DELHI
An American 60 years old gentleman gently wakes me up at 5:30, at the Delhi Rohilla station. I have no idea where it is. I slept for 12 hours straight, without even eating, and I’m still numb.
The American and his wife, who live here, returning to their home, give me a ride up to the New Delhi railway station, where I leave my belongings, bedspreads included, at the luggage storage. Again mice, always them, trot along the walls, among the street vendors, the boxes, the suitcases, the passengers.
My plan for the day is to visit something in the capital, trying as much as possible to avoid the rickshaw and taxi drivers. Since the city has a subway, it does not seem so difficult.
From the station, underground, I head to Chandni Chowk, the main road linking the Red Fort to Fatehpuri Majid. I am only a few blocks away from Old Delhi Railway Station, it’s about 7.30. When I go up on the road, I get very surprised. Since we are in the center, and I see in front of me, not too far away, the Lahore Gate, on whose threshold the prime minister speaks to the nation on Independence Day, I thought I would have found a certain decency. Instead, the scene that I find is the same as the Dec. 21 night, with the difference that those who slept at that time on the sidewalks are now slowly waking up, and the early morning light reveals the decay of the buildings around me, which I had not previously noticed because of darkness. A dirt, a ruin, a sense of abandonment, of decadence, of shambles that if it was not in front of my eyes I would not even be able to conceive it. I had the opportunity to see, in a few films, most recently “Holy Smoke” , scenes of this kind, the guide describes this area as “the beating heart of Old Delhi”, but of course the film is completely different. Maybe, if it was later, the traffic, the frenzy, the goods on display in the shops, and the crowds would distract me for a moment, but in this desert, the degraded poverty unfortunately appears to me in its most frightening entirety. A truck belonging to a humanitarian organization distributes hot food, and a long line of humanity is waiting. I am close to the Kinari Bazar, but it’s too early, and the market is still closed.
I buy some cookies, but, since I am passing close to the queues of homeless waiting for their charity meals, I feel ashamed to eat in front of them, so I put them in my backpack. The Fort ticket office opens at 8 sharp, so I have to wait at least one more quarter of an hour in the cold. Finally, I get in, and escape from that misery. Frivolous note: the souvenir shops in the gallery just after the Lahore Gate, the main entrance, sells very nice items at reasonable prices. For example, the same handbags with beads and mirrors which costed 400 rupees in Udaipur are exposed here at 150 rupees. I admit to visit the site reluctantly, and with some haste, a sudden attack of dysentery worsens the situation. Fortunately there is plenty of clean public toilets around. It may be the cold weather, but I do not exclude that I was impressed by everything I saw in Chandni Chowk. When I see on tv some scenes of poverty I do not realize exactly the size of the problem, if this is slammed on my nose, the perspective changes.
Travelling also involves this : a person comes home with the knowledge that she had a great fortune to be born, by chance, in the European Union, and may decide to do something.
In the various buildings inside the fort there are exhibitions, but they open much later, around 10, and I prefer not to wait so long
Out of the fort, and after having looked at the hasty Jain temple situated in front of it, I take a bus to the subway. My next destination is Connaught Place, New Delhi. Despite being only two stops away from Chandni Chowk, here you can breathe a different air. In the various connecting underground tunnels there are also shops and Western-style cafes, girls who attend them are wearing jeans instead shalwar cameez, and a cappuccino costs the same as a meal at a dhaba. Connaught Place is a huge roundabout, the heart of New Delhi. In the area there are luxury hotels, banks, and shopping centers, which do not interest me at all, but also some markets and bazaars, as well as some state-owned fixed-price emporiums.
The Janpath Market, the Tibetan market, is a joke compared to what you can find in Ladakh.
A thousand times better the hippie style clothing in Pushkar, not to mention the typical handicraft located in Rajasthan.
I only buy a dozen key rings with the plump effigy of Ganesh.
The Palika Bazar, located in the basement under Connaught Circle, is not interesting. It composed of many small shops, each one distinguished by a number. They sell mostly fake clothing, like in Bangkok markets. Only some little shops that sells essences and perfumes save it from mediocrity.
Regarding state emporiums: they are very similar one to each other. Usually they have some good things, but they are very expensive. They are typically frequented by package tourists. I get virtually kidnapped by some individuals who, pretending to be students, and with the excuse of practice their English, follow me like mastiffs. Dismissed one, out of the territory within its competence, another one arrives .. Because they offer me the rickshaw for free, I agree to follow them, and leave them after a quick romp inside. After a while I get tired of the joke and return to Connaught Place.
I stop for a few minutes in a pharmacy, perfect source of souvenirs. In fact I can buy ayurvedic products at very low prices. They are a great gift, especially the Himalayas line, which in Europe cost a fortune. For very few rupees I bring home a bottle of a mixture of glycerin and aloe, which will be useful to soothe sun burnt skin.
I take the subway and go back to New Delhi station, to look at the shops of Paharganj, where again I find many souvenirs. It’s practical to buy them here, at the end of the trip, but the choice and quality are better in Udaipur and Jaisalmer.
I choose colored leather thongs for me, and necklaces for my girlfriends.
The area is very populated with backpacker. There are so many guesthouses and eateries, some of which are equipped with terraces.
After a final ride in the shops, I go back to the station to take my luggage, the last supper in a dhaba. At about 22.00, by taxi, this time, I go to the airport.
Obviously, I will return, through the third door.