In which there is a VIP moment and I learn to use Indian GPS
Starring Punit whose lessons in how to say 'no' turned out to be extremely useful.
The first thing that happened when I got to Delhi was that the customs official checking all my paperwork complimented me on how neatly and accurately I had filled in my form. I knew immediately that I would love India.
Everyone tells you what a nightmare it is arriving in Indian cities (particularly when exhausted by a sleepless might in a shitty Bangkok hotel) so I was particularly pleased to get myself into a taxi and en route to the hotel without being even vaguely hassled. My driver, Punit, even assured me that he knew exactly where the hotel was. He proceeded to give me a Hindi lesson including counting to ten and yes (ha) and no (nahee) that only came to an end when the traffic ground to a halt and everyone out of their cars to see what was going on. "Has there been an accident?" I asked. "Oh no," said Punit, "this is a VIP moment."
Delhi is choked - with smog, people, cows, rickshaws and incredible architectural treasures. I spent hours wandering around Humayun's Tomb - an enormous complex of tombs and gardens which were built in the 16th century and whose architecture preceded and was eventually refined into the Taj Mahal.
The most iconic building is the Red Fort at the eastern end of the Old City - another enormous complex of buildings though a number where obliterated by the British who also stripped the temple domes of their silver and copper and built large garrisons in the grounds. In a rather neat twist of fate, one of these garrisons is now the home of the Museum of Independence dedicated almost entirely to describing how appallingly they conducted themselves in India.
The main mosque - Jama Masjid - is also exquisite with sweeping views out over the city. We also visited a Sikh temple which was fascinating because it was less a temple and more a community centre including a library, a pharmacy, a dormitory and a huge dining hall that dishes up free food to anyone that wants it. We helped out in the kitchen by inexpertly rolling chappattis. They had an extraordinary machine called the Chappatti Queen that you drop dough balls into at one end and the perfectly cooked chappattis pop out of the other side.
It feels like where ever you go there is something to stare at - colours, clothes, faces - and I originally felt guilty about practically gawking at everyone and everything, but you soon notice that everyone is ogling you right back.
The market street in Old Delhi, called Chandi Chowk, is a mass of people and rickshaws crawling along at snails pace with motorbikes squeezing through between them and the incessant cacophony of horns. The most interesting streets and lanes are off to the sides - fabric and haberdashery stores with reels of embroidered ribbons and drawers of jewels. It's known as the woman's market for obvious reasons. Most women have their saris made and then come here to purchase embellishments that ensure each outfit is completely unique. At the far end there's a spice market with sack after sack of raw spices and dried fruit. Had no idea that you could chew cinnamon sticks - actually rather tasty.
So it's easier to get out to sites that are a bit further afield like the 73m Qutb Minar which was started in the 12th century. It's surrounded by the crumbling ruins of an enormous mosque in the centre of which is a metal pole over 2000 years old that was so expertly forged that not only has it never rusted but historians are at a loss to explain how it could possibly have been forged with the technology available at the time.
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