I have just arrived at a new airbnb, quite a long uber ride to the north of the city, away from the smarter suburbs of the south. A taxi/rickshaw ride is not a bad way of seeing the city: the streets pass by, traffic piles into your path, no need to knacker yourself out walking in this midday heat. I have brought with me a memento from the salubrious south- some Assam tea bags from the ‘tea salon’ near where I was staying. I was also given a taster of a tea called ‘Frost’ from Nilgiri, nicer than the Darjeeling I thought, so I have some of that: loose tea, so I need some kind of tea brewer.  They needed to fix the bathroom in the old place, and there was some building work going on outside, and I wasn’t finding those streets overly exciting, so I was happy to move on. Here there is nice steady soundtrack of horn-honking coming from the road blending with actual bird squawking, so at least I don’t have to face the shock of a silent room.

I noticed the other day that it was hotter. Not sure how hot it was before, but it has definitely crept up to the next level- around 37ºc. This limits my enthusiasm to do anything. I’ve had a few morning strolls but even by 10 the light is getting harsh and I’m ready to escape the sun. I remember my previous trip to India. I thought I’d meander from Agra back to Mumbai, taking in the sights of Rajasthan and Gujarat. A nice idea, except it was April/May, in the hottest part of the country. The memory is a bit blurry- I remember drinking a lot of water and fainting once in my room after waking up early one morning. As I returned to consciousness, lying on the floor looking up at the underside of a table, I remember thinking that I had no idea who or where I was. Lucky I didn’t break anything- bones or furniture, just some rugged grazes. And then I arrived in Mumbai, slightly bedraggled, and realised my flight out had been changed to Delhi. I hadn’t seen the email. Luckily they’d booked a connecting flight for me, but still, I could’ve gone to the cool hills in favour of sweating it out on the scorched plains. I’ve learnt my lesson, kind of. I’ve still managed to end up in Delhi in the heat, but I’ve been much more adept at not exploring/sight-seeing etc. I have read two books, the one about subtly not giving a fuck and the Theroux one about travelling around China by train in the late-80s.

My main outings have been to parks, where I can see what’s going on, take it easy, and have a rest. I liked ‘Garden of the Five Senses’. This was the third choice of acitivity, after going to the photo gallery (in an area of massive walled off mansions) and finding there was no exhibition, then going to Qutub Minar and deciding not to go inside. It was midday, busy, they wanted 600r, and I could see some of the tower from the road anyway. So I’d saved a great deal of time by not doing things and was intrigued by the sound of ‘Garden of the Five Senses’. Looping paths, patches of grass, a hillock with a grave on the top, pretty flowers, and 500 couples taking up all of the shaded spots, exercising their sense of touch. It was surely the most romantic place in Delhi, as if it were mandatory to arrive with a canoodling partner. I thought about taking some photos of this phenomenon, but all eyes were on me, and I didn’t feeling like disturbing the love-vibe. I walked past two girls who were as equally surprised to see me as I them. Where were our partners? They were non-romantically talking selfies amongst the flowers. We chatted for a bit and that was fun. They told me they found the couples ‘quite annoying’. The best park, however, must be Lodhi Garden, and if I were writing a review on TripAdvisor I would give it 5 stars and say ‘definitely go there’. Massive park, impressive 15th Century tombs, lots of Delhites enjoying the park’s delights: joggers, dog-walkers, picnickers. There were some fluro-bright bougainvillea bushes where people were taking photos. Also, a bonus that it is no longer called Lady Willingdon Park. Thunder rumbled and the park glowed in a rich dusky light. I was already in a rickshaw home when it started to rain. I’m not supposed to buy any more books, especially as I’ve borrowed two from the guesthouse. But the guy weaving through the traffic jam with a stack of books seemed so cool and calm that I couldn’t resist a traffic-light browse. Besides, I was keen to take a photo and after extracting Murakami from the pile he struck a suave pose before the lights turned green.

So I’ve not been exploring too much, just a few strolls, the city passing by in a bit of a daze. And perhaps because I remember being so engaged on my last visit, walking all day, snapping away, enjoying the colour and the chaos, I feel less motivated to get stuck in. I know I’ll find it draining, and I’m not interested in taking random photos, and to make a good series of the city involves a lot of focus, a lot of looking, and as much engagement as I can muster. But I knew this, which is why I’ve given myself these extra days before leaving the city. I’ve got time in the next few days to see something more. And then I’m off to the hills. Pravin’s brother Navin recommended a place called Kasol. That was good enough for me, so I’ll go there. And Navin has decided to join me. I think it will be fine. He’s an interesting guy, although the intense chats he’s initiated around the themes of Life and Politics have left me slightly brain-frazzled. We’re staying at a place called Backpacker’s Nest, which may or may not be pleasant, depending on who is nesting there and how much chirping I’ll be forced to do about great waterfalls I’ve visited.