Rooftop voyeurism, bombarded with swastikas and getting to know Nandu (Delhi)

After a short, restless sleep I finally rallied at 3:30 am and stepped right into a puddle outside the bathroom. It had rained heavily during the night, through the window frame onto the floor. I remembered why I was initially reluctant to travel in India during the monsoon.

I spent the next few hours fretting about how I was going to fit everything I needed for my upcoming trip to Ladakh into one bag.  Three hours later and marginally less worried about my packaphobia, I ascended the three flights of stairs to the rooftop restaurant. Each step I rose brought me closer to the inferno.  The sun had barely risen and it was already well over 35C.

Breakfast was included, so I went native and ordered aloo parantha (potato-filled tortilla-like disks pan fried in ghee butter, yum) with curd (yogurt) and pickle (in this case, limes marinated in oil, lemon juice, salt and spices). Looking around I noticed four gentlemen on the roof across the street who were completely captivated by my scintillating newspaper reading. One stared fixedly, his toothbrush hanging limply from his gaping mouth. I too couldn’t help but stare. They were living on the roof, and I was looking right into their bathroom.

Birla Mandir, swastika central

Nandu arrived at the appointed time – early, in fact – and off we drove to the Lakshmi Temple, also known as the Birla Mandir, a large Hindu temple built in 1938. I removed my shoes and my toes wiggled in delight at the warm and spotlessly clean marble floors. I was followed, discretely, by a family fascinated by my enthusiastic embrace of Hindu ritual, including a large, tumeric-coloured bindi placed between my eyebrows by the priest who tended the colourful and sequined effigies of Vishnu and Lakshmi.

There was one very unsettling aspect to India I was going to have to get used to: the swastika. For someone raised with a Jewish identity and fed a diet of Holocaust remembrance, the sheer volume of swastikas – the ultimate symbol of Nazi aggression and anti Semitism – was overwhelming. Architecture, paintings, graffiti, t-shirts – India is swarming with swastikas! The Birla Mandir thoughtfully explained that a swastika is an implied prayer of success, accomplishment and perfection (it also reassured me that it didn’t matter if I do karma yoga at home or janya yoga in the jungle – I’m so relieved!), but all I could see was burning books, shattered glass and murdered babies. As a distraction I focused on all the men who walked nonchalantly holding hands with their buddies. That was also very weird.

Next stop was the Indira Gandhi museum where, no matter how fast or slowly I walked, the cleaner would be in front of me, wiping down the display I was trying to read. The day-of-death displays of her blood-stained sari and her son’s shredded clothing and dirty running shoes were unsettling. I preferred seeing the large but modest drawing room where Indira used to entertain world leaders.

Indira Gandhi. Indian Anne Frank?

Qutb Minar

After came the Qutb Minar complex, founded in the late 12th century by the first Muslim rulers of Delhi. It was extraordinarily hot and I shuffled along to an audio guide that fell just short of obnoxious. Nandu then dropped me off at the Baha’i House of Worship, a dramatic, white, lotus-shaped building presiding over acres of manicured lawns and sizzling-hot paths.

Baha'i Lotus Temple

I joined the long convoy of barefoot people climbing the stairs to the entrance. Before being allowed in we were instructed that absolute silence was required. Amazingly, everyone complied. I sat in the 1300-seat auditorium, enveloped in the wordless energy of hundreds of visitors, focusing on the sweat running down my spine, and listening to the whisper of people silently floating through space, punctured only by the shrill of birds in the rafters and the sound of my sticky palms lifting off the page as I scribbled. In 17 minutes I was running out of there, busting with desire to speak, yell, laugh, sing. I chattered moronically to Nandu as he drove me to Rajghat; he giggled politely. Rajghat, the black granite memorial on the site of Mahatma Gandhi’s cremation,

Searingly-hot Rajghat

is India’s most venerated symbol of nationalism. And, when you remove your shoes to visit, it feels like the cremation fires are still going.  I was fortunate to have the memorial to myself, but I could barely enjoy it given that my feet were being burned raw, notwithstanding the protective carpets. I madly hopped from foot to foot, taking an off-kilter photo, then ran like the devil back to my welcoming shoes.

I was starting to get anxious for food and water. I convinced a reluctant Nandu to come with me to Natraj, recommended for its dahi bhalla.  The problem was that Nataraj was located on Chandni Chok, a crazy, manic, insanely-busy street market in Old Delhi, and parking was a challenge. Nandu managed to wedge our Tata into a peripheral spot in the Red Fort parking lot and then badgered a bicycle rickshaw to take us to the restaurant.  Unfortunately, to get there we had to cross both lanes of traffic by foot, a frightening endeavour when facing a relentless stream of animal and mechanical traffic that takes no prisoners. Nandu was as cool as cucumber raita; I looked like bambi on Red Bull.

Miraculously I made it with all limbs attached, only to then be faced with the busiest – and most narrow – alley I had ever seen. I could not comprehend how people were able to move in such density. It would make an ant feel claustrophobic.

Alley outside Natraj, Chandni Chok

Luckily our destination was only a few feet into the alley, past a large, angry wok of boiling oil. We ascended a staircase barely wide enough for one person, and entered an authentic Indian establishment.  Everyone stared at me curiously, but by now I was getting used to it. My dahi bhalla was phenomenal – warm balls of deep-friend lentils immersed in a pool of cool yogurt, tangy tamarind sauce and fresh pomegranate seeds. I was transported.  Meanwhile, an ornary Nandu ordered a vegetable thali (assortment of dishes on one tray) and sent back his naan three times.  It was a side of him I hadn’t yet seen.  When he was finally pleased with his bread I got him to teach me to say “the food is delicious” in Hindi. (Khana atcha hei.)  When we left I asked if we could see what was down the alley. “No,” he answered perfunctorily.

Dahi bhalla at Natraj

Nandu

We returned to the head of Chandni Chok where we parted ways. Nandu would go ahead to the car and wait for me while I visited the Red Fort.  Alas, this meant crossing an even more ambitious intersection where every imaginable type of vehicle was converging in some kind of bizarre ballet choreography whose comprehension exceeded my intellect. I found some wise-looking Indians and followed them across like a quivering shadow. I cheered when I made it, attracting the attention of a young British man. He broke the bad news. “The Red Fort is closed for security reasons,” he advised. With Independence Day a week away, Delhi’s sites were starting to shut down. I nearly cried at the prospect of crossing the street again, but I managed.

I don’t know who was more shocked when I returned to the car – Nandu at seeing me so drastically ahead of schedule, or me at the site of him in an undershirt hiked up to his nipples, chewing on a toothpick and spitting inelegantly. While he scrambled to button up his shirt I asked if I could go to the Jami Masjid, India’s largest mosque. “No,” he answered bluntly. But we drove by it, providing a real flavour of Indian Muslim neighbourhoods: filthy, colourful, and full of chickens, goats, sticky dates and throngs of people.

Last stop of the day was Humayun’s Tomb, a quiet respite from the chaotic Delhi streets. I quietly strolled along shady grass, listening to the birds and entertained by India’s spindly, racing-striped chipmunks. As I sat and enjoyed the tomb’s view, said to be the inspiration for the Taj Mahal, I realized how exhausted I was.  It was time to go back, shower, and wind down the day.

Humayun's Tomb, Delhi