A Taste of the Maharajas

The egg man cometh

A final breakfast at the Khosla Cafe, re-check our packing, then it's farewell to Room 101 at the Surya Plaza. The location is great, the huge room and balcony are a boon, but not the dribbly cold shower or the terrible breakfast. So before we go, we check out the Jyoti Mahal Guesthouse just down the road. It's a palace by comparison, with shady courtyards, exotic antique furnishings and a rooftop restaurant furnished like a Nawab's harem. It's not much more expensive, either. Make a note for next time.

By taxi to the airport, where I say farewell to Sara and catch a bus back to the centre. The bus stops opposite the Jantar Mantar so I hop out, never able to resist a dose of heritage. 

This is a YANTRA....

This is a slightly smaller version of Jaipur's observatory (see blog for 7 Nov. last year), but a little older, dating from 1724. Its great stone structures enabled Maharaja Jai Singh II, the ruler of Jaipur, to calculate time to within a few seconds and chart the movement of the sun, stars and planets for astrological purposes. The principal "yantra" - in effect the gnomon of a giant sundial - is nearly 200ft. tall.

... and this is a RAM

Though a bit dwarfed by some of the surrounding tower block hotels, the instruments are set in a lush tree-lined park. Guards blow whistles in a sometimes futile attempt to stop people clambering up the structures, but we are allowed to climb inside one of the circular "rams" and hop between its calibrated spokes, a surreal experience.


As I walk towards Connaught Place metro, a man stops me. "Excuse, sir. Can I clean your ears?" I'm not aware they are so obviously dirty. He shows me his little bag of steel tools for the job and a notebook of commendations from satisfied customers. Someone from Australia has written, "I didn't know all that stuff was in  my ears but I'm sure glad to have got rid of it." I collect my small case and kitbag and take to pre-rush hour metro to Old Delhi Station, this time arriving with almost two hours to spare. It feels very strange to be on my own, and I miss Sara's warm presence (and her chivvying.)

Delhi dog among the pigeons

It's past lunchtime, and my tummy knows it, so I check out the eateries and opt (shame!) for McDonalds. Like that shop in McLeod Ganj, it's "same same but different." No cow, of course, but chicken, veggie and fish options all with spicy variants. To see how the big boys live, I opt for  a Chicken Maharaja Mac Combo (with chips and coke). It's a double-decked chicken burger with cheese, enlivened with (of course) a spicy sauce. Armed with this aristocratic meal, I head for the Upper Class Waiting Room, but am denied entry as I only have a middle class ticket. Suitably deflated, I prop myself against the wall oppostite the departures board to wait until my train's platform shows up. There are six classes (plus sub-groups) on Indian Railways, no doubt reflecting the caste system. Incidentally, I read that an Indian would no more marry "out of caste" than marry a goat. I've never fancied goats, though I have eaten them.

We pull out of Old Delhi just a few minutes late (is this IR policy?). There's a momentary glimpse of the Red Fort before we cross a viaduct over the black and fetid waters of the Yamuna. Beyond here, a poor and rubbish-strewn suburb of East Delhi. I can't make out if the houses are half-ruined or half-built. Further on, the tracksides are lined with the squalid makeshift shelters of Delhi's poorest, part of India's urban underbelly that has swollen by 31% in the past ten years according to the latest 2011 statistics. Such a contrast to the green, clean New Delhi I passed through earlier on the way to and from the airport. It's a slightly depressing perspective with which to leave this glorious, crazy, enticing city.

My companions in AC3 class, unlike First, are not military types. But there's another major sniffer, though he's not a Major Sniffer. There's a student with a huge tome on mechanical engineering, a sad mother-in-law figure who's had her come-uppance and weeps into her mobile 'phone, and a friendly family with two young children aged about 5 and 8 who already have passable basic English. I have a railway meal, to which they insist on adding delicacies they have brought from home. "I am very much liking your potatoes and spinach," I say, unconsciously lapsing into the Indian fondness for the present continuous tense. So they can stay together, I take upper berth which runs lengthways opposite the compartment proper. It's like sleeping on the top shelf of a rather large 60 mph cupboard. Varanasi, here I come.