Between New Delhi and Jakarta

By Dini S. Djalal

NEW DELHI (JP): Asia's capital cities often elicit complements only from its residents and complaints from everyone else. Bangkok's legendary traffic drives tourists away to Phuket or Chiang Mai. Penang and Sarawak are preferred destinations to Kuala Lumpur.

Jakarta is no exception. After a few days (at the most) of dodging countless Toyotas and staring at soulless skyscrapers, tourists in the city often head for Bali. No wonder Indonesia's economic growth is so immense, because the only activity that seems to count in Jakarta is making money, and spending it.

When I arrived in India's capital, New Delhi (or just Delhi), I expected the same disenchantment. "Smog, traffic, and tall buildings -- big cities are all the same," I thought. I was half- right. The sky was a somber shade of gray throughout my five days there, and the constant smell of carbon monoxide can leave one literally breathless. Delhi is now reputedly the most polluted city in the world, exceeding Mexico City.

But the traffic? Even Bogor boasts more cars. Tall buildings? There are the five-star hotels on the outskirts of the city, and the mammoth American Express Office in Connaught Circus, but, for the capital of a nation of nearly a billion people, Delhi is largely flat and undeveloped.

And charming, in its own way. I mostly traveled by auto- rickshaw, or what Indonesians refer to as the bajaj. The bajaj was an Indian invention, and Indians still utilize it best. Indian bajaj still operate by meter, which starts at three rupees (roughly Rp 200), and travel long distances. The equivalent of a journey from the National Monument (Monas) in Central Jakarta, to Kemang in South Jakarta, will set you back 20 rupees, or about Rp 1,500. My local bajaj driver won't even take me around the block for that amount.

But price is not the main issue. Most people in Delhi travel by bajaj because it is the most convenient way to commute. Unlike Jakarta, Delhi is not over-run by taxis, and the taxis themselves are giant old Ambassador cars from the 1950s, deplete of air-conditioning and comfortable seats. There is, therefore, not much difference between the two, except that the bajaj will take you to your destination faster.

The reasoning is the traffic. My friends warned me, "Avoid rush-hour. The traffic is horrible." To which I answer, "What traffic?" Anyone who has ever crawled along Jl. Thamrin and Jl. Sudirman for two hours can only sigh with relief at Delhi's "traffic".

Another warning I received was about Delhi's nouveau riche. "Delhi is getting so trendy now, and everyone is becoming so Western," my Anglo-Indian friends said. They took me to a nightclub to prove their point. The discotheque, called Fireball, located 32 miles into the neighboring state of Haryana, was modeled like a spaceship. You had to literally walk through Darth Vader's mouth to enter the club. Aspirations towards modernity do not get more surreal than this.

But after an hour in the club, I gained a better understanding of "modern" India. Not an Adidas trainer was in sight, and most women wore loose-fitting trousers instead of tight mini-skirts. One minute the DJ would spin Deep Purple, the next Lionel Richie. Everyone danced without pretensions and with abandon -- none of that sneering and posing which plagues Jakarta clubs. Pandemonium erupted when some bhangra songs came on. Musical snobbery was refreshingly absent, even from my often-inflexible mind. Would the kids in Pondok Indah Mall dare venture into Manggarai's dangdut (music with strong beat reminiscent of Hindi or Arabic music) clubs? Not even for a joke.

Nearing morning, we finally re-emerged out of bhangra-mania into the parking lot, and I noticed another distinction. There was not one Mercedes or BMW parked there, nor would I see one on the streets. I was assured by Delhi's elite that, yes, they do exist, but for the most part, cars in Delhi were of the modest and rickety variety. When my friends took me to one of Delhi's "trendiest" market in Defense Colony, I expected an onslaught of air-conditioned hi-tech consumerism, replete with franchises of Burger King and Dairy Queen. I was not prepared for an outdoor market packed with men ogling from their parked 1980s Marutis, nonchalantly inhaling the aroma of both take-away curry stalls and omnipresent cow-dung.

So, where has Delhi hidden the global village? It was there, in its purest form, in the tourist ghetto of Paharganj. Here, European and American travelers compete with one another to be more "Indian" than the Indians themselves, not washing their long hair and wearing more undyed cotton than the population of Bombay. When their emaciated bodies can't take any more Delhi- belly, they would go to the tourist-oriented restaurants for some fish-n-chips. Meanwhile, their Indian counterparts were anticipating the opening of Delhi's first shopping mall, and debating which is better: Coke or Pepsi. Both soft drinks companies have just recently entered the market.

Global media pundits are currently praising India's decision to overcome government protectionism and liberalize the economy. Yet which is preferable: acres of foreign franchises (as witnessed in Jakarta), or the perpetuation of local culture? By no means is India stuck in the Middle Ages, and neither is traditionalism necessarily the better. But browsing through Delhi's shops, I saw mostly traditional saris and shalwar kameez, what most Indian women proudly wear on Delhi's streets. These same women would also often speak eloquent English, without sacrificing an ounce of nationalism.

Hence, another difference between Delhi and Jakarta. In our glittering metropolis, everyone is scrambling to Indonesianize signboards and slogans, while simultaneously reveling in prestigious imported items. Spot the hypocrisy? In Delhi, English-language novels are sold cheaply on every street corner, alongside books in other Indian languages, and most magazines illustrate traditional Indian culture. They are able to synthesize Western influences without being subject to it: can we accomplish the same challenge?

Yet there is an unenviable side to Delhi. Walking home one evening, my friends and I were faced with stepping over the homeless, sleeping on the sidewalk. There they lay, by the dozen, without shelter, or comfort, and often flanked by their malnourished children. It is easy to dramatize the poverty of India, but only because it is so unforgivingly rampant. As we drove through the city, we passed mammoth mansions with lawns the size of football fields, undoubtedly enough space to accommodate all the homeless of Delhi. Suddenly, my mind wandered back to Jakarta. That much shelter may not be necessary to house the homeless in Jakarta -- maybe they could all fit into the city's thousands of BMWs and Mercedes Benzs.