There was one conclusion we reached two days into Delhi as we boarded our first inter-city bus to Dharamsala: we have been sheltered from the chaos that is India the past few days. Not that I did not appreciate what our Delhi host did for us. He practically toured us around and for the most part, it was at his expense. I mean, that goes above and beyond any guest could hope for.
But on that evening, as we tried to locate our bus in that small makeshift bus terminal, which was really a dusty unpaved piece of land adjacent to the Tibetan neighborhood of Majnu Ka Tilla in the Indian capital, we realized what was we got ourselves into.
Not unlike the bus terminal we went to
Photo by David de Mallorca | CC BY
Granted, as you approach the terminal, there will be people asking for your tickets. If they see that you are not a passenger of their bus, they will refer you to another. We were pointed to a middle-aged pot-bellied man in red shirt. We handed him our ticket. He glanced at it, returned it and then told us to wait. This exchange happened three more times before Angelica and I started getting worried.