Snippets of New Delhi, India.

Snippets of New Delhi.

March 2004.

Photo courtesy of Em_G.

Bear with me, dear readers, since we are about to embark on a series that’s… well… a bit different. As long term visitors to these pages know, I’ve been building my travel report library for around five years now. For the most part, I’ve always tried to paint detailed pictures of the places I’ve visited. To bore you with the nitty gritty of the history. To often go a bit more off-the-beaten-track and take as many photographs as humanly possible.

But now, I find myself faced with the major blogging challenge that is my adventures across India in the spring of 2004. To put it bluntly, I didn’t take enough photos and a lot of what I did shoot was… well, rubbish. In fact, as I leaf through the charred photographic remains of that old trip, I’m left thinking: Wow, what do I do with this?

At first glance, I considered scrapping India as a travel report series. But after some thought, I knew I couldn’t leave them out. After all, this is one of my favourite, most romanticised spells of travel. I was just twenty five years old and it was the longest time I’d been out on the road in such an exotic country. Moreover, this was the trip that inspired my short story collection, Incidents in India.

Snippets of New Delhi.

Thus I rolled up my sleeves and performed open heart surgery on my analogue photos. Then cobbled together the idea of this snippets series. Because, old friends, that’s exactly what they are. Moments, if you will, from the various stops of that long ago trip around India. A collection of teasers, you might say, for those of you who haven’t read the short stories. And it all started in the frenetic capital, New Delhi.

From the modest scattering of photos I have of my time in New Delhi, most relate to Paharganj, the assault-on-the-senses backpacker neighbourhood I based myself in. I will never ever forget what a rabbit caught in the headlights I was as I negotiated that long, crowded, stinky stretch of dusty road for the first time.

I had never seen anything like Paharganj. Market vendors and travel agency touts yelled at me… street kids tugged at my clothing… amputee beggars shook cups of loose change in my direction. You can read more about that first day in my short story Poor Me!

It’s crazy to think that my travel buddy Allan and I chose to stay in Paharganj. Ah, the folly of youth. Still, it wasn’t a complete disaster, as our home from home, the Hare Krishna Guesthouse, actually turned out ok. I say that in retrospect of course, looking back at the absolutely shocking hotels we would later have the misfortune to inhabit.

Jama Masjid Mosque.

We had around a week exploring New Delhi, if memory serves me well. I literally couldn’t tell you all the things we did and saw, but I certainly do recall the dramatic Jama Masjid Mosque. Built in the 1650s by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan (the dude responsible for The Taj Mahal), this served as the imperial mosque for a string of emperors over the next 200 years.

Architecturally, with its red sandstone and white marble, Jama Masjid is a spectacular sight. Somehow though, my standout memories are of the aggressive gatekeeper who rushed us around the main courtyard due to the fact that it was approaching closing time. And of this local lady sat on the entrance steps begging. I wonder what became of her, and if there is any chance at all that her life got better.

Another memorable afternoon came at the Red Fort, a Mughal palace known locally as Lal Qila. Emperor Shah Jahan built this one too, between 1638 and 1648. This massive, octagonal, red sandstone fortress was the seat of The Mughal Empire for over two hundred years before it fell into the hands of The British. Honestly, I had nothing to do with it.

Somewhere within its cavernous depths, I bumped into a young local man, Romeo, and his merry gang of wide-eyed chums. We ended up chatting for a while, a bizarre, confusing but ultimately uplifting experience documented in my short story What Do You Think Of Love?

Snippets of New Delhi, India.

Photo courtesy of Humayunn Peerzaada.

One afternoon, despite the intense, stifling humidity, we joined the long line of people shuffling down the lawn-flanked footpath towards one of India’s most revered memorials. This is Raj Ghat, the black marble platform that marks the spot where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated on the 31st of January 1948. Just a day after his tragic assassination.

The memorial features an ever-fresh floral tribute and an eternal flame. Guards ensure the line keeps moving at a steady pace, hence I found myself with just thirty seconds to remove my shoes, take in the memorial and pose for a quick shot. Looking back, I am appalled by my outfit that day, a garish mix of QPR shirt (facepalm) and khaki green trousers.

Photo courtesy of Vandelizer.

Towards the end of our stay, Allan and I took a rickshaw out to The Lotus Temple, a splendorous Bahai House of worship set in some lovely public gardens. I hadn’t  heard of the Baháʼí Faith, a religion founded in Iran in the mid 19th century. Basically, it encourages all forms of world religion to unite in a communal celebration of humanity. I have never been, nor will I ever be religious. But I do remember feeling that if I had to choose one faith, this was surely the way forward.

The Lotus Temple, New Delhi.

The Lotus Temple is an incredibly impressive structure. Built in 1986, it represents a floating lotus flower, the Bahai symbol of purity. And what a unique temple experience it was, with Muslims, Christians, Sikhs and Buddhists sat side by side observing their respective forms of prayer. Furthermore, it makes me smile to think of all the Indian men who kept stopping me and asking if I’d pose for a photo.

One of my favourite things about Delhi was, of course, the food. I love Indian cuisine so much I can even forgive the city for giving me the only case of food poisoning I’ve ever had. Delhi belly, as it was known back then. That one unfortunate incident aside, I remember fondly the creamy curries, the crispy samosas and the various street dishes sizzling away on every corner.

The city parks felt essential, much-needed escapes from the relentless buzz of traffic and the almost overpowering smells of sewage and cow shit. The name of the above park is, sadly, lost to the vaults of time. However, this was where I had my misadventure with Devda the ear cleaner. Have a read of my short story, Come Ear! for the full lowdown.

Snippets of New Delhi.

I’ll leave you with this treasured shot of New Delhi Railway Station. It was the end of our stay in India’s uncompromising capital and we were about to board a train to Agra. The vibe was absolutely mental, with people jostling, pushing and shoving as if their lives depended on reaching their seats before others. Indeed it was the first time I had seen a man actually attach himself to a carriage door. That’s New Delhi folks, over and out. 

This is the first of my travel reports from across India.

For a deeper look at my time in the country, check out my short story collection Incidents In India.

I’ve been living, working and traveling all over the world since 2001. So why not check out my huge library of travel reports from over 30 countries.