Sorry- I faked you out. I really thought I was done with the India blog!
A friend asked what I would be doing for New Year’s Eve, quipping “Mars?”. I actually thought it would be a pretty tame day, preparing for the long flight home. But then…May came down with a head cold and wanted nothing more than to lie around with a steamer directly below her nose. I left her under the watchful eye of Shukla, the proprietor of Lutyens Bungalow where we are staying. She is a wonderful human being and I knew she would keep a loving grandmotherly eye on May. Apparently she personally sat beside May at lunchtime, placing her in a sunny spot and reminding her periodically to keep eating because a cold must be fed. May had to hide some of her food in her pocket because she couldn’t eat any more and didn’t want to disappoint Shukla.
And since May needed space and time to rest, my friend Lalit took me on the high speed whirlwind seven hour tour of historic sites in Old Delhi (seven hours barely scratched the surface but it was SPECTACULAR). It truly was like visiting another planet it was so foreign in smells, customs, pace, and atmosphere.
Foreigners are required to wear a suitable cover-up (aka hospital gown) at mosques because of our revealing baggy outdoor clothing, and curiously enough they charge extra for us to have this privilege. Anyone who looks local doesn’t have to wear one. Hmmmmm….
Lalit. He grew up in Delhi, knows all the best places, and walks even faster than I do.
Because of my hospital gown, the security guard in the mosque knew I was a foreigner and insisted on taking several photos of me in the restricted area he had recently kicked several other local people out of. Thank you, sir. Kind of. I got to look silly while getting glares from strangers! Yay!
This is the maharaja’s water cistern, where he would come during summer months to cool off and watch performances. Apparently, the little alcoves and side platforms were for the dancing girls.
I told Lalit that I would love to see elephants, but only if they were well treated, because seeing an abused elephant would be much worse than not seeing one. He gave me a brief glance from the sides of his eyes and said, “Then no elephants”. Ouch. This is the only elephant I saw, and abused as it looks, at least it’s only bamboo and paper.
There’s no way to properly convey the feel of the twisted alleys of Old Delhi’s wholesale markets, each street dedicated to a certain type of ware. There is a spice street (very pungent), a jewelry street, a wedding clothes street, and several others featuring a specific type of item. We whirled in and out through people and rickshaws and bicycles and carts and porters carrying heavy goods. Tiny alleyways were strung with hundreds of electrical cables as if every tenant in the buildings above powered their home off a really long extension cord. We bought tiny plates of curried potatoes on top of crunchy pastry, creamy cardamom pudding, and a custard apple from street vendors, all incredibly delicious. It’s just so - other. It’s not like anywhere I have ever been.
And if you’ve never ridden in a motorcycle rickshaw in Delhi, you just can’t grasp the transcendental lack of concern for your personal safety and that of the surrounding commuters that you have to achieve in order to enjoy the ride. It’s exhilarating and I never saw a single crash - but sometimes there was less than an inch between my leg and the vehicle beside me, and we were both hurtling along.
That’s all folks! Really, this time. I’ve had my trip to Mars and now we are on our way to the airport! Happy New Year’s Eve, kisses and hugs to you all!
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