Expect the Unexpected

Last night, I order macaroni cheese and chips (I know, but...), expecting the familiar creamy nursery food. What comes is macaroni with bits of veg floating in a brown gravy. An easy waiter's mistake, since the next item on the menu is "Macaroni with veg in brown gravy." I send it back. Waiter returns with... same dish but with grated cheese on top. Tuesday is street cleaning day. Men are out with besoms, sweeping rubbish into piles. The handcart-wallas then fill their tubs, which no doubt end up at some squalid garbage mountain to be picked over by the truly desperate. We go back to Sara's tailor, who has made up her jacket. It's a bit tight, but he'll let it out a couple of inches. Must be the Indian food.

Sara & friends: "I'd love a daughter!"

It's a Sara choice day, and she wants to read her book in the sun (the smog has lifted) so we opt for Hauz Khas again, and another beer overlooking the lake. In this upmarket Deli-ite enclave, a light snack costs twice as much as a full meal elsewhere. S then finds a quiet spot on the grass while I continue my exploration of the secret passages of the ancient ruins - which provide many a solitary spot for  young lovers' trysts. 

After-school tryst

Initially we opt for an auto-rickshaw all the way back to Pahatganj in preference to the metro (it's rush hour, we assume). The rickshaw-walla starts far too high, and we bargain hard. But this is just a "think of a number" game. It soon turns out that he has no idea where Paharganj, or Ashram Marg, or even New Delhi Station are. We've been warned of this. Drivers arrive fresh from the country, stay with an "uncle", rent a rickshaw, but have even less idea of the geography of Delhi than I have. He asks around, but still doesn't grasp it, so we get him to drop us at the metro after all. Surprisingly, it is not crowded.

Officially forbidden on the Metro: Spitting, sitting on the floor, quarrelling.

Dhobi with charcoal iron

This evening we take a detour through the back streets on the way to eat. There's a whole vibrant world of street life here; the dhobi (laundryman) is finishing off our ironing with a big shiny iron glowing red with charcoal; children are expertly batting shuttlecocks to and fro; a family reclines on charpoys (strung beds) set up under a canvas shelter; an old man has his chin frothed in cream ready for a shave (in the evening!); a couple of businessmen types in sharp suits waft incense sticks in front of a Ganesh images in wayside shrine; shops sell everything imaginable, eat your heart out, Mr Tesco. Then we spot the horses. Eight immaculate pure white horses are lovingly groomed at the wedding carriage business. We are beckoned into their warm and steamy stable and invited to feed them from our hands.

View of Mount Everest

The Satyum Roof Top Restaurant "Nice Food & Best Price" is five floors up, opposite the Mount Everest (even higher) and the Allizwell Hotel. This is where we must drink beer from a teapot. After a curry, I'm tempted by the "deserts" on the menu. The waiter recommends "Hello to the Quee" (supply final letter as appropriate?). I want to ask what it is, but notice the legend on the waiter's T-shirt: "Questions are never stupid, it's the person who asks them that's stupid." So I leave it to chance. (Answer: crushed biscuit, ice cream, warm banana and fake cream.) Expect the unexpected!