Excuse the prose-y introduction, but Old Delhi is a good story.

The old man silently approached me at the steps of the antiquated mosque, whip in hand. He stood silently, watching as I joked with my friends. And then, when the time was right, he struck.

The story begins at the Connaught Place Metro Station. Some of Megan’s coworkers and I had begun our journey into ancient Shahjahanibad, the city of the great Mughal ruler from the mid 16th century. After purchasing our tickets (which are these really cool little circular “chips” – they look a little like thick blue coins) we made our way to the metro.

Metros in Delhi are much more high class than anything I have seen anywhere else. The stations are all air conditioned, as are the rail cars. As if that weren’t enough, they actually keep it clean, both in the terminal and in the car. Security is tight here. They split you into two lines, one for males and one for females, and send you through a metal detector. Then they search you, which involves, at the very least, patting your pockets and running a small metal detector over your body. Then comes the bag search – every pocket searched, every metal object described. Then you swipe your ticket, and you’re good to go.

After taking the metro between two stops whose names I didn’t understand (because they were in Hindi), we arrived in Shahjahanibad, or Old Delhi. Imagine New York, only twice as dirty, more crowded, and with only brown-skinned people and Hindi signs, and you’ve got a decent picture. Dodging large automobiles whizzing by us at lightning speeds, we slowly made our way towards the Red Fort.

We go to the Fort and purchase tickets, then make our way inside. It’s a hassle, and there’s almost as much security as the metro station. Once we make it into the outer fort, we’re greeted with shops and other touristy things. Inside of that is a garden, and then the checkpoint where we hand them our tickets. Unfortunately, the tickets we bought were all for Indians only, and we somehow can’t convince them I’m a native, so we wind up going back and paying about 10 times as much for a set of foreigner tickets for me and Megan.

The Red Fort was Shah Jahan’s abode while he ruled India, and is as extravagant as you would expect it to be. Everything is as open air as possible – the Shah’s throne is located in a throne room that is open on three sides, and even the bedchambers have no doors and many entrances. To walk from one part of the palace to another takes you out under open sky. Water plays a key role here – it’s scarcity in Indian culture makes its presence in this fort all that more extravagant. Water begins by flowing through the center of each bedroom, making its way to a central area before it filters slowly down to a fountain in the center of the courtyard. There are multiple museums here, and we go to two of them – an archaeology and a war museum, both with artifacts dating back as early as the 14th century.

Upon exiting the fort, we take a bicycle rickshaw (yes, I have gotten BACK INTO those things, and not just once, either) towards the Jama Masjid – the largest mosque in all of India. We exit the rickshaws, and are there, at the mosque. While we are deciding whether to ask the rickshaw drivers to wait on us or not, an old, grizzled man sneaks up on us with a whip. I turn in surprise.

“You want whip?” He asks. “It’s camel leather.”

I hold it in my hand. “Looks nice,” I say, and then ask how much it costs. “kitna?”

“Only 450 rupees” (11.25 USD) he says. My entire group snickers. I politely say no, and we move up the steps of the Mosque, with him following comically in tow asking how much I would pay for it.

At one point, he stops and looks confused for moment. “Wait. What are you doing at a mosque?” He asks my friends in Hindi.

“What would we be doing with a whip?” they reply, then laugh as we continue up the steps.

The mosque is an experience unto itself. Separate from the hubbub of the Old Delhi streets, it is quiet, peaceful, and serene. There is a water fountain in the center of the courtyard, where people in white robes sit and wash themselves. A flock of birds fly around and land as they please, their cawing adding to the peacefulness found inside these walls. To come in, we are asked to put on long skirts so our legs are not bare, and take off our shoes. We comply willingly. They also ask us to pay 200 rupees to bring in our cameras. No such luck. We finally decide on leaving two people behind with the cameras and sending everyone else in to the mosque.

After moving through the inside of the courtyard, we reach a building that is open on one end. Inside, my feet feel cool on the marble floor, and I watch 20 or so Muslims kneel, their arms and torsos moving up and down as they worship towards Mecca.

After paying some money, we climb to one of the tall towers located at each corner of the mosque. The steps are narrow, dark, and steep, and every time we come upon someone going down, we are forced to flatten ourselves against the side and hope that they missed lunch today. When we finally get to the top, the view is outstanding, and you can see all of Delhi. The people, though, are not as outstanding, and it is in fact the most crowded place you can imagine. I manage to weasel my way to the side of the tower for the best view, and before I know it I am pressed up against the grate unable to move because there is literally no room for anyone else out here.

I’m fine with it for a moment, but after a while I get tired of this and so I spend a good two minutes turning myself into a position to push away from the wall. Once that happens I use my elbows a little, and in about five minutes I have walked the 3 feet to the stairs. Back down, then out, and then on to the Street Food Tour.

The Street Food Tour is almost what you’d expect it to be. We meet my coworkers and head to Dellihaat, an open air tourist market. There, lined up in a row, are eateries from most states in India. Not the most sanitary places in the world necessarily, but good enough. And I don’t think these guys really understand exactly what we can and can’t eat.

We got food from two places – South Indian and Rajastani. I was still hungry, but at that point it was worth not getting anything more just to keep from dealing with the awkwardness that was paying. I half get the feeling that everybody is being paid to entertain us because they’re being so generous, but I don’t want to push too hard to pay for things for fear of offending anybody. I managed to get them to let me buy some things with a little persuasion, but still...

Anshum’s sister took Megan to get some gifts and a Henna tattoo, and the guys went drinking. Apparently Anshum’s sister is very good at bargaining. Megan says it was a sight to see, sort of like a catfight, and I can only wish I had been there.

We took a cab back to NOIDA, and I’m going to pass out. Tomorrow we decided to go to Akshardam temple. From the looks of it, that might be another post on its own.