Delhi Hai Meri Yaar

Or so the A.R. Rahman song goes, but Delhi never felt like my friend. The part of town we stayed in was cheap and crowded, and that didn’t help. But the buildings left from the Moghul era were stunning with arches, domes and red tones. It was the traffic, the crowds, and grime that was unsettling.

Delhi’s Main Bazaar. Photo courtesy: Vyacheslav Argenberg, Wikimedia Commons. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Main_Bazaar,_Paharganj_2,_Delhi,_India.jpg

I was dragging my two angels through this chaos—along alleyways, across busy roads. Excited children chased after them out of curiosity and scared them. My three-year-old had to walk as we explored the city while her younger sister sat in a stroller, yet she never complained.

They were both too young to eat the spicy food, so I cooked every night on a portable electric cooker we’d purchased in India. After I plugged the chord into the light socket, the electricity blew in the entire hotel. I could hear the pandemonium I’d created while I hid behind the door. I found somewhere else to plug in once the manager downstairs got the power working again.

Featured image courtesy: Mahesh Bhanupanth, Wikimedia Commons.