I’ve had a calm few days; the guesthouse is a very peaceful, homely place- and the food has been  delicious, so I feel settled here. I’m not sure when I’m supposed to leave. I’ve got nowhere to go in particular, so I may stay for a while. I’ve been having some walks, just trying to get to grips with the city. I ended up back at Connaught Square the other day, walking in ‘Central Park’- it was hot, but still quite busy and people were gathered in the small patches of shade. A group of guys were doing some park acrobatics, flipping and spinning around. Some kids came up to me and wanted to film me as part of some prank. Lots of people were lounging, posing, taking selfies. The smart phone has taken over here, for large numbers, like everywhere else.

The ‘highlight’ was meeting a friendly teddy bear of a man who started strolling beside me inspecting me ears. Of course they were in need of a clean, he said. I quickly succumbed to his teddy bear charm and was sitting on the grass, hopefully not too conspicuously (tho there were plenty of people around), head cocked, having my sensitive hearing organs rummaged around in. I suppose being a bit dazed makes me more susceptible to aural attack, but at the same time I was in need of a sit down and had nothing to do. Nothing to lose- apart from my hearing (and a pile of rupees). I liked the way he said ‘hello hello testing testing’ into each ear afterwards, to check that it was still working. I felt cleansed and reassured, but sensed deep down that was he was presenting for my inspection something other than matter from my ears. Oh well, off I went, lightened of cash, fairly content. He had a little notebook with reviews, a kind of Trip Advisor for ear services, and I noticed Jack, from London, who wrote: “Today I had my ears cleaned by Baba Farid. He did very good job (sic). I couldn’t belive (sic) how much gunk was in there. Highly reccomended (sic).” Jack, whether you exist or not, we’ve both been had, mate. And your spelling is terrible. Tourists are a gullible, foolish bunch, and as we stroll around observing the local life, sticking our cameras everywhere with an air of entitlement, we would do well to remember that simple, humbling fact. To come to Delhi and not be smoothly scammed at least once would in itself be quite an odd thing, and perhaps unsatisfying.

That night I went to Pravin’s for dinner and met his older brother, a smart and jetlagged businessman who’d just been in Austria. They said I’d definitely made that man Baba’s day, but at least I’d given him the chance to do a good day’s business. It was a good night of chat- they’re both pretty sharp, even after smoking, so it was a good chance to actually use my brain in conversation. By the end of the day, I’m usually feeling pretty slow and low on energy, but I think from time to time it’s good to force myself to engage- and this was a perfect, chilled environment to talk, drink their Darjeeling tea and eat a delicious curry ‘home-cooked take away’ from somewhere close by. I got home by Uber Auto-rickshaw, which somehow felt wrong. To get out of the tuk-tuk without paying, knowing that it’s being taken care of by internet fairies is disconcerting, so giving the driver a tip seemed the right thing to do.

I’ve managed to get myself to a yoga class, much needed- and I was surprised my back was happy to go along with it. Going again today. Like a lot of Iyengar teachers, it seems, she was strict. But that’s good: the instructions are so meticulous there needs to be a good dose of discipline in the class. Plus it helps me to not be lazy. And at good centres, I think the strictness is actually a sign of kindness and wanting the students to do it properly, understand the mechanics, improve. Also, nice to see the type of people who go to these classes.

Yesterday I made it to Old Delhi. Quite a tough place to be, because there are people, bikes, rickshaws, various other vehicles and trailers, dogs, the odd donkey, all mashed together, with all the associated noise. One rickshaw driver persuaded me I needed a ride, and he was genuinely an entertaining guy- I just felt a bit concerned that he was expending his energy hauling me down the road, but he seemed pretty enthusiastic, pointing out a few buildings, while avoiding getting his rickshaw crunched by oncoming taxi-trucks. It was a fairly bumpy ride and I was quite keen to get out and explore, so I abandoned the tour and dived into the shade of an alleyway, which led me into the pungent spice market, men flowing in and out carrying large sacks and boxed on their heads. Trying to adapt to this new environment and not obstruct the work-flow, I weaved around the alleys: men with calculators in kiosks surrounded by huge sacks of nuts, raisins, spices. Too much to take in, really. But despite the noise and the chaos, individually people seem quite calm. Of course, I am conspicuous, not entirely able to blend in with the spice vendors. I feel self-conscious taking photos in these places where I’m clearly an outsider and easily noticed. Eyes are on me, and if I take aim to take a picture of a bloke reading his paper, he’ll be alerted by a shout from nearby. And interactions are inevitable too- people are curious, they want to know where I’m from. I remember that from being in India before… it’s very easy to find yourself in conversation. And maybe that’s what I need. Usually, if someone starts talking to me, I can’t handle it very well, can’t make that instant click. But these little bitesize communications are probably something I’ve been missing and are good for general interactivity. Plus, they help to feel engaged with the place, and make the hectic environment feel more personal and welcoming. I can relax and take a few photos, and realise people won’t be annoyed- they’ll either smile warmly or graciously acknowledge the tourist-specimen.

The mind filters out most of what is seen in the moment, so writing is a good way to re-visit the scenes. When I’m walking in an intense place it’s good to have little breaks, to pause and observe and clear the mind. Have a cup of chai, eat something that looks good. You can see everything cooking away on the street. When I found the main mosque, I thought it would be a perfect place to relax in the shade. A space where people can sit and chat, sleep, and pray. Red brick, tall arches, shaded cloisters, cool marble underfoot. A group of older western women arrived the same time, and were politely mobbed by locals, a smiling session of selfies ensued. I was sprawled out in a corner, wondering if it was okay to eat my ladoo balls when two cool young guys came up to me. They were chilled and friendly and it was nice to have a bit of company. We ate a couple of ladoos and one of them showed me photos of his pet goat, some kittens and his wife/fiancee (couldn’t quite work it out)- she had a serious look that seemed both attractive and ironic. Some other kids gathered round and it was turning into a party. While I was walking around the mosque area, various people asked to me to take a photo. This used to mean that I took a photo of them. That has happened a bit, but mostly it means let’s do a selfie! The longer I stay in India the more my face will appear on random phones. It can be fun of course- another way to feel connected to the place. I climbed up the tower to take in the not very spectacular view (it’t always good to get a glimpse of a city from high up- just to see). There wasn’t much space and it was a bit of a squish. As I was clinging on the the metal grille a man asked to take a photo of me- with his son. He dumped his bemused 3 year old in my arms and took some snaps.

I had another walk around the busy streets, enjoying the sights in the afternoon light. One boy happily purchased some bright orange chicks (a passerby informed me as I watched: ‘They are nothing but coloured chicks’). As I walked the shops changed: wedding cards (a huge number of shops), fireworks, candles, bangles, jewellery, and perhaps most impressive: fabric and saris. Small shops full of brightly coloured cloth being unfurled and flicked full in the air for the customer. Also, got a hair/beard cut. The hairdresser was a kindly fellow with a strong moustache. Was very tempted to keep my moustache- surprisingly bushy with the rest gone- as a sign of brotherhood.