Day 9 - The Return

5:15 AM: The only activity at Gwalior Junction is at the narrow gauge platform. A few people are crowding into the tiny train.

5:30 AM: Sachkand Express is late by 15 minutes. The information is not displayed anywhere. I have to cajole the guy at the desk to give me the information.

7:00 AM: 30 minutes after the scheduled time, there is no sign of the train. No information displayed, and no announcement.

7:25 AM: Chennai-Hazrat Nizamuddin Garib Rath is announced. I go across the platform to inquire about our train. There's no one to ask. I run helter-skelter to find out.

7:40: Finally, train arrives, but no coach information displayed. We take a guess and stand in the middle of the platform. Our coach comes to a stop next to us.

8:45 AM: Thundering over the massive bridge across the Chambal. The little hillocks around the river paint an eerie but interesting picture of the times when infamous dacoits prowled the area. We should perhaps convert this place into an Indian Wild West.

9:45 AM: Back at Agra Cantt. There are three things Agra is famous for: The Taj Mahal, the Agra Petha and false gold. Thus claims a guy selling false gold chains. "Have a look. You don't need to pay to take a look. You come across real gold everyday. But it's not everyday that you see DUPLICATE gold! I will give you two chains for ten rupees!" His sales pitch works! One lady is heard bargaining for the chains.

Around 10:30 AM: Mathura Junction. I slept long. A little boy with a painted mustache singing "Sarki jo sar se woh dheere dheer" in his own unique voice accosts SS. He wraps himself around SS's legs. It's quite a long time before he leaves.

12:30 PM: Faridabad. The maulanas were good company. They gave us pakodas and namkeen to eat. They disembark here. While saying goodbye, one of them even asks us to forgive him, if there were some discomfort caused.

12:30-1:00 PM: Faridabad to Hazrat Nizamuddin - everyone is sellign Spiderman. "Spiderman, Chinese Spiderman! Deewar par chipak jaata hai, dheere dheere palti maarta hai!", they holler

1:00 PM: We pass behind the massive Humayun's Tomb and the Purana Quila - our last "monumental" glimpses of Delhi.

1:45 PM: The guy has been after us, all the way to the pre-paid rickshaw stand. "Wahan pe sirf auto milta hai! taxi toh hamare paas hai! Achha sa Wagon-R hai!" he repeats. He murmurs angrily as we sit in the rickshaw.

2:45 PM: Terminal 1D is mighty impressive - not so congested like the old departure terminal. There are many restaurants around. The flight though, is an hour late.

6:00 PM. Inside the flight. The seat allotted to me, 28F, does not exist!

Day 8 - Gwalior

At 12:00 AM, our train got rescheduled to 2:30 AM. It was the last straw. We decided to chuck it and catch another one. Getting new tickets took some time, thanks to the scuffle at the counter between the people who were in the queue and those who believed that queues were destined for some other planet. Thankfully, the former won.

Malwa Express pulled in at 12:15. The ticket examiner allowed us in.

"The full charge for the sleeper is Rs. 280. You have already paid Rs. 97. Do you want pay the rest or leave it at this?" he asked, to my utter surprise.

"What ever you say, sir" I stuttered.

"OK. Leave it then. Just pay 100 more." He continued.

That 100 went into his pocket. At 2:00 AM, we reached Gwalior.

Gwalior is a small and sleepy town, caught in the headlights of the road and rail traffic to Delhi. It is still under the patronage of the Scindias, the erstwhile rulers of the state. The massive fort, referred to by Babur as the "Pearl amongst the fortresses of India", towers up in the middle of the city. Thanks to the patronage of the ex-minister, Madhavrao Scindia, Gwalior has seen much affluence.

The room at the newly opened Hotel Surya was quite impressive, with ceiling mounted lights and a wall mounted flat-screen television to add to the ambience. It looked like a high-end wanna-be, if you could ignore the view from the open multi-paned window. The lift played a queer piece of classical music.

On the way to the fort, we passed what was perhaps the longest railway gate in India. The narrow gauge line that skirts the base of the fort runs on the road, before veering away. Hence, the two gates are spaced at some 500-odd meters distance. Thankfully, there were no trains.

Urvai Gate had a deserted and scary look, as if we were in a forest away from town. A watchman sat to collect a nominal 50 paise entry fee (the board said 20 paise, but since 20 paise doesn't exist anymore, he's forgiven). The customary guide was loitering around. A jeep stood nearby offering to drive us up. The road wound up between the two massive rock faces, as if this were a mountain range. Figurines of the 21 tirthankaras were sculptured into the rock faces with the last one being 10 feet tall. Most of them had been defaced by the marauding hordes of Babur. Peacocks were strutting aplenty along the ridges on the rock.

We came out in front of the Scindia Junior School. Situated inside the fort, the Scindia School remains one of the most privileged schools in the country, catering to children of the royalty, the filthy rich and whoever else can mange to get in. Ahead was the Man Singh Palace. The small cafeteria by its side had nothing to offer us so early in the morning except a couple of patties. It was the umpteenth morning where biscuits had contributed to our breakfast.

The palace was beautiful. Decorated exquisitely with blue paintings, a strange and amusing frieze of yellow ducks adorns its walls. The carvings inside the fort are magnificent. For the first time, we were forced to employ the services of a guide, since two floors of the palace are situated underground and required torches to navigate. The place has a unique "telephone" system with pipes to communicate between the subterranean chambers and the upper floors. The underground chambers housed an indoor swimming pool and the torture chamber where Aurangazeb imprisoned his brother Murad, poisoned him with opium driving him mad, before finishing him off for good.

The rest of the fort is sadly in ruins, including the Karan Mahal, the Jahangiri Mahal and the Jauhar Kund. They are used by courting couples (who climb the crumbling ruins ignoring the danger of collapse), shepherds and playful children. The Sikh gentleman was happy to get his photo taken. Highly impressed, he requested us to take photos of the rest of his group. The Sardarni however didn't sound so happy at the opportunity. Decked up fully in the traditional Sikh attire (complete with the Kirpan), they made quite a picture. They were there for Kar Seva at the Gurudwara of Guru Har Gobind Singh, who had been imprisoned in the palace by Nur Jehan.

Descent through the Gwalior Gate exposes you to the colossal walls of the palace. It reminded me of the massive walls of Meherangarh. The stone-paved walkway leads to a crowded street. Further up, to the right, stands the beautiful tomb of Mohammed Ghaus. However, the main attraction of the complex is the small tomb that lies next to it: the tomb of the renowned musician, Tansen - Gwalior's most famous son, and one of the Navratnas of Akbar's court. A tamarind tree used to stand next to it, chewing the leaves of which supposedly improves the voice of any aspiring singer. Sadly it had withered under the onslaught of musicians who come for the annual Tansen Mahotsav. Oblivious to this, people were seen eating the leaves of all the trees growing around the tomb. The place was full of engineering students preparing for exams. A couple of them were subjected to career counselling from SS.

Right next to the hotel stood the immensely beautiful Jai Vilas Palace, the abode of the Scindias. A white arch leads to the garden enclosed by the massive white palace. In front of the facade stands a blue fountain. "Looks as impressive as Vienna!" I murmured to SS. An employee at the palace overheard us . "You've been to Vienna? Do you see any similarity?" he asked. "The architecture looks European," we said. "What about the gardens?" he quipped. "Yes, they too look impressive", we continued. "It is a blend of three styles of architecture," he proffered.

The interiors were exquisite. The first rooms house the portraits of the royal family. It also contains the hunting prizes of the Maharajas - heads and skins of various animals - much to the chagrin of a lady who voiced out her disapproval of killing animals. Most impressive was the long room dedicated to the life and career of Madhavrao Scindia, the enigmatic leader of the Congress Party.

Moving ahead, you get a glimpse of the royal lifestyle of the Scindias in the well-preserved rooms of the palace. Office rooms, bedrooms, dining rooms, dressing rooms, music rooms, prayer rooms and recreation rooms are all maintained in their full splendor like any palace in the world. Across the wing in the dining room, the famous silver sweetmeat train runs around the long dinner table. We were just in time to see it in operation. Above the dining hall is the famed golden banquet hall, where celebrities are frequently entertained. Two massive chandeliers - supposedly the heaviest in Asia - hung from the ceiling. To ascertain whether the roof would take their weight, eight elephants had been hung from the ceiling. A single piece carpet covers the floor - allegedly woven over years by prisoners from the fort.

On the walls and the gates is visible the royal insignia - the sun flanked by two cobras. According to SS, the symbol was adopted by the first member of the family, having been shielded by the hood of a King Cobra when he was a baby - considered an omen of royalty in India. It however has not convinced me to overcome my fear of cobras.

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Day 7 - Fatehpur Sikri

It's 11:00 PM now, at Agra Cantt railway station. We are here because Mahakoshal Express was five hours late. It was like the wait at Jaipur Juntion a year back. I don't know why we chose to wait for it - probably laziness. The journey to Gwalior takes only 2 hours, and we could have caught another train or a bus. The waiting room was crowded. They are always interesting places. You see all kinds of people here. The huge crowd of girls from some university in Bijapur, mothers trying to pacify crying kids, people with laptops open, people reading books, people changing clothes, and people writing diaries...

The bus to Fatehour Sikri kept us waiting. It started more than an hour later. It was extremely clean - littered all over with banana and groundnut peels. Needless to say, the ride was extremely uncomfortable (The return journey was worse).

Fatehpur Sikri is a ghost town. Designed by Akbar to be his capital, it was occupied barely for 14 years before the capital was shifted to Lahore - probably because of the shortage of water in Sikri. Major tourist attractions here are the Buland Darwaza - the largest gate in Asia, the Juma Masjid and the palace complex, housing the various palaces of the queens, and the huge courtyard, where Akbar used to sit on top of the Panch Mahal and listen to Tansen's music or play 'Pachisi' with live dancers as the game pieces. Today, it no longer bears the look of a "ghost town" thanks to the multitude of hawkers and guides.

Guides at Fatehpur Sikri are a nuisance. From little kids aged 10 to old people aged 80, everyone professes to be a guide. They keep nagging until out of desperation, people agree to their demands. Our bible had warned that most of what they say was pure fiction. We were stern in refusing their services, but soon some of them were back again, trying to sell us photos. One guy even offered to take pictures with our own cameras for a fee. The dubious claims of these guys were on show on many occasions. At the entrance was a guy pointing to the well and explaining how the water of the well was used for Akbar's troops in the battle against Rana Sanga. Another was pointing out the blue Persian tiles in Jodha Bai's Palace to two Chinese ladies. "Look at them, that is a Chinese tent. This palace was built with Chinese architectural patterns," he said. Needless to say, the ladies were extremely happy. From another guy, I learnt that Tansen invented Indian classical music, and the seven notes that are used in music. The prize however went to the guy who got into Akbar's treasury and claimed that this was the palace for princes and princesses to play hide and seek. He even gave a demo of how they played the game!

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Day 6 - Agra

5:00 AM. It's freezing cold in Agra, and the hotel informs that hot water will be switched on only at 7:00 AM. After much cajoling, they give us a bucket of hot water. At 6:00 AM, there is not a single rickshaw to be found. SS insists on walking all the way. After an hour of walking, we finally hail a rickshaw.

The first glimpse of the Taj is through the arched gateway. It looked small - an optical illusion since the moment you step through the arch, it towers over you barely 500 meters away. There is hardly anyone around. The sun is just rising, bathing the monument in a golden hue.

SS goes crazy on the minars and clicks some 60 snaps of them alone. Even in that sparse crowd, the Chinese tourists are a nuisance for photographers. A German guy yells at two college students for incessantly interrupting his shots with their antics for almost 15 minutes. After much pleading they buzz off, only for another Chinese guy to seize the moment and run into the shot. The German helplessly goes berserk. The Patel snaps are of course there - people jumping together, trying to fly, reaching to touch the top of the dome and the minars, and one Chinese lady going as far as posing like an Indian Maharishi - standing on one leg, with her hands folded in a "Namaste".

By the time we finish there, people are being regulated into a long and winding queue to enter the tomb. Next to the Taj, stands the Taj Hotel - in case it surprises you, everything in Agra is either named after the Taj or the Mughals - run by the Ashok Group. We have a sumptuous breakfast of Cheese Omelette and Toast - for once, we are spared the biscuit routine.

To visit the Baby Taj, we are advised to take a "tempo" which would cost just 5 Rs. It turns out to be a small auto-rickshaw into which is crammed in eight people - four on the drivers' seat and four behind. In some cases, there are even people hanging on behind the vehicle. Quite an experience!

The "Baby Taj", formally known as Itimad-ud-Daula, is the tomb of Nur Jahan's father. It was beautiful and stunning - probably more than the Taj, since we had never seen it in picture. Pre-dating the Taj, this was the first Mughal monument made fully in white marble. It doesn't have a dome, but is a flat structure with a pavilion on top and decorated with design inlays in colored marble. At the back, the Yamuna flows quietly. Children take bath in its grey polluted waters. Inside the rear enclosure, two shy artisans are working laboriously to restore the gate. Foreigners stop to gawk at them, and they smile coyly. In the garden, guards are busy driving away menacing monkeys.

When asked about Chini ka Roza, the shopkeeper advised us: "Bas juaa khelte hai, cigarette peete hai aur latrine karte hai. Mat jaiye. Usse achha Mehtab Bagh hai". The little fellow in the rickshaw offered to take us there for 30 Rs. Barely had we gone 100 meters before he had a flat tyre. Fortunately, we found another guy near the Yamuna Bridge to take us to the Bagh for 20 Rs. Realizing how far it was, we asked him whether he would wait. He politely refused since we were unsure how long we would take.

Mehtab Bagh is an attempt to recreate the gardens during the Mughal times. In a few years, it might become an exquisitely beautiful garden, but today it is just full of growing shrubs. The most exciting feature of this Bagh is that it offers a stunning view of the Taj, for it stands directly across the Yamuna from it. Rumours abound that Shah Jahan had planned to construct a Black Taj here. The edge of the river is cordoned off with two barb-wire fences, as if this were a contentious national border. In the space between the fences, there appeared a little boy. "Hariom", he said his name way. We clicked his photos and showed them to him. He appeared non-chalant. Suddenly, a little girl appeared next to him and said, "Mera photo!"

"Radha": she announced her name.

"Yeh tumhari behn hai?" we asked Hariom.

"Nahin!" she interjected. "Yeh mere bhaiyya hai".

She smiled at us for the photos. She seemed happy to see her photos. As we turned to go, we heard her voice from behind us:

"Hello! Me Ten Rupees".

We were stunned. Hariom was still looking disinterested in the whole episode.

Next to the hotel, there stands the Jaiwal Emporium selling marble handicrafts at very reasonable prices - so much that SS never bargained. Mr. Ajay Mathur, was quite an interesting person. A casual mention by SS of him being in Agra for one year, broke the ice. We stood there discussing about everything possible, from studies to photography to Shakespeare.

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Day 5 - Agra

Meru refused us a cab to reach the New Delhi station at 4:30 AM - probably because the distance was not worth getting paid for. The rickshaw ride was freezing. We ended up at the Ajmeri Gate entrance, which meant that we had to cross 16 platforms with all our baggage, to catch the train.

The New Delhi-Bhopal Shatabdi is the fastest train in India. It covers the Delhi-Agra stretch in 2 hours flat. The train was mighty impressive, with Euro-style interiors and big long windows, but not as smooth or noiseless. It started with an all mighty jerk that woke me up. Adding to the noise was the unruly French kid in front, who kept getting spanked by his father.

At 9:00 AM, Sadar Bazar was empty. There were no breakfast places open - another day with biscuits. Hotel Pawan - run by mallus - was not as shady as the one in Delhi. The room was quite large - enough to accommodate items of furniture. But in Delhi, we had 24 hours of hot water supply. Here, the water was only lukewarm, and Agra was definitely colder than Delhi.

During this trip, we are yet to come across a place serving "Child Beer". But Agra offers quite a few gems of its own. The Mama Franky chain of fast food outlets seems to be quite a hit here in Sadar Bazaar, with stalls selling soups, vegetarian food and non-vegetarian food. Their breakfast specialties include 'Cofee', 'Tost Batter Jaam', 'Kone Falex', 'Chease Peeza' and 'Oniun Kapsikum Peeza'. With the stall opening at only 12:00 PM, there was no scope for us to eat from there. But the kebabs they served in the evening were better than the ones at the much-hyped Karim's.

Agra Fort i many ways, reminds me of Amber. This was one of the most significant fort in the history of the country. The entrance is skewed - deliberately intended at confusing the attacking enemy. Guides swarm the gate. You could get them in any language - German, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, you name it. I wondered if they could speak Esperanto. Inside, one of them was trying hard to explain to a lady: "Look, you don't understand. This is the Agra Fort. This is not the Red Fort. The Red Fort is in Delhi."

On the right sprawls out the elaborate Jahangiri Mahal - the logical starting point for the tour. Leading to the entrance, you can spot a large pot, allegedly used for bathing. As you step through the ornate courtyard onto the terrace, you reach the outer wall that skirts the bank of the Yamuna. On the left, the long and famed Yamuna Bridge carries the rail line from Agra Fort station, across the river to Kanpur. On the right, the river bends to fondle the mighty Taj Mahal. It was my first glipse of the white marble dome of the famed monument.

From the Jahangiri Mahal, you step through various buildings, as the material of construction changes from red sandstone to white marble once you reach the palaces of Shah Jahan. Shah Jahan's Mahal, the Diwan-i-Khas and the Sheesh Mahal are all majestically impressive. An exquisite garden (though not as impressive as the one in Amber), is laid out in front of the Sheesh Mahal (again, unlike the one in Amber, there are hardly any mirrors here). In these quarters, Shah Jahan was imprisoned by Aurangazeb for eight years, before he died looking fondly at his beloved Taj far away. Looking at the exquisite interiors, SS remarked: "This is just house arrest. When you have such luxury, it cannot be called imprisonment!"

Too many pretty firang girls were around, and not surprisingly, an equal number of local boys loitering around, to get their pictures clicked with them. Notable among the foerign crowd were four Chinese girls, for their antics - posing inside the Nagina Masjid and inside Akbar's masoleum at Sikandra as if they were on a photoshoot for a glamour magazine.

There are no restaurants either inside or outside the fort. Shady food joints throng the outer gate. We picked up one at random and had an immensely forgettable and tasteless veg thali. The auto-rickshaw ride to Sikandra was more adventurous. The driver was honking away to glory, dodging high speed vehicles on the Mathura highway, trying to do a speed test on his vehicle. Sikandra, the resting place of Emperor Akbar, was much similar to all the tombs we'd seen - immensely beautiful and filled with courting couples. It was better maintained than some of the other tombs - perhaps it was owed to one of the greatest kings of India.

Next to our hotel, is the store recommended by Mudit - Panchhi. We bought a kilo of Paan Petha for ourselves. They are delicious!

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Day 4 - Qutb Minar and Chandni Chowk

Up early at 7:30, the bus to Mehrauli was exceptionally crowded, and i had to stand half the way. The slightly aged gentleman next to me was irksome. He kept glaring and grumbling at anyone who brushed past him, with expected results. The conductor kept exhorting people to move up front, to no avail - an unexplained phenomenon in India, where in buses, the travellers tend to congregate at the back door.

We were early at the Qutb Minar. There was hardly anyone around. Much of the place, except the Minar, the Alai Gate and the iron pillar are in ruins. There were women working, probably to restore the place. Their children cleverly accost the tourists and beg for money - something that is prohibited in monuments that come under the purview of the Archaeological Survey of India. Fortunately, the guard on duty spotted them and warned the women - probably to no avail.

The minar looks imposing against the sky. Aircrafts whizzing past to the nearby airport, seem as if they have to dodge the tower. The top two stories are made of marble. Sadly, you can never go up the minar now. Our memories of it is limited to Dev Anand wooing Nutan in the song "Dil Ka Bhanwar Kare Pukar". Nearby stands the famed "rustless" iron pillar, though when seen close enough, it had a reddish tinge. In the past, people who used to come here, would try to embrace it with their arms stretched backwards. Thankfully, now they have put up a barricade. Built by Chandragupta, reputedly, many kings have tried to destroy the pillar with their weapons, with little success. They have thence tried to put their stamp of authority on it - evident from the name "Mohammed Akbar" scratched upon the base of the pillar. The enclosure around it sports the distinct style of Hindu architecture, indicating that perhaps the complex was built by destroying an existing structure.

Opposite to the Qutb Minar stands a ruin, that reminded me of the Devil's Tower in Wyoming. Not many are aware that Alauddin Khilji wanted to build a minar of his own, that would stand twice as tall as the Qutb Minar. He could complete only one story before his death , the ruin of which stands today as the Alai Minar.

The highlight of our time at the Qutb was an enterprising squirrel. As we sat on a bench munching biscuits for breakfast, he appeared from behind and was soon sitting next to us on the bench. For a person who had spent an entire day chasing squirrels in Lal Bagh, this was a surprise. The moment i pointed my camera at him, he jumped off. But soon he was back, sitting with us. This process was repeated a few times over.

Food had never tasted better during the past four days. We were at the famed Chandni Chowk. It was probably the best jalebi I had ever tasted in my life. Fat, juicy and deep fried, "Jalebiwala" at the famed Chandni Chowd is not well-known for nothing. The samosas at Haldiram's were hot and spicy. Across the street from them was "Ghantewala", the "best mithai shop in India" according to the Times Food Guide. True to their name, they had a big bell hung at the entrance. Two big fat rasagollas did not whet our appetite. We headed for the Parathewali Gali where you can taste a multitude of Parathas. We settled for a mixed vegetable paratha. This time, there wasn't room for more.

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Day 3 - Central Delhi: Raj Path and Humayun's Tomb

It was dark and foggy throughout. The dome of the Rashtrapati Bhavan was not visible from India Gate. The dull and cold morning meant that there were hardly people to bother us. The walk along the Raj Path till the Rashtrapati Bhavan was shelved. Instead, we headed for breakfast - of all the places in New Delhi - to Saravana Bhavan at the Connaught Place. SS became a huge fan of the mini tiffin. I had my full of the snacks available, since we were not sure when the next meal would arrive.

Our destination was Vijay Chowk, where all the babus are found. We came out of the metro just next to the statue of Govind Ballabh Pant. Huge red walls rose up behind it. Glancing through the holes in the wall, one could see a battalion of soldiers with tents set up inside the compound. This could only be the Parliament House. The security cover was impressive. No doubt, they informed us that entry was not allowed.

The back side (or whatever side) of the Parliament was open for photography (from the outside of course). Ahead of us was Vijay Chowk. A Chinese couple were busy clicking photos in all possible poses in front of the parliament. Ahead, we we were stopped by shrill whistles. The policeman at the junction was indicating us to go back. We wondered whether entry to Vijay Chowk was forbidden.

"Just stay here", said one of the passers-by, "The President is passing by, that's all. Just a useless lady, doesn't do anything, and she's got all the security in the world. Who would even kill her? Whoever came to kill, have killed and gone away...Where are you guys from?"

"Bangalore", we said.

"Bangalore is a good place," he continued, "Nice weather, famous for pubs. Why would you come to this god-forsaken place?"

We smiled.

Up ahead, the North and South Blocks rose up the sides of Raisina Hill. At the end of it stood the majestic Rashtrapati Bhavan. In the mist, it looked dull. The famous Mughal Gardens behind the place was open for visitors, but would be crowded, pointed out one of the passers-by. There were lots of people ogling at the building, and posing for pictures in front of the cannons.

"I want to go in, mummy," said a little girl. Mummy was not impressed.

"You can't, darling. This is the White House of India," she explained.

There was crowd aplenty at Humayun's Tomb - not only the foreigners, but also school kids - some of them well behaved, the others utterly uncouth. The school boys were ever after foreign ladies, some of them even boldly saying, "Hello, will you come with me?". A few children who were harassing two old ladies at the canteen were driven away by SS (I had been right about the 'next meal'. There was hardly anything available there). Add to these there were also a bunch of idiotic Americans, loud and boisterous, jumping up and down everywhere.

The place however was immensely beautiful. As you enter, on the right, a broken down arch leads to the tomb of Isa Khan built by Sher Shah Suri, predating the main tomb by 20 years. Sadly, the place is not well maintained and the tomb looks run-down. Humayun's tomb, by itself, is a beautiful structure. Set on a high pedestal, the red and white structure was the inspiration for the Taj Mahal. We spent a good four hours there, even sleeping on the grass for a good half hour, as trains hooted behind the tomb, at the Hazrat Nizamuddin station.

To the west lay Safdarjung's Tomb. The old rickshaw driver demanded 50 rupees. Feeling pity on him SS acceded to the demand. After a less-than-15-rupee ride, SS was incensed. Sometimes it doesn't pay to be pitiful.

Safdarjung's tomb is another hidden gem, as beautiful as Humayun's Tomb, but badly in need of renovation. The place is exclusively used by courting couples. Apart from the odd-firang clicking photos, we were the only tourists there. As we sat down reading the guide to plan for tomorrow, the guard approached us. He took up the opportunity to be our guide. "What do you know about the place?" he asked us, "Safdarjung, the governor of Oudh, was given a commission by the British. The hospital, airport and all the things on his name were built by the British." It was time to leave.

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Day 2 - Red Fort and Central Delhi

Delhi Metro Rocks! SS became an instant fan, the moment he saw the spanking stations and the trains. It is comparable to any world-class metro. There's a near-airport-like security at each station, with bags being screened an all. In some stations, people actually stand in line to board the train - at least until the train arrives. Our eyes lit up the moment we saw the metro map and spotted the station at the Qutb Minar. It was only later we realized that most of the lines in the map were under construction. We took a three day pass to travel as many times as we want.

As soon as you enter through the Lahore Gate at Red Fort, the first sight that greets you is a machine gun pointed at your chest. "What if that CSF soldier sneezes and accidentally fires that gun?" asked SS. The thought is scary - not that it would happen, but if it did, it would just be dismissed as a small price for our "security". The only ones to lose would be the near and dear ones of the victims. Security however, does not protect you from the stray dogs that wander around the Gate. Today, a large one took a liking to my camera bag. I had a real tough time driving it away.

The decision to start early morning at the Red Fort was both good and bad. There were none of those Tamil Champus in their weird costumes and poses obstructing our photos. We had the place to ourselves, to click as many photographs as we wanted. However, reaching early meant that there were no shops open inside the Fort - even the restaurant would open only at 11:00 AM. We had to do with biscuits for breakfast!

The handicrafts museum was a disappointment. After a lengthy post-lunch walk from Pragati Maidan metro station, the exhibits were just a few. A lot of impetus has been given for converting the place into a mini-market, where artists from various states produce and sell their wares. Jantar Mantar was no different. It pales in comparison to its illustrious cousin in Jaipur. There were only four main structures, not so well maintained. The most impressive of the four was the Misra Yantra, more famous for being the symbol of the 1982 Asian Games. There were some explanations given as to what it does, using words such as Meridian and Declination, all of made no sense to me. There was a moderate crowd (with usual mix of champus), who were more interested posing for photos on top of the various structures than on their functioning. The gardens around the place were full of couples busy fondling each other in a public show of affection. After all, it was Valentine's Day.

The situation was no different at Purana Quila. Manoj wanted me to click the photo of him and his girlfriend. He didn't have a camera of his own. I obliged happily, and have promised to send him the photo once i reach Bangalore. It was however, already evening when we stepped into Purana Quila. The only thing that interested us was the Sher Mandal - believed to the library from which Humayun fell to his death.

After the disappointment at Karim's yesterday, we were satisfied with two sumptuous meals on Connaught Place - lunch at Kwality's on Sansad Marg, and dinner at Punji Balluch, opposite to Palika Bazaar. Kwality's had a toned-down ambience, with sober interiors - like any fine-dining restaurant you would come across. Balluch was more colorful, and also decked up for Valentine's Day (with nobody threatening to marry off people over here). Both places were expensive, but the food was worth it. Perhaps we were aided by our hunger - developed through the long walks we had had during the day.

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Day 1 - Old Delhi - Juma Masjid and Red Fort

A narrow stair leads up amidst the shops selling car parts. At the top is the neat but small reception of New Palace Hotel. The room is shady as we expected. With two beds, there's just enough space to walk. A small television sits in one corner. The painting of a flower hangs from the dull green wall alongside a colorful clock. The tiny bathroom is neat enough. From downstairs come the unmistakable honking of vehicles from the street choked with traffic. Outside the balcony, the massive Juma Masjid rises up.

Yeh dilli hai mere yaar...Welcome to Delhi-6

There's a quaint romanticism to Old Delhi. Once you enter this place, you are no longer in the swanky capital city, with its huge buildings and skyscrapers. Life moves slowly here - thanks to the narrow congested roads. People still are in a hurry, as evident from the incessant honking of vehicles to keep the ones in front moving. Cars, rickshaws, cycles, bikes, men and goats - everyone's taken to the roads here. Shops joust for place along the roadside. Glancing up, you can see electric wires crisscrossing - reminding one of that famous mail about Kirchhoff's Law not being applicable to Indian cities.

Tucked into one of the alleys that spawn off these streets, is the famous Karim's Hotel - so famous that it is housed in four different rooms, all across the alley - and still, you have to wait for space. The effect of having a mention in Lonely Planet was evident, as there were an equal number of foreigners and locals. Our experience of a biryani was not really good - both because of the large quantity and because of a just-about-pleasant quality of the dish. The seekh kebabs were, however, quite tender and spicy.

Gate Number 1 of the Juma Masjid stands right opposite to this street. There is one of those wooden contraptions that pass by the name of a metal detector. As expected, it never beeped. As we headed in with our shoes in hand, a gentleman stopped us, pointing to my camera and a notice stuck up there - each camera ticket cost 200 bucks. That was a first in India for me - not the presence of a ticket, but the fact that it costs up to 200 bucks.

The interior was majestic! On the left rose up the magnificent facade of the huge mosque. A vast courtyard stretched in front with three gates at its three sides. A small pond adorned the middle of the square. Children were running around, sometimes creating ripples in the water with their hands, young girls in anarkali-esque costumes were coyly posing for photos, and foreigners in their polka-dot attire were going gaga everywhere. One of them even posed before the Masjid, folding her hands in a namaste sign. With me being busy tinkering my camera, (as always) SS was everyone's favourite choice for having their photos clicked with their own cameras. From the steps leading down from Gate 2, looking eastwards, it is difficult to miss the massive walls of the Red Fort.

"We'll have dinner at the Red Fort", i pointed out to SS.

"Yeah, sure", he said.

"You'll get Lal Quila Basmati Rice there...", I beamed.

For a moment he was silent. "Saala! Pakadke maaroonga tereko!" SS retorted back.

It was almost 5 when we reached the Red Fort. The sound and light show was scheduled only for 8:30. After much deliberation, we decided to skip it. There was a massive security check to get in to the Red Fort. For the first time, that wooden metal detector thingie worked - as i discovered when the guy behind me, a little overanxious to get in, pushed me into it (an act for which he got more than a mouthful from the security guard). However, the guard at the baggage checking point was lax. He never even bothered to have a look at the tripod inside my bag.

At the Diwan-I-Am, we were invaded by a horde of Tamilian tourists, who wanted to be everywhere at the same time. Photography was turning out to be difficult, added to the fact that i was prohibited from using the tripod. After a few shots in the dark, we moved on towards the backside, where is situated the majestic Rang Mahal, the Diwan-i-Khas and other splendid structures. The hordes were moving quite slowly, making photography even more difficult, but at the same time, giving enlightening information from guides and all-knowing parents. One mother pointed to the Khas Mahal, informing her son about how some badshah had built the place. She was not sure which badshah, but it was the guy who was featured in "Jodhaa-Akbar".

A group of foreigners were staring at the magnificent marble arches of the Diwan-I-Khas.

"Look at the marble slab in the middle," said the guide, "that is where the beautiful peacock throne used to be".

"Oh! where is it now?" asked one of the ladies.

"That is not here anymore. It was plundered by Nadir Shah!" replied the guide, "You should read the paper."

I'll check the paper tomorrow for any news on Nadir Shah plundering Delhi.

The Tandoori Kebabs that we had in Karim's at night were good. Shetty confessed that he had eaten better ones. I have a lack of experience in this matter.

Pic of the day: Afternoon break