(Some names have been changed).
I arose at Hindustan backpackers – this time in a private room. After the distress of last night, I desperately needed the comfort it provides.
After sourcing myself a nearby breakfast of aloo parantha, I went to Third Wave Coffee in Connaught place; that great roundabout area that is ringed and circumference[d] as well as dotted with nice chain restaurants and shops. Here I had my first masala chai latte and booked another bus to Amritsar. My masala chai latte was followed by a shot of fruity black coffee that I was offered for free by the kind barrista who had created the concoction herself and wanted my opinion on it as an expert coffee connoisseur (of which I am certainly not but pretended to be).
As night fell and my journey to Amritsar fell closer, I decided to check out a nice restaurant before I departed. Imperial Spice is located upon the outer ring road of Connaught Place. I ascended a steep flight of steps and entered a dark and heavily ambient restaurant, headlined by a glamorous bar.
After a supper of delicious Rogan josh and Indian shiraz, I set off to meet Malik. Malik is of course the guy I met three days ago in Delhi’s Main Bazaar. The guy who invited me to Kashmir within a few minutes of talking to me. Yes, that guy. I’m not going to Kashmir or anything. But after the tragedy of missing my bus to Amritsar and getting stuck in Delhi for another day, I wanted to make the most of my extra time. I still had a few hours to kill before my newly booked bus to Amritsar…
I met Malik near Delhi Gate. At the border between New Delhi and Old Delhi. As soon as I told him I’d eaten Rogan Josh for my supper, he told me proudly that it was not an Indian dish but a Kashmiri dish. If it isn’t already clear, Malik is from Kashmir and his family run a guest house up in the city of Srinagar. Probably a big reason why he wants me to go there. We walked further into Old Delhi, to a nearby spot of green in the dark. Malik sat on the back of a bench with his feet upon the seat; I sat on the bench opposite with my feet upon the ground. Malik is a small man but now he was looking down on me and he gave me a strong, intense stare. Not a bad one, but a deep one. Two of his friends came to meet us. (Rather than changing their names I’ll simply withhold them.) They were both Muslim like him.
As we talked in the park, other Muslims – strangers – came up to shake their hands saying, ‘Salaam alaikum’ ‘salaam alaikum, brother,’ they would shake the hands of each of them before walking off, looking passed me like I wasn’t there. I asked the others if they knew them. They did not.
The first of Malik’s two friends I barely spoke to, however the other was a lot more conversational. He was a writer. He told me that he writes and performs Urdu poetry. He also told me that the Koran is the only book in the world that matters. But if that’s the case, what’s the point of being a writer?
Malik and his other friend went to get some weed and I stayed with the guy talking about writing and the Koran, quickly getting a sense of just how religious he was. Not long thereafter the others had returned and we were passing round a joint. I was pretty relaxed… until Malik began exchanging words with his friends in Hindi, and then told me his friends had misunderstood something I said to them… What was that? He proceeded to tell me that they thought I was gay.
I’ve spoken to enough people in India now… I’ve been warned not to reveal this type of information, but I’ve also been assured that people will not pry. This has turned out to be very incorrect… DAY 88 for instance. I wanted to be honest but felt like I had to follow the advice given to me and denied the allegation. Malik’s friends apologised to me. Then the two of them went to get food leaving me alone with Malik.
‘So ARE you gay?’ Malik said as soon as they were gone, with a stare as curious as it was penetrating.
I was torn. I wanted to tell the truth but I felt I had to be “wise” and take the advice I’d been given by Indians I trusted. LIE.
I asked Malik why he would think that I am. He said he didn’t. I did not seem gay to him. But, he told me his friends had kept telling him (in their language) that I have gay vibes. Malik then said that people used to say he acted gay too, and that he would get asked a lot if he was gay. But he said he wasn’t going to change his behaviour just because of that. I told him he didn’t seem gay to me at all. ‘Thanks man.’ He said. I then immediately noticed he had crossed his legs.
Conversation turned back to Kashmir. Malik speaks three languages: English, Hindi, and Kashmiri. He told me that despite living in Delhi and having Indian friends, he does not consider himself to be Indian. Kashmiri people, he said, really consider themselves as a separate nation to India.
I was pretty high and beginning to relax again. And now Malik’s two friends were bringing back bags of food for us. Bread pakora with curried sauce to dip it in. So there we sat, in the warm dark park near Delhi Gate, dipping chunks of fried bread in gravy.
It was drawing closer and closer to the time when my bus would be coming to take me to Amritsar. I had to make sure I made it this time. Malik was still trying to dissuade me from going there. He told me I was doing it all wrong. Said I should go all the way up to Kashmir first and then work my way down from there. He would go to Kashmir with me – I would have a guide. Unlike when he had suggested this a few days ago, I now trusted him and considered the option. My 10-hour bus to Amritsar had only cost a tenner.
But then the idea of this guy potentially grilling me with questions and talking my ear off for the next 14 hours inflicted just enough anxiety on me to put the idea to bed. Amritsar it was. I bid the guys goodbye, thanking them for the food and the joint and rushed off to find myself an autorickshaw. I’d never forgive myself if I missed my bus again…
Was I making the right decision not to go to Kashmir? If what Malik told me about it was true, then it was “Heaven on Earth” and I’d really be missing out. What the hell… I’d go to Amritsar now. No reason why I couldn’t go from Amritsar to Kashmir. I had Malik’s number. I could always message him if I changed my mind about Kashmir…
