So we spent 8 days or so in Delhi with my family, being mad and speeding around all over the place. And showing Ana the sights that must be seen. Jama Masjid, the huge, beautiful old mosque of Old Delhi, at namaaz time at dusk (massive clamour of the prayer-call through loudspeakers and people rushing up the steps). Around that area is Chandni Chowk, a sprawl of bazaar streets selling silver jewellery (chandni means moonlight or silver in Hindi). Proper Arabian Nights-style set-up.
Also went trailing round Janpath – twice - a magnet-like shopping area with long rows of stalls selling cheap, enticing beads, bags, tops, wooden items and other assorted tat of the world. Supposedly quality Indian handicrafts. Even I, definitely an anti-shopper, found myself sucked in against my will. The Spaniard had an involved half-hour haggling session with 3 men at a pendant stall. She wanted 3 to put into necklaces and by the time we got back to her from the shoeshop the whole lot of them were working up into a frenzy of “please ma’am look ok take these 2 extra, 500 rupees’ and Ana clutching her forehead going “oh no I jus’ wan 3… or do i? wha-rrami dooin? Do I really want these?” Saira turned up and said 420 which was apparently not a good price to offer. “Yeh kya gandhi price hai?” (what dirty price is this?) says the stall man. “Chelo four 2 five dheydeejyai.” (ok go on giz 425 that’ll do).
We eventually managed to secure the purchases and leave, Ana looking thoroughly traumatised and clutching about 12 lumps of metal and stones. No, there were 3 beautiful ones among there. But she sat gazing worriedly into space in the taxi for the next half hour while the rest of us (me, my mother and Saira) argued about whether we should buy orange dusters for the house from the boy at the traffic lights and why Shiv Shankar (a driver the day before) hadn’t taken us to Red Fort the other day when it was only a bit further on from Raj Ghat. Ah, the endless, elaborate discussions. Its a favourite Indian pastime.
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