Seven days in the capital.

Wednesday 4^th June 2014

Where to begin with Delhi? Like Mumbai, India’s capital and second-largest city, Delhi is vast, and sprawling. It can be roughly divided into three parts: Old Delhi, New Delhi, and South Delhi. Old Delhi is exactly as the name suggests, old. It was built by the Mughals in the seventeenth century, and today remains a predominantly Muslim part of the city, with many narrow lanes and bazaars, teeming with life. Personally, I really disliked Old Delhi, and did not enjoy even one single moment its chaotic mess of people and traffic. For me, it was all of India’s worst aspects thrown into one place. I’ll come back to Old Delhi later.

   New Delhi, the capital built by the British is certainly unique, and undeniably impressive. Its wide, tree-lined avenues flanked by impressive buildings with colonnaded façades, wherein shops, museums and important government buildings can be found. The heart of New Delhi is Connaught Place, an enormous circle, where you can find everything from saris to Starbucks.

   Finally, South Delhi is home to much of the city’s new developments of businesses and seemingly endless suburbs of modern housing and shopping malls, catering to India’s growing middle and upper classes. I spent many lovely hours in the malls of South Delhi with Lena, getting back into my ice-cream habit, appreciating the air conditioning, and of course observing the fascinating stratum of Indian society that frequents such places. I also bought a new pair of glasses.

   Having spent an entire week in Delhi, I’m struggling to remember what exactly I did on a day-to-day basis, seeing as it was mostly just exploring random places that I came across in between stopping for a drink to escape the heat. Being me, one of the first things I sought after were museums. On this front (unlike Calcutta) Delhi did not disappoint. My first visit was to the National Museum, which I eventually reached after a lengthy argument with my rickshaw driver who initially had sworn blind that the National Archives were without any doubt the National Museum. They are in fact, not that far apart, but I was not prepared to walk the 500 metres in the blazing heat, especially when I’d paid to be taken to the museum. Rickshaw drivers in Delhi are probably one of its downsides, they did not seem friendly at all (unlike most of those in Ahmedabad) and always appeared to go out of their way to cheat a foreigner.

   The National Museum is quite large, and apart from its awfully stuffy corridors, actually holds quite an impressive collection of artefacts that give an excellent overview of Indian culture and history. As with most museums in India, the galleries were mostly devoid of other visitors, the guards a little power-mad, and the contents a tad dusty. Luckily, this did not detract from the beautiful collection of miniature paintings and other works of art on display. The galleries of eighteenth century paintings were probably the best I’ve seen, with some truly stunning pieces. I love Pahari miniature painting from this period: the simplicity, the lines, and the bold colours, but also the unbelievable level of detail and magical storytelling. Being an Indian museum, about half of the galleries were closed for no stated reason, which was a shame, but after three hours of carvings of Hindu gods, statues of Buddha, and forlorn costumes on creepy mannequins, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. The temporary exhibition was rather good though, Rūpa-Pratirūpa: The Body in Indian Art. It encompassed work from the ancient to contemporary, including some excellent graphic novel-inspired pieces telling stories of Hindu mythology, one quote from which particularly tickled me:

“Vibeeshana, during the past eighteen days I have cut off Ravana’s head a number of times, but he continues to live.” to which the other character responds:

“He does so because the nectar of life stored in his navel!”

Anyway. The exhibition was very well laid out and presented, and gave me a great insight into how the body, life and death, are understood and represented in Indian art and culture.

   The next museum was the National Gallery of Modern Art. Sadly, I was not allowed to take photographs, but I cannot recommend a visit to this museum highly enough. Its huge collection is showcased across several floors of well-lit, airy galleries, containing some of the best modern art I’ve seen in a while. I learned a great deal about movements that I had no idea even existed, and came away with a newfound appreciation for the Indian art scene. As we left the museum, the humidity outside was painfully intense, and the sky was growing grey. Lena and I hopped in a rickshaw bound for Connaught Place, but around halfway into the journey (just after passing the rather unimpressive India Gate), the storm began. A good 10-15 minutes of high winds and dust storms, followed by a huge downpour. Not a good time to be in a rickshaw. It even made the news, having blown away a part of Humayun’s Tomb (words about my visit there to follow shortly), and delaying many flights into the airport.

National Gallery of Modern Art.

Stormy evening in Connaught Place.

   Delhi’s metro system is a life-saver. It’s air conditioned, modern, and connects many parts of the city that would cost you a great deal to get to in a taxi or auto rickshaw. Sadly, most of those who use it do so in a rather erratic and crazy way, pushing and shoving to get onto the trains like their lives depend on it, even when they’re not even crowded, and then insisting on sitting down for a 5-minute journey when there really aren’t any free seats, just making you move to accommodate them, meaning that everyone else is then very uncomfortable. My favourite moment (and most irritating) was probably being asked to move up one seat so that two friends could sit together, and then that same person telling me to get out of the seat I’d moved into for him, because it was reserved for ladies. India does truly try my patience at times.

   Thanks to the metro, I was able to travel to the south of the city and visit the Qutab Minar complex. Here stands the first monument of Muslim India, and one of Delhi’s most famous landmarks. Built in the early thirteenth century the tower stands over 72 metres high, and is (I think) the world’s tallest brick minaret. Because you know, there are so many other famous tall brick minarets… Either way, it’s very impressive, and certainly huge. The tower tapers up above the ruins of a complex of palaces, gardens, mosques and various other buildings, all covered with beautiful carvings and inscriptions of Koranic verses. It was like a historical wonderland to explore, and I could have easily spent hours there, but after about two, I was almost drowning in my own sweat. Lovely image, I know.

Qutab Minar.

Carvings at the Qutab Minar complex.

   The next morning, I made my way through Old Delhi, past the Jama Masjid (saving a visit to that for next time when I can appreciate it in better weather), to the Red Fort (or Lal Qila). Along the way my rickshaw driver pointing out where I could find prostitutes. Apparently, in Delhi, they are far more expensive and nowhere near as good as those in his home city (Kolkata), where you can get almost anything you want for Rs. 250. Another image of Old Delhi that I’ll be in no hurry to remember. My driver dropped me at the wrong gate of the fort, which meant a rather long walk to the entrance. I wasn’t too happy about this, but it did allow me to appreciate the fort’s magnificent red bastions, which meander for a great distance around the complex. Interestingly, one stretch of the moat contained a large swathe of fragrant bushes, which, on closer inspection turned out to be cannabis. I’m no expert on the botany of marijuana, or its legality in India, but there was something a little suspicious about this enormous, but seemingly well-tended patch of plants hiding in plain sight in this quiet corner of the city.

Guarding his nation's heritage, Red Fort.

   Eventually, after battling through the crowd at the ticket counter and the usual slow-moving queue for a pathetic security check that any idiot could get a bomb through (can I say that?) I made it through the great Lahori Gate and into the fort. Yes, it’s big, yes the buildings inside are pretty, but to be quite honest, Delhi’s fort is probably the least impressive I’ve seen so far. It’s somewhat lacklustre, and the wide spread of structures that can be visited detract a little from the magic that India’s other forts have. Don’t get me wrong, some of the halls and palaces are most beautiful, but there was something about the Red Fort that just didn’t enchant me. I enjoyed browsing the funky Oxford Bookstore and drinking tea in its charming Cha Bar far more.

Lena, Vogue, Tea: Cha Bar.

   Being a bit of a Disney addict, and needing a break from tourism, I decided to go to the cinema to see Maleficent. Indian cinemas smell indescribably strange. I won’t talk about the film, but will describe the cinematic experience a little. The ticket was only Rs. 200 (£2), which isn’t bad at all for a 3D film in the centre of a capital city. The 3D glasses are made of paper though, and they make your vision darker, something which unfortunately the projectors do not account for, meaning that the entire film was a tad dim. The 3D also came and went at random. Oh, and there’s an interval, wherein the film suddenly stops for about 10 minutes, right in the middle of a scene. What is it with India and prolonging everything?

   Lena and I spent a few hours that Sunday afternoon in a bar/restaurant on Connaught Place. Reached by its own elevator from street level, it was simply hilarious. The interior was huge, filled with leather armchairs, and quite dark. Loud, thumping, lyric-less music pounded, competing with the chatter of half of the city’s upper middle class youth, apparently trying to find the most obnoxious way possible to spend their time. I don’t think so many selfies have ever been taken in a room in such a short space of time. The experience was interesting, but also a little worrying. There were the usual awkward public displays of affection, and a general air of superiority among the customers. Not only could one forget about the time of day and weather outside, but that a world beyond the exposed-brick walls existed at all.

   Moving on… the last item on my agenda for Delhi was Humayun’s Tomb. Think Taj Mahal, but more red, smaller, not quite as pretty, and with about a thousand fewer visitors. Delhi’s first mausoleum, it was built to house the remains of the second Mughal emperor, Humayun. The tomb is extremely elegant, constructed in the Persian style, in red sandstone, inlaid with black and white marble, and stands on a podium overlooking extensive gardens and the Yamuna River. The octagonal structure is crowned by a dome, part of which was damaged by the aforementioned storm. This garden tomb is often considered to be a prototype for the Taj. It is without a doubt, spectacular, and apart from the noise of the trains from nearby Hazrat Nizamuuddin station, a veritable oasis in this vast metropolis.

Humayun's Tomb.

Humayun's Tomb.

   Delhi, like any megacity, is full of delights, disappointments, and – in true Indian style – contradictions. I defy anyone not to be mesmerised by its vivacity and the incredible way in which it reflects, forms, and dominates India. It’s an exhausting but truly fascinating place. A harsh environment, but one which inspires.

   During my time in Delhi, I had an interview for an internship with KfW, a German government-owned development bank. If all goes to plan, I’ll be spending five months working in their New Delhi office, as of mid-January 2015. Exciting! There’s so much more of Delhi to see, and thankfully it looks like I’ll have the opportunity to explore it all sooner than expected. I do think I need the next few months in Europe to recover first though.