The Commonwealth Games. If you are anything like me… these words do not mean alot. What comes to my highly unsports-oriented mind is a colonial Olympic knock-off, or something along those lines. But then again, that is coming from the girl who has never participated in any semi-organized sport in her life (aside from the occasional game of dodge ball, which I hated. I have many memories of those red rubber balls being whipped at impossible speeds towards my 40 pound frame by other 3rd graders).
However, if you live in Delhi, the “Commonwealth Games” means a great deal. As far as I can tell, it means: the impossible extension of a under used metro line (there is currently metro construction clogging up every main road in the city), and an impossible number of state-of-the-art sporting stadiums only one quarter, or even one third complete in a city where no one gives a rip about sports unless it is cricket. Billions of rupees are being poured into hosting the 2010 Commonwealth Games, and from what I can tell, if you asked the average Delhi citizen what they thought of it – well, most just shake their heads.
So when we caught wind of the baton (think: Olympic Torch knock-off) unveiling being held at India gate tonight, (apparently it gets sent to the Queen of England in Buckingham Palace!) we thought it might be a good chance to see what this Commonwealth thing was really all about. Actually that is a lie, I heard that there were going to be some acrobatic feats happening which rivalled cirque-du-soleil, involving both cranes and flying angels. I was immediately intrigued, and having nothing better to do on a Sunday night, we decided to check it out.
So we got ready. We threw together a picnic blanket, some books and dinner – put it into our backpack and headed out. We caught an auto to India gate where we were dropped into a crowd of several million people; we joined the masses as everyone wandered around wondering where the angels were. After several enquiries with the traffic police, we discovered the entrance to the evening’s performance was on the other side of the roundabout, or 1 km away. So we began walking. The entire park was crawling with the Delhi Police (“with you, for you, always”) and their rifles dating back to the British rule. Many also had important looking bamboo canes. They were spaced every 20 feet, and as we walked along Kyle and I speculated as to whether or not they would shoot us if we tried to make a run towards the center of the park. After some discussion, we decided that they would probably just tackle us because we are foreigners. And after some further discussion, we also decided that if Kyle were to dress a little more, ahem, ‘ethnically’ the chances for a shooting would certainly increase.
Eventually, after several false alarms, we reached the appropriate gate for the ‘common folk’ (ie. non-pass holders) to enter. There were around 70 people milling about in front of the all-to-common metal detectors (we have become surprisingly used to being frisked, searched and ‘detected’ upon entering any mall, movie theatre, train station, and various other public domains). We joined the ranks, and inquired as to when the gates would be open for the masses. 7pm one man told us. Kyle asked a nearby police officer when the gates would be opened. 6:30 he said. It was only 5:30, so we got ready for a bit of a wait. Immediately, the crowd surged forward, and we found that all of those waiting, including ourselves, had suddenly shrunk into a space roughly measuring 10 square meters. In the midst of elbows, dupattas, children and armpits we realized that the gates were in fact, opening now.
Amid the shoving and watching my ‘personal space’ disappear at an alarming rate, I realized that the crowd wasn’t being allowed to filter through the 2 metal detectors, something was holding everybody up. There were a lot of hand gestures and frustrated shouts directed at one extremely cross looking police officer. I asked a lady who was 2 inches from my face what was going on. She rolled her eyes… “no mobiles allowed”. Now to understand this frustration, you need to understand that in the city of Delhi, everyone owns a mobile phone. From the rick-shaw wallahs (and us) with the bottom of the barrel plastic model to the upper class with their i-phones, they have become a staple part of human existence in Delhi, along with food, water and shelter. So no mobile phone essentially meant no one can come in. There had been no warning of this absurd rule in any advertisements for the event, and naturally, the crowd was getting a little peeved. But the officer stood his ground amidst various yells, expressive arm waving and mobiles being shaken in his face. It became clear he wasn’t going to budge. Wondering what we were going to do, we noticed some people breaking off the edge of our crowd and crossing the street to where 2 more metal detectors were set up, they were letting people in on that side.
Quickly we elbowed our way out of our crowd, and joined the growing crowd on the other side of the street; it seemed that these officers hadn’t got the “no mobiles allowed” memo - fine by us. We made our way through the metal detectors, and a police officer searched our back pack. No problem there, so we paused to look around and figure out where we were heading in this giant park. There was the driveway heading into the center of the park, which was blocked off, everyone was being filtered to either the left or right through holes in the hedge to go around to the center of the park. We were standing on the one side where our mobile-friendly police had let us through, the crowd pushing through the hedge was quite large here (as most abandoned the other security check) so we crossed back to the other side of the street behind the no-mobile security check and began to cross through the hedge. Immediately a man was blocking our path – it was the same very cross police officer –“NO BAGS ALLOWED!” he roared. We protested, telling him we just got in with the backpack, and it had just been searched by his colleagues 10 feet away across the street. But again, as with the phones, he wouldn’t budge. Fine. Apparently it didn’t matter if there weren’t going to be any spectators on that side of the park, at least there wouldn’t be any mobiles or backpacks either. We crossed back the street, elbowed our way through the dozens of people, through the narrow gap in the hedge and were spewed out the gap onto the lawn.
At last! Through the ridiculous security, we briskly walked ahead in search of the flying angels. We rounded a corner, and alas, we saw two long lines of people, one of men, the other of women. More security! We hurried into our respective lines, and with a shrug of the shoulders we waited. Police patrolled up and down the line inspecting the spectators. A couple of officers stopped at Kyle –“NO BAGS ALLOWED!” Kyle protested, we had already had our bag searched, and the gentlemen were welcome to search it again if they wanted, all it contained was 2 novels, a picnic blanket and some sandwiches. We had travelled half way across the city to get here, were we supposed to just go home? Was there a bag check? Nope. Didn’t matter, because: “NO BAGS ALLOWED”. And the police moved on down the line. I was getting increasingly frustrated with the security, the bureaucracy and huge ordeal simple events end up becoming.
I marched over to Kyle in the men’s line. Should we just forget it and go home? Two dejected looking German tourists walked by, lonely planet and backpack in hand. “Ya, they are holding a Commonwealth Games event – you can’t get in” (Well, the games aren’t for another year, but close enough). That did it for me, we were getting in there. There is no way I was going to miss out on those flying angel’s man. “Just give me the bag.” I said to Kyle, refusing to give up. I carried the back pack over to the women’s line and resumed waiting. Soon 2 female police officers walked by and pointed at the backpack “NO BAGS ALLOWED”. I nodded appreciatively, and held my spot in line. There were 2 young ladies in front of me who didn’t speak any English, they smiled sympathetically and seemed to agree (from my limited understanding of Hindi) that “NO BAGS ALLOWED” was a silly rule. The men’s line was moving along much faster and I could see Kyle making his way through the metal detectors (again) and being patted down (again) and searched. He was safely in, we were halfway there. Eventually, I got up to the detectors, seeing Kyle watching from the other side.
But what’s this? My detector wasn’t working. A group of officers were discussing this in a group, staring mystified up at the red and green blinking lights. After some time, they unplugged it dragged it across the grass and dragged another one over and plugged it in. An officer walked back and forth through the new detector, and it continued to beep and bleep and blink. The other officers continued to discuss this turn of events and one started smacking the ancient machine while looking hopefully at the blinking lights. No use. This detector was then unplugged, dragged, and the former was reinstated. All the while I was standing at the front of the line with my backpack, trying as hard as possible to look like the kind of person who didn’t carry bombs into large social gatherings. It must have worked, because once waved through by the group of officers, who ignored the backpack I proceeded to the women’s search station behind a black curtain, where I was patted, prodded and my back pack was thoroughly searched. The bored looking police officer waved me through and motioned to the next woman in line. I hurried out to meet Kyle, figuring that she didn’t get the memo either, that there was absolutely, without exception or excuse “NO BAGS ALLOWED”.
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