Our hired driver arrived in the late morning to drive us first to Old Delhi. Emily and I wanted to visit the Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India. Our driver dropped us off at the end of a street filled with stands selling everything you could think of which led up to the stairs to the mosque.
We ascended the stairs to enter the mosque. As we approached, we were stopped by a man who was manning the entrance. He told us that it was 400RS to enter the mosque; however, we knew from our Lonely Planet book that the mosque was free. We told him this, and he changed his tune. It became instead just 200RS for a camera. This was unsurprising as most places in India charge you to take photos. Although I had my camera, I didn’t really want to take pictures inside the mosque. I only wanted to walk around and appreciate the architecture and tranquility of the sacred space. Unfortunately, the men guarding the entrance had other ideas. I explained that I didn’t want to take pictures and put my camera away. They said that I was lying and that I would take pictures and so I must pay the 200RS. I insisted that I would not, showed them that it was put away, and Emily and I tried to enter. They blocked our path and yelled at us again that we were lying about the camera and that we must pay 200RS. Emily and I had passed a state security officer at the bottom of the stairs, and so we decided to walk back down to check with him about the situation. He said that there definitely was not an entrance fee but that there was probably a charge for the camera. I explained that I didn’t want to use the camera; I just wanted to go in. He said it wasn’t a problem and sent us back up the stairs. Just to be safe, I slipped my camera into a hidden zippered pocket in my pants (thank goodness for fabulous travelling pants from REI!), and Emily and I tried again. The men again yelled at us about the camera and demanded to check our bags and pockets. We turned them inside out and showed them that we didn’t have a camera. He again yelled that I must have it, and I lied, telling him that our driver was at the bottom of the stairs and that I left my camera with the driver. He finally bought the story (after telling Emily that it would be a 1000RS fine if she used her iPhone to take photos) and reluctantly allowed us to pass – but not before insisting that we put on these ridiculous hospital gown looking robes to cover ourselves, even though we were dressed more conservatively than some of the Indian Muslim women in the mosque. Once inside, we noticed that they made all foreigners, men and women, wear these robes. We assume that the robes served as an easy identifier of foreigners to the mosque workers so they could demand to see a ticket of proof of the 200RS paid if someone was taking pictures. To be honest, I don’t even remember what the mosque looked like inside or if I thought it was beautiful. I was too pissed and annoyed by the treatment by the men at the gate. This was not an auspicious start to our few hours in Old Delhi.
After exiting the mosque through a different gate than the one through which we entered, we walked to Nai Sarak Marg – a street famous for its stationary stores. Every single store on this street sells stationary: wedding invitations, envelopes, cards, everything. Emily and I looked around a few stores before stopping into one to buy some envelopes with blank inserts. When we returned to the street about 20 minutes later, a huge traffic jam had developed and total gridlock ensued. The sidewalks had also become packed with people, mostly men, and the walk down the street quickly became uncomfortable. A man sitting on a curb tried to grab at Emily, and we walked as fast as possible back towards our driver’s parking spot. Needless to say, Emily and I did not have a positive experience in Old Delhi.
After the craziness of the morning, we decided to play it low key for the afternoon. We went to the National Museum of India, which was fantastic, and then got lunch at McDonald’s. Yes, McDonald’s. It was surprisingly good. I had a McAloo Tikki and we split a large fry. We then spent the rest of the late afternoon at Humayan’s Tomb, the mausoleum of a Mughal emperor who died in the sixteenth century. It was quiet and serene and a welcome change from the craziness of the streets of Delhi.
Emily and I spent a lot of time walking around the ground of Humayan’s Tomb and then we just sat for awhile on one of the walls, talking. Before long, it was time to head to the airport. Emily’s Kingfisher Air flight to Mumbai was at 9:40pm, and my Air France flight to Paris was at 1:45am. Fortunately, we were in the same terminal (although through different security and gate areas) and so we were able to grab dinner at the in the airport at Costa Coffee. When she left to pass through security on the domestic side of the terminal, a wave of sadness overcame me and my eyes filled with tears. I probably won’t see her again until September, and I felt as though there was so much we didn’t talk about. I cherish the time we spent together in India – not only because it was just the two of us travelling together without significant others or family or because it was such a unique and memorable experience. No. I feel privileged to finally see my sister in the country that is such a significant part of her life. My sister lives and breathes India. It is an integral part of who she is, and if I am allowed only one thing to be grateful for, it is to have been given a brief glimpse of that piece of Emily’s life. I appreciate having the opportunity to share in the experience that is India with Emily and of connecting with her on a different level than I have done in the past. It is a feeling I will treasure forever.
I boarded my flight at 1am, leaving India feeling exhausted but happy. It was a whirlwind experience, but one I will never forget.
