Seat of Our Pants

Delhi is an assault on the senses. I don’t necessarily mean this in a negative way. It is just that it is a massive all-out, full-on attack on both your senses and sensibilities.

Today we walked through Old Delhi – a place our trusty guidebook described as having ‘a kind of raw charm’ and warned that it could at times resemble ‘pure pandemonium’.

Just imagine a dirty, cluttered warren where an enormous number of people have congregated to do commerce. They are all going in their own directions, whether on foot, on a motorbike, pushing a wheelbarrow full of plastic toys or sitting in a ricksha. You’re one of these people, trying to get through from one end to another. Your nose picks up a bewildering array of smells: gunpowder, armpit, marigolds, chapatis, grilled chicken, rotting garbage, perfume, wet dog, masala tea and stale rainwater. The din here is incredible – firecrackers are going off above you, people are yelling at each other to get out of the way or into their shops or whatever – it is impossible to tell and at this point you don’t care, you’re trying to get through. A leprous beggar walks up to you and starts crooning into your ear. At the same time, a smarmy salesman with a waxed mustache is talking into your other ear, trying to sell you an exorbitantly overpriced tour of the spice market. You realize that you’re standing in dog droppings. You hope that it is dog, and inch away towards what you hope is a bit of clear space.

Traveling doesn’t always have to be beautiful to be rewarding. Sometimes, experiences make you realize what a fantastic life you are living back home. Today was such an experience. I like it.

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