Day 19-23: Delhi — IndefinitelyOOO

helens lovely face.jpg — *"Flush with young love"*

As some of the more avid among you will know from chapter one, Delhi didn't exactly charm us on our first visit, so we approached the return leg not expecting to be massively impressed. Hard to do much about the 25m plus people inhabiting a city in the three weeks since we'd been gone and that's really the crux of it. That gives rise to the cars, pollution, rubbish, noise, aggro - all the things we baulked at around New Delhi station - our previous home - but as it happens, of course, that's not the sum of Delhi's parts.

In fact, what we found this time, when we had the time to look further afield, were quite a few little villages and enclaves - mostly on the yellow line of Delhi's v shiny and efficient newish Metro - all (ok, most) of which made us love Delhi a little more.

Certainly one of the most delightful was the discovery of so many free places for people just to find some peace. Lodi Gardens in the South, or as we call it 'the best bit' left a lasting impression for a few reasons. To start with it was our only evidence thus far that Delhi can be quiet and more importantly it was the first time we'd seen boys and girls hanging out together - romantically (the place might have been spilling over with old temples but it was also flush with young love) - and also just chatting and laughing as mates. It had become quite noticeable that in most if not all other places we'd visited in Rajasthan, recognised as more conservative, that really hadn't been the case. In fact it had been quite lads, lads, lads with groups of men chatting, playing cards, drinking chai and generally holding court on most streets but never with women.

The site of the magnificent Qutab Minar, a victory tower erected in 1193, was also beautifully manicured (we saw some gardeners cutting the topiary with scissors) as well as being studded with other monuments knocking on for a thousand years old.

Across our three days we also made our way on foot (nearly 70,000 steps) or courtesy of frenzied tuk tuk drivers (often reluctant to take us quite all the way to where we wanted, mostly because of the horrendous jams - maybe they would have been more accommodating if they'd known how far we'd walked already...) to ...

*The Gurudwara's kitchens: cooking at scale*

Purana Qila (stunning); the Red Fort (disappointingly plain but unquestionably red); Humayans Tomb ( basically a floating - optical illusion - mausoleum) Jama Masjid (India's largest mosque and a privilege to have seen) and last but best, the Gurdwara Bangla Sahib (an astonishing Sikh Temple which also happens to feed 25,000 people's day of all faiths and fortunes).

On a more selfish note Delhi also rewarded us (me) with great wine. Wine so good in fact we bought a vineyard. Not really, just checking you were paying attention. But we have booked a trip to the Nashik Valley where it was made.

We also consumed some cracking cocktails -Haus Khas, Delhis Dalston - which housed some achingly hip bars; had some soul feeding dinners including poppadoms served with what can only be described as curry beer (delicious); and a well worth the extended walk through Old Delhi to the institution which is Karim's.

And lots of love actually in the form of circa six dozen requests for selfies and photos everywhere we went and a very amusing mobbing by hundreds of children on a school trip.

We still bloody hate Delhi station though. And bearing in mind that it's the first and maybe only thing that visitors see of the capital I really hope it gets some kind of Kings Cross makeover and the government at least try to address what we heard were the near same population living in shanti towns around there as inside its actual houses.

We’d been left pretty unimpressed by our first impressions of the capital when we passed through here three weeks ago but, as we had only been passing through, decided it was hardly a fair judgement so were determined to give the place a fair crack this time around.

Delhi repayed us in spades, overwhelming us with both the good and the bad. As a result, this entry is a long one - sorry.

First, the bad. New Delhi station was the scene of our first, unpleasant introduction to India; scammed, hassled and generally mucked about. It was no better this time around. Swarming with people, impossible to navigate, beset by scammers again (they got short shrift this time around, Helen reminding me that people can speak enough English to understand the ‘F’s and the ‘C’s), I can honestly say it’s the place I hate most on Earth. Thankfully it’s not at all representative of the city or the country – it’s just a rotten way for many visitors to get their first experience of India.

The air, famously unsafe, has much improved since we were here last but it’s still a bit grim. I understand that facemasks have sold out but that the government is doing something – I’m not sure what but it seems to have had an effect.

The poverty is something else. Visible everywhere in the country but moreso here, it can be very distressing. Particularly the kids; beautiful, smiley, filthy and sick, poor to a degree that’s inconceivable in the UK (hardly a utopia itself). It’s desperate. We give, of course, but inconsistently, torn between the guilty, gutless stock response of “well you can’t help everybody” and knowing that we absolutely can help some people. We know the reasons why there’s such deprivation; India is a developing country of around 1.3 billion people that has grown by a billion since independence in 1947 with an infrastructure that can’t hope to cope. The government is spectacularly corrupt and the enormous wealth that’s washed through the country in recent years is confined to only a handful of people. I don't know what the answers are. Perhaps there is nothing that can be done. Either way, complaining that their poverty makes us feel bad rather misses the point, it’s particularly one-eyed and egocentric – it’s not really about us, is it? The best thing I heard about it was that it doesn’t go away if you close your eyes. So, we don’t turn our heads away or move from sequestered hotel to gated resort in cars with tinted windows. That doesn’t make us heroes – again, it’s not about us – but I think it’s probably a more honest way of moving through the country. Not sure where I’m going with this or if I have a particularly profound point to make but it felt appropriate to touch on something that is present, is real and is saddening. You don’t see it in the tourist brochures or the enthusiastic, positive pieces on the news magazine shows and it would feel fraudulent to pretend that, on this extraordinary trip we’ve taken, we haven’t seen the harsher, more painful side of this remarkable place.

I’m not sure I’ve articulated this particularly well; it’s complicated and hard to process. Something to think on.

On a happier note, we tried to wring Delhi dry in the three days we spend here and covered many miles on foot and by metro to experience as many different sides to it as possible.

On our first day we visited Qutub Minar, a large, beautifully maintained complex of Mughal tombs and mosques and were thrilled by the beauty and scale of the momuments, including the towering red sandstone minaret, rising 240 feet into the sky.

Trying a different type of cultural experience we spent the evening in Hauz Khas, a small, super-trendy pedestrianised district of bars and coffee houses crammed into every corner of every floor of the sketchy-looking buildings with little regard for what we would call Health and Safety. We sank into a corner booth in The Social, next to a pair of good-looking Sikh boys in turbans and sports casual – a couple – and drank potent sugarcane cocktails while moody dub played through the speakers and watched cool, cosmopolitan Delhi kick back and relax. Ignoring our daily budget we spent a few happy hours here drinking and appraising the sort of effortless hipster chic that places like Dalston try so hard to achieve. A great evening that left us buzzing.

The intimidating size and hectic crush of the world’s second biggest city leaves little room for peace and tranquillity so we were surprised and delighted to find exactly that in Lodhi Gardens. This public park is in the heart of the city but you could easily forget that strolling down the well-kept paths through manicured lawns and hedges, around follies and fountains. We weren’t the only people to think so, clearly, as boys and girls holding hands and cuddling by picnics abounded – something we haven’t seen before in our travels through the conservative North.

Much of our last day was spent back at New Delhi station changing some of our later train reservations and adding new ones. We’re cutting short some of the time we’d planned in the cities and taking some more trips into remoter areas. I’ll draw a veil over the detail, save to say that it took hours and hours and required us to dig deep into our reserves of patience. The worst place in the world, remember?

Helen reminds me that I’m being unfair. The actual staff, when we eventually found them, could not have been more helpful which was a good thing as the process for booking train tickets is impenetrable and frustrating beyond words.

Without too much time left after that, we resolved to fill it. Braving Old Delhi to seek out the famed street food of Chadni Chowk, the warren of streets that make up the bazaar and Spice Market, we got horribly, inevitably lost (Google Maps is next to useless in a place like that) but eventually made our way to Karim’s. Time magazine calls it one of the Top 10 restaurants in Asia and Rick Stein had some good things to say about it, too but no five-star fancy eatery, this. Karim’s family trace an unbroken lineage of chefs going back centuries to the Mughal’s caterers and long have occupied a grotty backstreet in the bazaar, dominating it with a café, restaurant, takeaway hole-in-the-wall and hotel. The place is heaving full, grimy and atmospheric and, negotiating smiling cooks and surly waiters we ordered a mutton curry (her) and the mysterious Karim Roll (me) for a handful of rupees and were not disappointed by the first full meat meal we’ve had in nearly a month. The Karim Roll, it turns out is basically a kebab and it was bloody delicious.

Delhi’s number one attraction is the famed Red Fort, acres of tombs, palaces, mosques and castle keeps, surrounded by impossibly thick high walls. For all that, we weren’t too impressed. Perhaps we’ve become jaded after the wonders of Rajasthan or maybe it's possible to get Fort Fatigue. We’ve seen more beautiful, interesting and impressive sites in our journey so far and were left a little nonplussed.

No matter, what we experienced next will live long in the memory. Our last excursions had quite a devout feel as we visited both Jama Masjid and the Gurudwara Bangla Sahib, Delhi’s largest mosque and Sikh temple respectively.

*Jama Masjid; manages to be both solemn and welcoming*

Arriving at Jama Masjid during prayers we waited respectfully on the huge steps for a time before entering, barefoot and bescarved and joining the throng of the faithful and curious in the expansive marble plaza. Whatever the feelings in the current climate and lingering after Britain’s clumsy nation-building resulting in Partition, the long story of Northern India’s religious communities is a complicated one but full of acceptance and tolerance. The Islamic Mughal emperors held sway here until the mass arrival of white chaps with guns, money, sideburns and manifest ambition and they were often quite progressive when viewed through modern eyes. Akbar The Great deliberately favoured his three most special wives, one muslim, one hindu and one Christian and built them identical palaces so their equal status couldn’t be doubted. We’ve seen that theme of acceptance in a lot of their legacy and here in the mosque, too, where the faithful enter from one arching gate while an identical one is reserved for Hindu visitors to this holiest of places. Among the devotees we meet, people are pleased to see us and we’re made to feel very welcome by a congregation from all over; India, Pakistan and further afield, Iran and Africa. The place is vast, admitting 25,000 worshippers for prayers on high holy days and the four minarets that reach into the sky from each corner cast long shadows across the marble. For those that believe, it must be a special place to to engage in faith.

I'm often reluctant to go into working places of worship, partly because my own beliefs don't easily align with the religion I've seen but also because I dislike being a tourist in other people's personal devotion. I feel intrusive (and in places like The Vatican, pissed off and mean-spirited) but there's less of that here.

The Sikh temple is equally welcoming and entirely wonderful. Sikhism is built around principles of equality, of caste, gender and even religion, without judgment. It's late and the gurudwara is packed with people praying and paying their respects before official closing but cheerful volunteers take the time to explain how the place works, how we should behave and the significance of what we're seeing. The principles of equality and compassion are most evident in the dining hall. 25,000 free meals a day come out of the cavernous kitchens, prepared by volunteers (giving back is important in Sikkim and it is expected that Sikhs, regardless of their wealth or station, dedicate time to preparing food, cleaning dishes, polishing shoes left by people at prayer, or by working in the free clinic or the free rooms. People of all creeds and backgrounds eat together in the dining rooms and likewise, all are welcome in the temple's other facilities. Once again, we're made to feel welcome by people at prayer, who are keen to talk and have us there, with no obligation or expectation.

Two very different places left us very touched and, in the case of the gurudwara, well prepared for our next town, Amritsar, the birthplace of Sikkim and the Golden Temple (which serves 100,000 meals a day, for those keeping count.)

Returning to our hotel for the last time, we quickly and easily drop back into the less spiritual, more secular world. Having politely complained about the noise at night (the place was hosting parties) we're invited to the bar we couldn't afford to drink in (trying to stick to that tight budget) to enjoy complimentary drinks by way of apology. We graciously accept and climb into a couple of gins and reflect on our time in this weird, contradictory, diverse and complicated town.