Intoxicating India
The plane touches down in New Delhi at 2am on an October morning and there’s a visible haze outside. My wife, Jess, and I wonder if it’s condensation on the plane windows, but once we disembark it’s clear the answer is smog. At this time of year, October, the cooler weather makes the pollution hang low, creating an eerie fog that blankets the nighttime scenery. We’ve arrived in India.
With bleary eyes, we slowly make our way from the plane. As we enter the airport, there’s a string of more than fifty wheelchairs with porters waiting for the passengers to exit. It’s more wheelchairs than I’ve seen in the whole of London Heathrow airport. I’m not really sure why, and I’ve been looking into it more than I should. According to an article in the Indian Times, the answer is a kind of queue jumping for the elderly, getting them through customs quicker. Regardless, it’s an impressive sight as the long chain of porters winds its way through the terminal building.
We get through passport control and head outside. It’s a painless and orderly experience as we pick up a taxi in the dead of night. Interestingly, nobody has ever heard of our hotel, with Google maps taking us to a random backstreet in western New Delhi. I wander up and down the dirt alley in search of the hotel, but I just can’t find it. The taxi driver and Jess get out to help. Eventually, I stop half way down the dirt alley, noticing a beige commatosed dog is spread eagled on the steps leading to a dirty frosted door with handprints all over it. In a country with around 20,000 annual rabies deaths, I won’t be bending down to pet the dog. I push the door, even though there’s no signs suggesting it’s a hotel. After some discussion with the uninterested man inside, I confirm it’s the right place, even though it looks nothing like the photos online. We get shown to our room, which is oddly on the top of the hotel in some kind of outhouse. I immediately have to come back down to reception to ask them to change the sheets. The ones on the bed are filthy, with random dark hairs scattered throughout for good measure. In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t asked, I would have then been ignorant to the state of the mattress. I wonder if there’s anyone in Delhi that hasn’t slept on it. But it’s cheap, the AC is semi-functional, and it’s 4am, so at this point, who cares. I got bitten by bed bugs from one night in Paris last week, so provided I don’t wake up itching, I’ll call it a win.
As a jet lagged morning comes, we decide this isn’t a place for a second night. We make our way to the Maidens Hotel just north of Old Delhi. As we head out into the city, it’s our first real experience of Indian traffic. The words ‘loud’ and ‘manic’ spring to mind, with absolutely no consistency in the vehicles. E-rickshaws jostle for position alongside bicycles, tuk-tuks, cars, lorries and motorbikes. There’s clearly a confidence to driving in India, a deep seated assumption that the other guy will move. So much so that it’s rare to see anyone look over their shoulder, even on a slip road. The constant sound of beeping horns fills your ears, often it’s not even clear who it’s directed at or why. Coming from the U.K. it makes you anxious, it’s a rare sound usually reserved for only the most serious vehicular infractions.
After an hour of visual and audible assault, we arrive at the 120 year old Maidens Hotel, which is full of colonial charm. We’re greeted by a man in formal Indian attire and with a moustache that would put Hercule Poirot to shame. Sadly though, the day is a bit of a write off. Jess is feeling unwell, having likely caught a cold from one of the many friends and relatives we hugged last week on our brief return to the U.K. So we settle in, enjoy the hotel, and hope for a full day of sightseeing tomorrow.
(The Maidens Hotel, New Delhi)
As we eat breakfast the next morning in a beautiful courtyard garden, a large black kite, one of thousands circling over New Delhi, swoops down to take advantage of an unattended breakfast plate. Chipmunks scurry up and down the trees whilst peacocks peck at the manicured lawn. It feels a world away from two days ago. I’m aware that this delightful paradise is not a reflection of everyday India. Nonetheless, we won’t be going back to the hairy mattresses in the name of authenticity.
We decide to make the most of the day and hail a tuk-tuk that takes us to the Red Fort, one of the main attractions in New Delhi. Built by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in the 17th century, the fort is surrounded by an imposing red stone wall, in places more than 30 meters tall. It immediately impresses, and unlike most protective walls I’ve seen in other parts of the world, I’m amazed by the level of detail carved even on the outside. Floral reliefs dominate the entrance archways, it’s quite different from the ‘look how great I am’ posturing found on ancient Egyptian buildings, where the pharaoh himself is depicted every few inches. Although, of course, with the emperor having been Muslim there is little to no depictions of human’s, and certainly not Allah. The fort itself is relatively busy, but not oppressively so. There are also far more local tourists than those from overseas, with groups of Indian school children wandering the inner courtyards in uniform, learning about their colourful history.
(The imposing outer defensive walls of the Red Fort, New Delhi, India)
The fort itself has a chequered past, having at different times been occupied by the Mughal Empire, the Maratha Empire, the Sikh Misls, the British Empire and finally the independent India we know today. Whilst many of the occupiers prior to the British did some damage, we sadly did the most to the internal structures whilst suppressing the uprising of 1857. Despite the previous damage, what remains doesn’t fail to deliver. The white marble stand on which the former emperor’s throne sat still remains, its detailed inlay work is similar of the Taj Mahal. I have never seen craftsmanship like it and I’m left wondering how on earth it’s done with nothing but a grinding wheel and a fine chisel. We spend the rest of the morning wandering the royal buildings as thousands of pigeons and black kites circle overhead.
(The Diwan-I-Aam arches, Red Fort, New Delhi, India)
One thing we had worried about in coming to India was whether we would be harrasssed by hawkers as we walk the streets. It’s quite the contrary, in fact the only level of disturbance we experience is the constant requests to have a photo with people. Jess must be on at least 200 Instagram feeds, in one of which she’s awkwardly holding another woman’s baby. What’s nice though is that when we said no, they respected it and understood. Strangely, the local men and women are much less interested in me, but I try not to take it personally.
We walk west from the Red Fort through the bustling Meena Bazaar towards the high minarets of the Jama Masjid mosque. The bazaar itself is madness where you could easily buy anything from an exhaust to a bag of peanuts. At the mosque I regret my outfit choice, I’m wearing shorts. So I have to wrap a rented red rose flower patterned sheet around my waist which looks like a skirt. I’m getting odd looks as soon as we enter. When I see a teenager videoing me, my level of regret skyrockets. Jess enjoys the show nonetheless. I get her back by offering her out for photos to anyone I can find, then casually walk away each time.
From the mosque, we head north to the mad market streets of Chandni Chowk, one of the largest markets in India. As we enter, I have to stop in awe at the electrical cabling overhead. Hundreds of wires interweave like a disorganised web of neurons pulsing electricity through the city. I would hate to be an electrician here, I’d be wearing rubber gloves permanently. The narrow lanes are less than 8 feet wide but are filled with people, bicycles, tuk-tuks, and e-rickshaws. Your nostrils are filled with a dizzying concoction of food, spices, urine and exhaust fumes. As we walk back towards the hotel, we visit the Sikh Gurdwara of Sis Ganj Sahib, which was built in the 1700’s. A local Sikh man guides us through and we’re given handkerchiefs to cover our heads. Jess tells me I look like a pirate, but she can hardly talk, when I see her I think she’s about to tell me my fortune. We walk around the heavily gilded interior after the Nitnem (Sikh hymns) at sunset. We feel very welcome, but decline the kind offer of food before heading back to the hotel.
(The madness of Chandni Chowk market. Note the cabling top right. New Delhi, India)
(The bright and bustling streets of New Delhi, India)
We had hoped to be able to get a train the next day to head south to the city of Agra, but unfortunately they were all fully booked. Instead, our hotel suggests a local travel company that can drive us there and throws in a guide for free. So the next morning we get into a small sedan car to head to Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal. As we approach the outskirts of New Delhi, we pass the enormous and imposing temple of Akshardham which unfortunately we didn’t have time to visit. It’s one for next time. We pass through the city of Noida, where the lower sections of all the roadside trees are painted the colours of the Indian flag. As we leave the city and urban life behind, the car horns finally silence and it turns into open countryside. The smog and haze still persists, but the burning of dry cow dung, as well as fossil fuels, persists out here. After around 4 hours on the road we arrive at our hotel, the Oberoi Amarvilas. The one night we have here is costing a small fortune, but I have wanted to stay here since I first saw it in a magazine when I was about 20. The views from every room look out towards the Taj Mahal. The hotel is beautiful, with a wide square courtyard of water fountains pouring into blue pools before you even enter reception. Whilst we wait to check in, having been greeted with fresh flower garlands and a cool drink, we just stand and look at the Taj Mahal in the distance, with nothing but greenery and the hotels manicured gardens in between.
(A room with a view, Oberoi Amarvilas, India)
(The central courtyard at the entrance to the Oberoi Amarvilas, Agra, India)
In the afternoon we visit the Agra Fort, built before the Red Fort in Delhi, but constructed in a very similar fashion and using similar red stone and white marble. The fort was previously the seat of power for the Mughal Emperors until it was moved to Delhi in 1638. It also overlooks the Taj Mahal which emperor Shah Jahan constructed as a mausoleum for his third wife Mumtaz Mahal. Interestingly, Shah Jahan was the Emperor that moved the capital from Agra to Delhi, but he was subsequently deposed by his third eldest son. He was then transported back to Agra Fort where he remained under house arrest for the rest of his life. For almost 8 years he was confined to an apartment with a large balcony overlooking the Yamuna River towards his beloved buried in the Taj Mahal. Never again would he visit it until he was finally interred beside her.
(Jess relaxing in the intricate arch of a facade at the Agra Fort, India)
In the evening, as we head to sleep around 10pm, I try to turn the light off in the bedroom and push a small red button next to the bed in the hope of success. Ten minutes later a suited butler at the door wants to know how he can be of assistance. I have to apologise for wasting his time. Certainly, life was simpler at the filthy hotel in New Delhi.
The next morning we wake at 4:30am and make our way to the queue outside the Taj Mahal. It’s already 50 meters long when we arrive, but within half an hour the queue must be over a kilometre. We walk in and I’m completely blown away. It is, without doubt, the most beautiful building I have ever seen. Its symmetry, colours and completely unobstructed backdrop make it look quite simply perfect. I’m in love with it almost immediately. As I get closer, I’m only more impressed. The level of detail in the marble inlay work is incredible. They carve a shape in the white marble between 2-10mm deep and then fill each shape with tiny pieces of semi-precious stones cut to fit the shape perfectly. The result is a masterpiece, and it’s only when you get up close that you can appreciate the level of detail and craftsmanship involved. We spend a few hours walking around as the sun rises, enjoying the landscaped gardens and fountains that surround the buildings to the south. Our guide takes the ‘Taj shots’ he’s previously seen professional photographers taking of couples. The results are surprisingly good, making it appear almost empty. The reality is not actually that different, with us getting in so early the place never felt over crowded.
(Posing for a ‘Taj shot’ at the Taj Mahal, Agra, India)
We head back to the hotel for a quick nap before getting into the car to head towards Jaipur. It’s the final point on the so-called ‘Golden Triangle’ alongside New Delhi and Agra. As we leave Agra we stop in at Fatehpur Sikri, the former home of the Mughal Emperor Akbar. Our guide shows us where his three wives lived, one Muslim, one Hindu and one Christian. It sounds like the start of a bad joke. I can imagine he had his hands full, especially with the addition of his 350 concubines. The structures themselves are beautifully ornate and all carved from red sandstone, giving them a warm glow as the sun is setting.
(The Panch Mahal building at Fatehpur Sikri near Agra, India)
We get back into the car and continue the four hour drive to Jaipur in the dark, passing many cars and lorries with no headlamps as our taxi hurtles along using full beam, regardless of who it might blind. Late in the evening, we finally arrive at the Trident Hotel in Jaipur.
The next day we meet our new guide and drive to the village of Amer which sits at the very base of the large and imposing Amber Fort. The village is a winding warren of narrow streets where neat rows of circular shaped cow pats are drying in the sun for fuel next to abandoned Hindu temples. Elephants walk the streets with their owners in search of tourists looking for a ride. As we reach the Amber Fort itself via a steep sloping road, it becomes a traffic jam and we get out and walk. A man sits playing his sitar as goats stroll on the walls next to the road, nonplussed by the vehicular carnage taking place around them.
(A man sits playing the Sitar at the entrance to the Amber Fort, Jaipur)
The Amber Fort itself is constructed from red sandstone mined and carved locally, but unusually it’s covered in a beige lime plaster that’s polished to a sheen. As you pass through the main protective walls you enter a large parade square, something unique to this fort in comparison to the others we visited. Above the square are small windows comprised of hundreds of tessellated hexagons carved from solid sheets of stone. These allowed the royal women to look out onto the square at the parading armies without being seen themselves. Rings above the windows show where additional silk curtains would hang, just for good measure.
As we move through to the Court of Private Audience, the light starts to sparkle back at you from the inside walls of a building off to the left. It’s called the Mirror Palace. Each wall inside is covered in tiny shards of mirror in ornate designs. It’s hard to imagine how impressive this would have been to guests in the 17th century. To cool the palace, a series of copper tubes run around the outside of the building where carpets once hung. Water was then dripped slowly down to wet the carpets, enabling evaporative cooling of the palace interior. It’s a stunning building and just adds to the mystique of our trip so far.
(Ceiling of the Mirror Palace, Amber Fort, Jaipur)
We then visit the City Palace in the centre of Jaipur, the roads are terrible, the entry area is filthy and crumbling. Feeding pigeons is believed to be good luck here, so their faeces coats many of the aging surfaces. Across the road is Jantar Mantar, an 18th century royal astronomical park. It includes a series of stone vertical sundials that increase in size until the largest one in the world, 90 feet high, where you can read the time to an accuracy of less than 2 seconds. The astrological instruments are fascinating in their complexity, aligning constellations through two half bowl contraptions in an effort to align the date of birth with an individuals destiny. It’s an interesting mix of science and fiction where astronomy merges with astrology. We’re told that sometimes people won’t marry if their horoscopes don’t align, it still remains a deeply held belief system to some.
(The worlds largest sun dial at Jantar Mantar, Jaipur, India)
That evening I meet an old friend after dinner. I’ve never liked him, he’s persistent, stubborn and makes me nothing but sad. I’ve had to endure his presence in many countries, Sri Lanka, the Philippines, and more recently in Zimbabwe. In Egypt, I knew him as the Pharaoh’s Revenge, but here his name is widely known and revered. The one, the only, Delhi Belly. He’s not welcome and unleashes a torrent of misery upon both of us. The next day we have a tortuous 5 hour drive north back to New Delhi itself. It’s a somewhat stressful, Loperamide fuelled, drive.
As our short visit to India comes to an end, I ask myself how does the country feel? It’s a complicated country. It’s busy, dirty and polluted, there’s no way to sugarcoat it. Poverty is rife and upsetting to see, particularly the children. As a traveller I have to say I felt safe, and in comparison to Marrakesh or Cairo, I felt relatively unharassed. I imagine if my wife were alone at times she may have felt differently, and solo female travellers would have to be cautious. India is unfortunately not alone in this regard, the stupidity and disgustingness of the human male ape is sadly ubiquitous on the fringes of many countries. But, for us, pretty much everyone we met on our trip was exceptionally welcoming and always eager to please, from our driver to the hotel manager (first one aside). The sound of “Namaste”, coupled with a polite left-right shake of the head with hands placed gently together in front, has become a lasting memory of India. But what about the buildings and history? The level of civil engineering of the Mughal Emperors is staggering. Palace, after fort, after temple, they built monuments with style and substance. They exude a feeling of permanence that modern buildings can never possess. I’m struck with the realisation that stone is the only way to secure immortality. When the teenage kids have kicked in the windows of our shiny modern structures nobody will think twice about demolishing their concrete or metal carcasses. Ironically, the ‘Wordle’ for the day is ‘Mason’.
We leave India on our way to Nepal, knowing we’ll need to come back. A week long trip in a country so vast, so diverse, and so entertaining will never be enough. For now, like the name of many take-aways in the U.K., we’ve had just a taste of India.
(Sunrise over the Taj Mahal Guesthouse, India)
(First image: A man guards one of the four entrances to a courtyard at Jaipur City Palace)