Old Delhi, New Delhi, Subway Delhi, Delhi Belly, my God there are a lot of Delhis! From the slightly seedy Paharganj area where I'm staying to the jolly chaos of Chandni Chowk market to the colonial austerity of central Delhi there's a lot to take in here. And as you descend from betel leaf chewing, red spitting, glaring street level Delhi there's a whole new subterranean world full of a very different level of cleanliness, people, and odour.
I started my assault on the capital with a trip round the Red Fort - see photos - an extraordinarily rough meal near Jama Masjid, India's biggest mosque, and a stroll round upmarket Connaught Place. It seems wherever you go in Delhi, or even India for that matter, there is one inescapable constant - the Indian Glare. OK, I'm a whitey, guilty as charged. But when I catch you looking at me, LOOK AWAY FOR FUCKS SAKE!!! The Indians just keep on glaring at you, eye-to-eye, confrontation. And it's not in a friendly way, a glance of curiosity or surprise. It's a hard, deep stare that says Who the fuck do you think you are and what the fuck are you doing here? Scary stuff.
Before my trip to the Taj Mahal I got caught up in a festival, the Ganga Purja, where I was forced to dance to a psychotic drum beat and got covered with purple powder, prompting god knows how many people for the entire day to say "Holy, holy" to me. As for the Taj - magnificent.
