Wednesday 5th November 2008

There's a sign on the door: "schedule of anxiety." It's like a set list taped up outside a concert, though this event will certainly be running to schedule and besides it's far earlier in the morning than any self-respecting rock star would be seen out of bed. We're here to watch the results come in as the polls close for the American election. The Democrats Abroad chapter in Delhi have organised the breakfast for expats, although everyone is here. Ostensibly, to watch history being made.

Inside, the cafe is Bedlam. There are more journalists here than people to document, so TV cameras jostle for space and an elbow-free view, reporters end up interviewing each other, and it's impossible to get a photograph without someone else's flash going off in your face. Waitresses weave in and out of tables and underneath armpits, narrowly deflecting their trays from people's waving arms as victory after victory comes in. A huge map of the US has been drawn on a bed sheet and pinned across the back wall. A girl with a statue of liberty headband is smacking Democrat and Republican logos on the states as they are claimed. It's soon clear that the blues have it. Each new cheer is ever more filled with ecstatic disbelief that the next American President will be the black Democrat from Hawaii. The underdog.

Outside two girls have their faces pressed to the window, confusedly peeking in at the cameras and flashing lights and cappuccinos. One of them has a huge open sore on her leg, weeping infected pus. Every time someone comes out of the cafe for a break from the chaos, she runs up and thrusts her leg in their face. Her companion crouches down and holds their shoes, asking for rupees. Neither are having much success.

Back inside the cafe, McCain makes his concession speech. There are titters among the crowd, some of whom are wearing Democrat hats in the shape of horses heads. There's whispered debate over whether some of his comments are backhanded slurs to their victorious hero. When eventually Obama appears, with Michelle, Malia and Sasha, there is bacchanalian whooping and cheering. As Obama makes his victory address, there is a reverent hush. Tears are shed, twinkling in the TV screen light.

And the biggest cheer comes as Obama delivers his message to those, 'beyond our shores', promising a 'new hope' for those watching in "parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world."

I wonder what the little girl peeking through the window thinks. Obama won't give her a rupee, or the medicine for her leg. The speech would be impossible for her to understand, even if she were to know more English than 'hungry' and 'sir' and 'please'. The optimism would be impossible for her to understand because it's an optimism of ideals and not of s physical reality she could grasp. But Obama is without doubt the greatest leader to come in our generation. And what can be hoped on a day like today is that those inspired by Obama can be inspired to help her.

As we leave the cafe, the morning air is finally beginning to warm up. The little girls are sitting in the gutter. Someone inside the cafe has given them half a packet of cookies, and one of them has a small American flag. She's not really sure what it is, much less what she's supposed to do with it, but it seems to amuse her for a while and they play contentedly, crumbs in their hands and between their teeth. Perhaps this is the new dawn Obama was talking about.