A Tourist In My Own City

View from the Minaret: Behind the Gate is Meena Bazar

The best part about vacations is playing a tourist, probably more than visiting a new place. Tourists are curious creatures- they wear fanny packs and white baseball caps, they ooh and aah at modes of transportation, marvel at the garbage dumps and worry about germs when eating Gol Gappas. Maybe only because they are paying to see this new place and have to rationalize their decision.

The undeniable truth is almost anything is forgiven when you are a stranger to the land- ignorance of food, customs, cultures, the inability to navigate the roads and constantly and irritatingly asking for directions. Being a tourist lends you a cloak of anonymity, an “I-don’t-care” attitude, and a less than usual consideration for public opinion.

So, when a friend suggested we play tourists in Delhi, and actually go inside monuments and heritage sites, we are usually content to admire from afar, walk past or reminisce about as locations of school picnics. I was daunted, his days in Delhi are numbered, mine are not. He may be able to justify spending perfectly good weekends inside historical monuments, jostling with real tourists, looking at obnoxiously smug honey-mooners. He will be gone but I will be here, at the business end of all the pointing and laughing. So after countless rounds of attempted cancellations, inventing unforeseen circumstances and praying for rains, even my fertile imagination ran out of fuel. A plan was made. To visit Old Delhi.

Chandni Chowk is definitely a “must-see” place for any tourist in Delhi, and for any Delhiite, it is “hope-not-see-it-very-often”. The world famous Jalebis are served next to freshly dug-out sewage, you tend to find yourself sitting next to obnoxiously smug, lassi chugging Punjabis at Durga Prasad Dixit Paranthe wala. If your kidney, lung and liver are still in place after the rickshaw ride through the tight katras, you are amongst the chosen few. The blindingly sparkling, sequins and what not studded sarees, make shopping an experience best to be avoided.

A non-GPS enabled navigation to Jama Masjid, found us in middle of the Sunday Market at Meena Bazar, discovering our way through thousands of shoppers, permanently on-going Metro construction, uncles trying to mow you down with their 30 year old scooters , was a feat that would have done Dora proud.

Though, Jama Masjid itself was a revelation. There is a certain escapist peace here, notwithstanding the funny mumu-type-thing clad foreigners and the loud guides. The long and terrifying climb to the minaret is aptly rewarded with an unparalleled view of the old Delhi. Amidst the bustle , the heat and the frenetic energy of Old Delhi- Jama Masjid is an oasis of cool calm. The simplicity of its construction and austerity of its form belies its religious and historic significance.  

Playing a tourist in your own city, might sound like the bohemian chic thing to do, recommended by most wannabe society posers without real jobs . And while there is a most definite “only-in-Delhi” charm to these unique settings and cast of characters, deep down inside I am just a weekend vegetable, a constructive weekend might just be a weekend spent doing nothing at all.