Day 2: Delhi

Day 2: Tuesday 1 November, a Delhi day.

Wake from sound sleep about 9 (3.30 GMT). One of the Surya Plaza's virtues is its quiet location. I wake once to hear the white pack horse chomp its tethered hooves, then again to turn off the creaking ceiling fan. Happily, the alleyway outside is too narrow for most motor vehicles so the incessant blaring of horns is largely absent (apart from the odd motorbike). My narrow balcony is a blessing. At second attempt, I get them to find me a chair this morning, unkindly taken from another guest's room (but then I may have paid double whack!) I can spy, unobserved, on the street's comings and goings. The young man opposite, who goes on the roof to make mobile calls, must have something to hide. This is where I enjoyed a beer last night, fetched for me by Ricky* the junior porter and surreptitiously concealed in newspaper. Alcohol is listed as one of the banned "objectionable substances" according to the hotel rules pinned inside my door. I also take breakfast (fried eggs and sweet lassi) en plein air, to the surprise of said porter. The shower dribbles barely tepid water, so it doesn't take long to get ready to go out and my great mop of whitish hair is turning dusty off-white. * Ricky has declared himself my friend and is as keen to oblige as he is fond of tips.

I decide to head for the Sulabh International Museum of Toilets. An easy decision. More than any of Delhi's remaining 1,185 scheduled historic that I have not so far seen, this is one place I cannot go home without seeing this time. Getting there is not easy - first a long metro ride into suburbia, then a very bumpy ride in a cycle rickshaw through rutted streets and alleys. I think too late of pressing the movie button on the camera, but would probably have ended up dropping it in a pothole. The museum looks closed - well, it is closed in so far as the doors are shut and padlocked. I ask the rickshaw wallah to wait, and it is his asking around that secures my entry and bolts are drawn and lights switched on just for me. Today, it turns out, is a major festival for the Bihar community, and the great Dr Pathak himself is Bihari. Dr Bindeshwar Pathak must be one of my heroes. The story of his campaign to end the practice of "scavenging" (i.e. the clearing human waste by, mostly female, "untouchables") is a stirring one (horrible pun unintended) well recorded elsewhere (try Google or Wikipedia). The museum displays are not up to much by modern design standards but are clear and fascinating for anyone like myself... I give my lady guide a copy of my History of Loos book, and she apologises that Dr P could not meet me in person. If I'd like to return another day, she will arrange in interview as she is sure Dr P would like to meet me (I'm equally sure he has far better things to do with his time, but Indians are so polite.) Needless to say I take loads of photos - incinerating loos, biodegradable cardboard campers' loos, and an unusual Dutch disposable attachment for ladies in a hurry - but the stars of the show must be the demonstration  line-up of cheap and hygienic double-pit latrines with which Dr P aims to make the horrors of scavenging a thing of the past. Enough of that.

From suburban Mahavir Enclave, I head back towards the centre with a couple of metro changes. For any readers (are there any?) planning to visit this mind-boggling city, I recommend the small TimeOut Delhi guide. Comprehensive, easy to carry in your pocket, and its mini-maps of city districts make lightish work of finding out-of-the way places.

Which is how I find my way to the Birla Mandir, also known as Lackshmi Narayan Temple. This is one of the biggest Hindu temples in Delhi - visitors welcome, but not cameras! I am told to leave mine in a free lockable safe, so I present the No. 1 camera from my little backpack, pocket camera No. 2 staying in the pocket just in case... The temple is dedicated to Vishnu "but advocates the philosophy of monotheism and is open to all faiths." The strands of Hinduism it seems are as diverse as those of Christianity. The lofty halls painted halls and separate shrines to a pantheon of Hindu gods seem both more sumptuous but also more tame than those I have seen in small temples elsewhere (like the one by the station near here). Today is a major feast (a puja) of the sun-god, especially important for the Bihar community from NE India. The Birla Mandir (named after Mr Birla, its founder in 1937) today hosts thousands of worshippers who begin trooping in for the festival during the late afternoon, bearing baskets of offerings. They come in all types, with many whole families coming to celebrate together (one such "adopts" me, and I take photos for them). Cameras are much in evidence - everyone wants to by photographed at the Puja. Knots of teenagers stand around joking. Younger boys let off bangers or light sparklers. Brilliantly dressed women with rapt expressions are a particular focus, and a sadhu with a long white beard twitches in time with metallic drumming. The extensive gardens behind the temple have watercourses (like Mughal gardens) and the offerings are laid at the water's edge - flowers, fruit, vegetables, green coconuts, cellophane-wrapped boxes of sweets. Lamps and incense stickes are lit, and many people take to the waters, or scoop it up and pour it over their heads. Little boys splash around juust enjoying the fun, which nobody seems to mind. By the time people leave after sunset (taking their offerings away with them) it has turned from blue to murky brown. I am told that many will return early tomorrow to watch the sun rise, after which the four-day festival will end.

I leave, buy a fridge magnet and Lord Shiva 2012 calendar as mementoes, and manage to flag down a cycle rickshaw to bring me back close to the hotel. A drink* on the balcony, visit to a tiny internet cafe on Main Bazaar Road to "post" yesterday's blog offering, and another cheap (£3) tasty meal washed down with 2 glasses of yummy banana and guava lassi. Memo: next time, order three! * Anticipating problems with such objectionable substances, I armed myself with plastic half-litre bottles of gin & voddie at Doha duty free.

Interrogations. I am already getting used to being hailed on the street and called over for a questioning, usually by young males (females are more reserved, almost everyone seems young). It goes thus. "Hello, Sir. How are you?" "Where you come from?" "Ah, Engeland. Very, very nice!" "How you like my India?" "What is your good name, Sir?" "How long you stay in India?" Sometimes also, "What is your age?" Then often, but not always, follows: "You like....(see list)? I give you good price, India price not foreigner price." The list varies according to location but may include: taxi / jewellery / hash / city tour / shoe shine / tea.