Pray for the people in Bombay please. And for us all.

There was elections on Saturday so I had the day off. Hurrah! Sometimes you should do the tourist thing so Alem and I went to the Lotus Temple.

This is probably the most iconic piece of modern architecture in Delhi. It's India's version of the Sydney Opera House or the Guggenheim Bilbao Museum. It was completed in the mid '80s and is a house of worship for the Bahai faith. It's really beautiful.
Inside the temple you are suppose to be completely quiet. The Bahai religion has no rituals or sermons. You aren't supposed to take photos either, but I took a few. This is the ceiling.

I like this inside a lot. It is purposefully without any decoration whatsoever. It is kind of like if you took a marble parking garage and filled it would be light; it would be pretty and minimalist and spiritual.

There are lots of Indians hanging around outside the temple. I love this little princess with the ELLE bag.

Some people like getting their photo taken.

The Lotus sits amidst aqua pools into which people throw coins and beside which they pose.








































Coming at a moment when she chanced to be fatigued, it had managed to murmur, 'Pathos, piety, courage- they exist, but are identical, and so is filth. Everything exists, nothing has value.' If one had spoken about the vileness in that place, or quoted lofty poetry, the comment would have been the same- 'ouboum'. If one had spoken with the tongues of the angels and pleaded for all the unhappiness and misunderstanding in the world, past, present, and to come, for all the misery men must undergo whatever their opinion and position, and however much they dodge and bluff- it would amount to the same, the serpent would descend and return to the ceiling.

E M Forester, A Passage to India

Diwalimania

Here's the story of Diwali celebrated at Sahara less than a month ago. Diwali's kind of like the Hindu Christmas. It's also called the Festival of Light.

Flowers are a big part of decorating your home for Diwali. Here's the journey of our flowers:

First the phool wallahs (flower men) sell the flowers in the market and put them in burlap sacks.

Then the sacks lay by the side of the road for a while at Khari Baoli.

Then we sat on the floor and ripped the flowers up into little bits.

Here is the result of our efforts.

The boys made floor decorations out of the flowers.

I think it looks really excellent.















They made a message outside for our guests coming to the party in the evening.

Now it's time for the party to begin. Diwali is celebrated in different ways; with family, with sweets, with presents. But one way it is definitely celebrated is with fireworks. We had a party on the terrace and invited everyone. We all danced to Bollywood hits and the Venga Boys till the wee hours.

That's it till next Diwali kiddies.

Crossing the Yamuna; minding the thief in the burqa

Beyond, through a line of arches, down a flight of steps, we could just see the black ooze of the Jumna in its very darkest incarnation. The closer we came, the flithier it looked: a black swathe of suspended mud as heavy and sluggish as crude oil. But beauty and sanctity lie in the eyes of the beholder and the believer.
William Dalrymple, City of Djinns

During the week I took the afternoon off to go with my friend Tasneem to check out the markets in Seelampur. Two of the roughest areas in Delhi are supposed to be Seelampur and Jahangipuri and Sahara has projects in both of them. In Seelampur there is a drop in centre for injecting drug users in the area. It's funded by the Elton John AIDS Foundation.
Seelampur is in East Delhi on either side of the river Yamuna (also known as the Jumna), the river that continues its winding course to Agra behind the Taj and beyond to the Ganges. It can seem a measly filthy river compared to that illustrious Ganga. The Yumana is in many ways 'the tracks' that Seelampur is on the wrong side of. The area is of little consequence to most people in Delhi but its actually a fascinating place.

Like many of the most concentrated areas in the city, Seelampur has mostly Muslim population. We happened to be in the area on Thursday which is market day for most Muslim Women. They were allowed out of the house! Hurrah, but it turned out to be a crazy mad scene. We were told to watch out for pickpockets. Even women in burqas were apparently suspect. I'm happy to report that while I got a little squished my valuables survived. It was also worth it to see these:

Typical that even in the most conservative area where the normal appropriate attire for a lady is a large sack covering every body surface, the intimate articles are thus displayed.
















Even at five the tartan romper boy always had a way with the chicks.

Not the most desirable piece of prime real estate in New Seelampur.
















I like this photo, it reminds me of this painting by Vermeer:

I think the small child at the top of the ladder is most likely a ghost.
















We realized we were in the wrong market in New Seelampur so we crossed the Yumana again to Old Seelampur to find the proper fabric market. It is where the high quality fabrics are sorted and sold for eventual export and sale at high prices. Here though they're dirt cheap and you can pick up scraps of extra cloth for next to nothing if you're willing to sort through the piles. Tasneem was designing some dresses so she was in fashion designer heaven.

The sun was setting and Seelampur for all its charms isn't really somewhere you want to find yourself stuck after dark. So we hauled arse back to the metro (btw Delhi has an excellent Metro) But we'll be back soon.

The needle probes for the artery;
Enemies of poetry gather in your city.

Your Town is cursed with power;
Roses flow in this stream of blood;
The waters of your Yumana stand exposed.

Namdeo Dhasal

Is that an oasis I see? No, its the fountain of ROCK!

I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce you to Desert Hero Camel.
This is my expression upon first turning Desert Hero Camel on. The song is Axel F from Beverly Hills Cop.
This is expression of my travel buddies upon first seeing DHC in action. The camel walks, waves his head, swings his tail and flashes red glowing eyes. The turbaned bare chested fellow with the guitar is a Super Power Conqueror, a rock n' roll mujahid. Super Power Conqueror sits atop Desert Hero Camel and they journey to distant lands amidst a cacophony of techno beats.

Eva and I paid 200 Rupees ($4, £2.5) for Desert Hero Camel in a market in Leh. The box actually said Rs 45 (60¢) but it was still one of the best purchases I've ever made. The box is what really sold us:

'The hand meets swings,' i.e Super Power Conqueror plays the guitar.

'The tail may swing' as opposed to the other sign that says 'the head will wave up and down.'

We took Desert Hero Camel to Pangong Lake in Ladakh. Two thirds of the lake is in Tibet. We were on the Indian side. Here's what happened.

Facing Tibet Baby.

A visit to Fancy Corner

This Sunday I got my friends Siawash and Gilly to come with me. We went to old Delhi.

Sundays are when most Indians are out on the streets. There are a lot of markets too, selling used clothes on the street for kilometers at a time, from Nataji Subhash Marg, from Darya Ganj where Sahara Men's Rehab and Sahara Michael's Care Home is, past the Red Fort and Jama Masjid, to Chandni Chowk where we were headed.

In City of Djinns, William Dalrymple said Chandni Chowk was Delhi's greatest disappointment. He had images of exotic markets and a bastion of intellectual culture; a glorious jewel at the center of the the great Mughal empire. Fortunately I didn't have those expectations; in fact the more I see of this city, having been a little wary to move here in the first place, the more I enjoy. My advise is to look beyond Paharganj, the Lonely Planet (damn those bastards!) recommended area that most travelers first come, the cesspit of drugs and touts, cheap guesthouses and hippies who tell you India's spiritual offerings with absolute certainty while stepping over a begger. If you are afraid of being overwhelmed by India, come to Delhi later when you have already fallen hook, line and sinker.

Chanandi Chowk is chocked full of crumbling Havalis (mansions) that I actually find rather charming. I must admit that I don't pine for Delhi's Mughal power or Urdu poetic culture as I walk around the city. I'm willing to bet that the poor and marginalized in those days didn't have it so much better than today. The character of a city doesn't fade with history and no matter what anyone else grumbles. It evolves. And more importantly, I guarantee there are more sources for unintended hilarity now than in the fussy old 17th century.

Gilly said these people are waiting in line for chai. If this is true than this particular chai wallah (tea man) really perfected his product and marketing plan.

Some corners however are not so fancy and are overdue for a spruce up. For the tearing down and reconstruction of a new building a crew will be brought in to construct the whole thing by hand, from the making the bricks to welding metal support bars to pouring concrete over them creating the floor pillars. The workers are migrant labourers and they move in with their families and construct makeshift shafts in the site until the job is over. They are typically paid about Rs 100 a day ($2/£1). Scaffolding is made of bamboo.

We traveled around by foot and by cycle rickshaw. Props to Siawash for choosing when to jump in a cycle without any word to me or Gilly or any idea of where we were going next. First stop: Lunch. Go to the muslim part of town for serious meat eating. We asked a cycle rickshaw to take us to a muslim eatery where we had this:

It is slightly difficult to eat mutton off the bone armed with only roti bread and a spoon, but I prevailed even under the curious eyes of many young males in the establishment.

It probably came from here:

Right after this photo was taken, Siawash accidently popped the kid's balloon with his cigarette. Priceless.

Siawash suggested that people use these sticks to clean their teeth. My own theory is that they are bundles of breadsticks all wrapped up and coming soon to a cheap Italian restaurant near you. The juice wallah (juice man) wanted to know if I was doing a news story, so of course I told him I worked for the bbc.

Rajastani women selling handmade metal kitchenware.

We walked through the market at Khari Baoli.

Chandu ke chacha ne
Chandu ki chachi ko
Chandni Chowk mein
Chandni raat mein
Chaandi ke chamach se
Chatni chatayi