(Some names have been changed).
Hopped on an Indian intercity train for the first time. Racing towards the capital of India was a very last minute decision. I was packing up my things in the bedroom of the Paradise Hotel, thinking furiously about how I could not bear to miss seeing Ponneyin Selvan Part 2 on the big screen. Ponneyin Selvan – a south Indian film, part one of which I saw in the UK last year. I simply couldn’t miss part 2 and yet most cinemas in north India were no longer showing it. My only option was to rush to Delhi. And so, the promise of the beautiful Golden Temple and surrounding city of Amritsar was put on hold all at once when I came to this sudden realisation and went to the train station to grab my ticket to Delhi.
If you ever find yourself in India… don’t go to the bloody tourist office. It’s a waste of time. They’ll do nothing but over charge you and pretend like you’re getting a good deal. Instead, line up at the train station like a local, with the locals. I got an almost four-hour train journey, in a very comfortable seat with a delicious meal for less than £9.00. The tourist office will likely charge you over ten times that amount.
The local auto drivers packed outside Delhi’s station were a tad annoying but certainly not anymore than expected. I stayed firm and bargained brutally. I am staying at a pretty ‘meh’ hostel called the Hindustan hostel. Hindustan “by backpackers”.
Delhi doesn’t seem bad at all. I discovered an epic roundabout place, lined with all the popular chains one could wish for, both International and Indian. I walked into a place called Nik Baker’s – an Australian coffee shop chain and enjoyed the rest of my day at a leisurely pace, making it a time of pure pleasure.
Walking back to the Hindustan backpacker’s hostel down a road known as Delhi’s Main Bazaar, a short and slender man walked up to me wanting to know who I was, where I was from and where I was going. He was even more interested in me when he heard me using a bit of Hindi and in no time at all he was telling me to go to Kashmir. Several people I have met in Delhi already have told me to go to Kashmir, and I really don’t understand people’s obsession with it. They speak of it as if it’s paradise. Perhaps it is…
Anyway, this slightly strange man named Malik kept telling me I should go to Kashmir. Not only that I should go, but that I should go with him. He was going there soon to visit his brother. I politely declined but agreed to exchange numbers with him as he was eager to hang out with me and smoke some weed and further discuss the possibility of my going to Kashmir with him. I didn’t trust the guy and figured I probably wouldn’t see him again. But I gave him my number anyway.
In the evening I dined at Bistro 55, a restaurant overlooking Delhi’s Main Bazaar. My vegetable korma, though not the best, was yet another korma unlike all korma’s I have had before. No wonder I’m not sick of Indian food yet. It’s simply never the same.
Very soon I shall watch Ponneyin Selvan…. Part 2. Then I will go at once to Amritsar…
