as much. I explained as best I could about the award, and he seemed genuinely happy for me. Apart from my girlfriend, he and his mother and a couple of colleagues were the closest thing I had to family here. His mother Mary did all my cooking and cleaning and treated me like a son. She had a beautiful smile and a warm heart and most importantly I felt I could trust her.

Two of my colleagues in India also shared the prize so I set up a conference call so we could all join in the office celebrations. I ordered a cake and some sparkling wine for everyone in the office to toast the success. Finding the balance in these situations can be tricky. You want to be happy and thankful but also mindful of the reason you achieved this great accolade. And, equally importantly you need to avoid coming across as a smug prick. There already was a couple of those in the Bureau. I didn’t want to add to the quota. The day went by in a haze of congratulatory e-mails and phone calls. Pictures of saffron robed priests and more than likely a funeral or protest in Kashmir.

Sanjay drove me home. I was tired and wanted to digest everything that had happened as we weaved through the rush hour traffic. The drive home went through some of the most beautiful areas of Delhi; Rashtrapati Bhavan, India Gate. Reminders of a different time. Lutyen, colonialism and the British Empire.

We crawled past Nizamuddin Dargah where thousands of Muslims worshipped every week and where I occasionally went to listen to the devotional music sessions in the evening. Left turn and into Nizzamuddin East. Home. Through the tree lined colony which was the outer shell of my private space. We parked up at the front door and I gathered my cameras and tiffin.

Jasmine blossoms at night. This is when its delicate perfume is most potent. It’s said to be a natural sedative. I wish I’d known this when I first arrived as I couldn’t sleep for weeks due to the coming and goings of the trains at the station nearby.

I made my way up the spiral stairwell and opened the front door. Quick to close it behind me to keep the mosquitos out. There was that feeling again. Like being hit with a ball in the face. I looked around at the empty apartment.