Republic Day

My last day in Delhi, and it's a holiday. I've got my train ticket to Chandigarh, a relatively easy procedure thanks to the International Tourists Bureau at the station near my hotel. I bought myself a chenille throw: the only way people stay warm here is to wrap themselves with fabrics and blankets. Chandigarh is north of Delhi at the very foot of the Himalayas and I expect it to be cold. I saw a 3-D relief map today of flat India against the sudden extreme height of the Himalayas and I'm in awe. I hope I have time to go up to one of the hill stations nearby.

Shops are shuttered for Republic Day today and security is tight. The Red Fort has been closed all week and today entrances to Pahar Ganj neighborhood were blocked off with metal detectors and guards who search every person's bags no matter how long it takes. The internet places won't let you on until you give up your passport. And many streets are pedestrians only today. I haven't seen any celebrations yet, but a couple nights ago a marching band was going up and down the streets by my hotel, drumming at first in a rhythmic beat with trumpets blaring a tune, then turning into a ridiculous, chaotic banging and shouting, a bit of hysteria in their joy. There are some serious formal parades inside the Fort today, which I'm not daring to try to get to, for fear of being trampled, shoved, turned away or whatever else could possibly happen to a small person like me.

Instead, I'm taking my time, walking the streets, observing. Here's what I saw today: I saw a cow pee right behind some policemen who looked, but didn't seem to mind even though I suspect they might've been splashed on. I saw a mini-accident where a car and motorcycle collided (gently) head-on. No one was hurt, so they just re-arranged their driving positions and moved along. Ladies get henna on the streets- a man squirts the dark jelly from a tube onto their hands in curly flowery designs. Another lady was curled up in her own sari, sleeping on a wooden pallet at the market. A man stepped up on the pallet and tilted it suddenly so the sleeping woman almost rolled right off. Everything , every corregated metal roof, tarp roof is covered in a thick layer of settled pollution, everything brown brown, grey brown. A street vendor meticulously arranged bangles for sale in lime green, red and gold, hot pink. The old fashioned bangles were made of glass, which women wore tens of for the clink-clang sound until they broke. Nowadays they're made of resin and have a different kind of jingle I think. I found some old thick glass bangles at a store that sells old things, called Obscure Arts in Jodhpur and bought a couple.

On my walk through Pahar Ganj, the electrical wires in a ridiculous webby tangle above the streets hang sometimes only a couple feet above my head. A man on the street was dying fabric in a small pot over a fire, then draping it over the low hanging wires to dry. I watched as a long piece of chiffon was pulled out of the pot, half lemon yellow, half a brilliant fluorescent pink.

I stopped for jalebis at a stand where they drizzle a sugary batter into a huge wok of oil heated over a fire, the jalebis coming out as crispy, super-sweet, saffron-infused candy swirls. I ate as much as I could and just as I wasn't sure what to do with the rest (no garbage cans, of course) a beggar with his little boy held out his hand to me. I gently offered my jalebi and they looked pleased. I smiled, glad nothing went to waste.

Outside the sweets shops, the ground is littered with leaf plates, coming apart, turning to dust. These are their disposable wares: half bowl, half plate, they use no glue, just a few leaves overlapping, pressed with a vice into shape, secured with by a few quick stitches of the stem. They hold together long enough for you to finish your kheer- a soupy rice pudding with cardamom and pistacio. You can litter these all you want, no harm, it's just leaves!