To Mughal Sarai and Sarnath: Uttar Pradesh Part 1

A Train Across Uttar Pradesh and the City where The Buddha Gave his First Sermon

17-Feb-2013

Leaving Delhi

India

Delhi

At 20.10, precisely on time, the Magadh express pulled out of New Delhi station. We were travelling in the second class A/C sleeper, not that the A/C was needed in February. All reserved carriages have a seating list pasted up by the entrance. Last time we used an Indian train Lynne had been assigned seat number 61 in a 60 seat carriage. This time there was no such problem.

As in other sleeper trains we have used (in China, Russia, Vietnam and Mongolia) we were in a four berth compartment, but unlike them we were only divided from the corridor by a curtain.

Leaving the curtains open we watched the vendors wandering up and down selling snacks and Indian railway dinners. Mohammed had been insistent that we should take a picnic, so we had dutifully bought some samosas from the bakery; it was a shame, they looked less appetizing than the railway meals.

There were chai wallahs, too, with their distinctive cry. For reasons which may not be entirely rational, I found the thought of real Indian chai wallahs selling real Indian chai unreasonably exciting. We stopped one and he took two small paper cups from his stack, popped a teabag in each and then, holding the urn between his knees, filled the cup not with hot water, but a sweetened mixture of milk and water. It was a very small paper cup, but for seven rupees (10p) each it would be churlish to complain. The resulting beverage bears little relationship to anything we would normally think of as tea, but taken on its own terms it is pleasantly refreshing – and very sweet.

18-Feb-2013

Into Uttar Pradesh

Uttar Pradesh

Leaving Delhi we entered the state of Uttar Pradesh (literally: Northern Province) where we would spend the rest of this trip. During the British Raj it was called United Provence, so it has always been known as UP. It is India’smost populous state with 200 million people crammed into an area barely twice the size of England. Looking out of the window we discovered that, despite the dense population, rural UP after dark is very dark indeed.

Mughal Sarai and Sarnath are close to Varanasi at the eastern end of our journey
The coloured lines show our route back to Delhi with 3 intermediate stops, not the route of the railway

I would not say that the Indian train was dirtier than others we have used, and the bedding supplied by the attendant was freshly laundered, but it was certainly scruffier and looked more battered and well-used.

A further difference was that the corridor was narrower and beyond it was another row of bunks set along the bulkhead. Other overnight trains have wider corridors with folding seats. You have to move when anyone wants to go past, but at least there is a place to sit. We had been allocated top bunks which meant that when the inhabitants of the lower bunks made up their beds we had no option but to retire 'upstairs' and read for a while, and then sleep - or attempt to.

UP in daylight - full of people and tuk-tuks

Normally I have little problem sleeping on a gently rocking train. The Magadh Express, however, seemed to spend half the night stopped, and the other half blowing its hooter. Approaching trains too would announce their arrival, and although I enjoyed the dramatic demonstration of the Doppler Effect, once would have been enough. And my bunk was too short; however hard I pressed my head against the wall, my feet overhung the end. It was the last bunk in the carriage, so every time somebody came or went they gave my toes a good scrape with the door.

UP in daylight - full of people and tuk-tuks

We should have arrived at Mughal Sarai at 7.45, but at that time we were entering Allahabad, 150 km short of our destination. It was here, the week before, that 30 people had been crushed to death in a stampede. Millions were attending the nearby Kumbh Mela - we would join them in a couple of days - and for many Allahabad station is the way in and out. At that hour in the morning, despite recent tragedies, it seemed quiet if not entirely calm.

Rural Uttar Pradesh with the almost inevitable concrete works

We shared two Indian railways breakfast, one veg (a vegetable patty), and one non-veg (an omelette). They were good, though not very large.

Mughal Serai

The Magadh Express is officially a ‘superfast train’. It is scheduled to complete its 1000 km journey at an average speed of 56 km/h - if that is ‘superfast’, a slow train could be overtaken by a glacier. It has been downgraded since a new service opened to Patna, the state capital of Bihar, and now regularly runs some 4 hour late. We arrived at Mughal Sarai, the end of our journey though the train still has some 280 km to go, two and a half hours late, which according to Indian Railway’s remarkably honest website is 45 minutes better than average.

Rural Uttar Pradesh through the window of a train

As we approached Mughal Sarai the trackside was lined with dwellings, some of corrugated iron, others little more than tents. Mughal Sarai is a small town but its station boasts the largest marshalling yard in Asia, a sort of Crewe with added monkeys.

We were met by a young man called Shashank and shown to a waiting car. We soon realised we had not just left Delhi, but had returned to an older India, an India of bullock carts, ramshackle market stalls spilling across the street and children and animals running wild. We had also arrived in a much warmer India, though that had more to do with the passing of a weather front than our new location.

A Very Brief Visit to Varanasi

Varanasi (formerly ‘Benares’) sits on the northern bank of the Ganges some 14 km from Mughal Sarai. It will be the subject of the next post, but on this visit we just crossed the river and drove to our hotel. The Hotel Ganges View is on the western tip of the city, so although we could not avoid a little entanglement in the traffic, it was nothing to what we would see later. An old wooden building rising up from the side of the city’s westernmost ghat, it really did offer Ganges views from the roof terrace and the balconies that ran the length of the building. It is a place of great charm, and we were warmly welcomed. It was a good place to stay, and will be even better when the management finally decide whether they want to run a hippie’s retreat or a boutique hotel.

The River Ganges from the Ganges View Hotel

Varanasi to Sarnath

After a shower and a quick lunch we met Ajay and his driver Parveen who would take us across town to Sarnath.

Varanasi is a city of 1.5 million people with the infra-structure of a village. The roads are narrow and the traffic moves, when it moves at all, at the pace of the tuk-tuks and cycle rickshaws that dominate the streets. Traffic lights are ignored, probably because they are permanently on red in all directions. There are several roundabouts, but instead of going round them, those wishing to turn right cut across to the right; indeed there are policemen directing them to do so. The rush hour lasts for fourteen hours and traffic is usually stationary with drivers leaning on their horns. The police look at it, tap their lathis against their shins, smooth down their luxuriant moustaches and shrug their shoulders.

I do not know how long it took to drive the 14 km to Sarnath, but a cyclist on an uncluttered cycle path could have got there and back in the time, and there and back again with a little effort.

Sarnath, where The Buddha Gave his First Sermon

Around 500 BC Gautama Siddhartha achieved enlighten after a long meditation under a Bodhi tree near what is now the town of Bodh Gaya. After seven weeks consideration of the nature of this enlightenment the Buddha, as he now was, walked the 250 Km to Sarnath where he met up with his disciples and first taught about the eightfold path.

The Damekh Stupa

The Damekh stupa marks the spot where this is believed to have happened. The base dates from 250 BC. There were a series of enlargements over the years and later some robbing of the stone for other building projects. Buddhism has all but died out in the land of its birth and the stupa has not always been treated with proper respect, not least by invading Mughals.

Damekh Stupa, Sarnath

There may have been few local visitors, but the site attracts pilgrims from far and wide. We passed a group of Sri Lankan pilgrims, who sat quietly on the ground to be lectured by their accompanying monk while other monks walked clockwise round the stupa. As in Myanmar, squares of gold leaf have been stuck haphazardly onto the brickwork, despite signs asking people not to.

Sri Lankan pilgrims at the Damekh Stupa, Sarnath

Nearby are the remains of the house where Buddha spent the first rainy season after his enlightenment….

In the house where the Buddha spent the rainy season, Sarnath

Ashoka's Pillar

…and in front of that is a shattered stone pillar, which is far more important than it looks.

Lynne by Ashoka's Pillar, Sarnath

The Mauryian dynasty ruled most of the sub-continent from 322 – 185 BC. The empire reached its greatest extent under Ashoka, who started his rule as Ashoka the Cruel and ended it as Ashoka the Great. Troubled by the carnage in his victory over the state of Kalinga he embraced Buddhism and gradually turned his empire from militarism into a land of peace. His edicts were inscribed on stone pillars some 10 to 15 metres high. It is not known how many there were, but 19 survive some, like that at Sarnath, in a fragmentary state.

The remains of Ashoka's Pillar, Sarnath

The Sarnath pillar was originally surmounted by a lion capital which is now the centrepiece of the excellent Sarnath museum. No photography was allowed inside, so this picture, by Raj Verma, is scanned from a postcard. The capital sustained some damage when the pillar was smashed, but that is largely hidden in the photograph. It was once surmounted by a Wheel of Dharma known as the Chakra of Ashoka, but only fragments have been recovered.

The Lion Capital, Sarnath Museum
(picture: Raj Verma)

The importance of the lion capital to India’s self-image cannot be overstated. Indian banknotes differ in size and colour but they all have the same design on the front. There is a portrait of Ghandi (ironic considering he was hardly driven by the accumulation by wealth)....

100 Rupee note

… and in the bottom left hand corner is the lion capital.

The Lion capital on a 100 Rupee note

The wheel beneath the lion’s feet has been incorporated into the national flag and into the emblem of Delhi, The National Capital Territory.

We left Sarnath with the feeling that we had visited somewhere special. There is something about Sarnath that feels holy, and it is not only sacred to Buddhists but also to Jains as it the birthplace of the 11th Tirthankara.

Sarnath: A monk meditates by the Damekh Stupa with a Jain temple in the background

Nearby, Varanasi is a major Hindu holy city, so there must be something in the water. It was to Varanasi and the Holy Mother Ganges we went next.

Delhi and Uttar Pradesh

Part 1 Delhi (1) Mainly Old Delhi but some New Delhi too

 Part 2 Delhi (2) some Old Things around New Delhi

Part 3 To Mughal Sarai and Sarnath

Part 4 Varanasi

Part 5 Allahabad and the Kumbh Mela
Part 6 Allahabad (2) A Bit of Foot-slogging
Part 7 Lucknow (1) City of Nawabs
Part 8 Lucknow (2) La Martinière College and the British Residency
Part 9 Agra and the Taj Mahal
Part 10 Fatehpur Sikri

Delhi (2) New Delhi: From the Qutb Minar to Connaught Place

New Delhi from the 12th Century to the Present Day

The Morning Newspaper

India

Delhi

In the morning the Sunday Times was pushed under our door. The Times of India, and the other national English language dailies, may be a little dull but, unlike much of the British press, they report news stories without twisting them to fit a political agenda and clearly separate news from opinions, which are generally measured, thoughtful and not given to populist ranting. They are also written in delightful Indian English in which criminals are ‘nabbed’, opponents are ‘squelched’ and middle-aged women attend ‘kitty parties’.

The paper also brought a selection of advertising fliers. I wondered if the restaurant calling itself Delhi Belly had fully understood the implications of its name.

The Tomb of Humayun

We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast before Vik arrived to show us New Delhi. Driving into town we noticed, not for the first time, that Delhi has far more pigeons than is good for it. This problem is hardly unique to Delhi, but nowhere have we seen so many people intent on feeding the vermin. Small squares were inches deep in bird seed, and we watched a man pouring a bottle of milk into a bird bath like structure. ‘It gives him good karma,’ Vik explained. ‘And ensures plenty of pigeon faeces for everyone,’ I thought.

The weather was still cold and drizzly as we again drove through expensive residential streets before arriving at Humayun’s tomb on the edge of Lutyens’ planned modern city.

Drizzle at the entrance to Humayun's Tomb

It is easy to feel sorry for Humayun, the second Mughal emperor. His father Babur founded the empire, his son Jalal Ud-din became known as Akbar (The Great) and Humayun… well, he came in between. Ascending the throne on his father’s death in 1530, he lost the empire to the Pashtun Sher Shah Suri ten years later and did not regain it until 1555 when Suri was dead and a clutch of lesser lights were squabbling over his sultanate. A year later he fell down the steps in his library and died.

Humauyun's Tomb

It is probably no consolation that Humayun has the finest tomb of all the Mughal emperors (except for his great-grandson Shah Jahan, who is buried in the Taj Mahal, though that is not specifically ‘his tomb’). Commissioned by his first wife, and designed by a Persian architect, Humayun’s tomb was the first in India to be set in a Persian Garden of Paradise, a style which would reach its peak at the Taj Mahal.

Humayun's Tomb

The outside is as beautiful as the setting, but the inside is plain. There was once much more decoration and colour and a glance at the ceiling by the entrance gives an idea of what it might have been.

Ceiling, Humayun's Tomb

Humayun himself lies some 10 metres below a simple marble memorial.

Humayun's Gravestone

There is plenty of room in the wings for several of his wives, sons, assorted other nobility and a couple of later Mughal emperors, but this is Humayun’s building. He was, according to contemporary accounts, a decent human being, at least by the standards of late medieval war lords, and although this may account for his not being a particularly successful emperor, the building communicates a feeling that he was genuinely missed. The air of sorrow is aided by the mournful blast of train hooters from the nearby railway; Indian train drivers like their hooters as much as Indian car drivers like their horns (and fans of the double-entendre can make up their own jokes).

In the south east corner of the garden there is a smaller tomb generally called the Barber’s Tomb. Humayun’s barber was clearly an important man – he could be trusted to hold a sharpened blade at the emperor’s throat every morning – but who actually occupies the tomb is unknown.

Looking back to the entrance over the Garden of Paradise, Humayun's Tomb

Qutb Minar

Delhi is said to consist of eight successive cities. The first, Indraprastha, was founded around 1450 BC and the last (or latest), New Delhi, was built by the British in the first decade of the 20th century.

Although the region has always been overwhelmingly Hindu, there have not been Hindu rulers in Delhi since the 12th century (the modern state of India has a secular constitution). Qutb-ud-din became the first of the Islamic rulers when he set up the Delhi Sultanate in 1191. His dynasty survived only a century, but Islamic rule would last in Delhi, and most of northern India, until the British arrived in the 1800s.

Qutb-ud-din built the first monuments of Muslim India 13km south of the centre of New Delhi at a site known as the Qutb Minar complex.

The 72m high Qutb Minar was built to mark the Eastern extremity of the Islamic faith and to throw the shadow of religion even further east. James Fergusson, 19th century Scottish businessmen turned historian of Indian architecture, described it as “the most beautiful example of its class known anywhere.”

Qutb Minar

From a distance there is something industrial about the tower; as John Keay noted “an unfortunate hint of the factory chimney and the brick kiln”. But close to, looking at the decoration, the fluting and the Quranic inscriptions I would choose Fergusson’s Victorian view over Keay’s modern one.

Qutb Minar close up

Qutb died with only the first story built and it was completed by his successor Iltutmish, who also completed the Quwwat-al-Islam, India’s first mosque. 27 Hindu and Jain temples were raided to provide pillars for the prayer hall, the faces of gods and animals being hacked out of the carvings. The blend of Islamic and Hindu architecture is both startling and surprisingly successful.

Hindu columns in Quwwat-al-Islam, Qutb Minar Complex

Alaudin Khilji, a ruler (1296-1316) of a later dynasty, enlarged the mosque and built a madrasa.

Alaudin Khilji's madrasa, with his tomb in the central section, Qutb Minar Complex

He also started the Alai Minar, intending it to dwarf the Qutb Minar but he died with only the first story complete. The unfinished stump stands as a monument to the folly of vain ambition.

Alai Minar, Qutb Minar Complex

Ironically, perhaps the most interesting part of this Islamic complex is actually Hindu. The 7.2m high iron pillar standing in the mosque precinct is a god pole from a Vishnu temple, though it has lost the image of Garuda from the top. Sanskrit inscriptions date it from the rein of Chandragupta II (375-414 AD) and it is unclear how it came to be where it is. The iron is 98% pure, a purity which could not be replicated until the 19th century and it is also rust free due to its high phosphorus content. Whether this is an intentional result of Chandragupta technology or just luck is unknown.

Iron Pillar, Qutb Minar Complex

Tradition states that if you can stand with your back to the pillar and encircle it with your arms then your wishes will be granted. My friend Brian who visited the site in the 1970s says he failed by a distance. My arms are considerably shorter, but as the authorities have now surrounded the pillar with iron railings I never had a chance.

[Update: I have recently (Jan 2021) come across a picture of my father-in-law embracing the pillar. It looks like he is being tortured, but not so, he is a willing participant - and his hands did make contact. Whether his wishes were fulfilled only he knows]

My father-in-law makes the grade, Qtub Minar

Lack of wish fulfilment apart, I liked the Qutb Minar Complex. I liked the iron pillar, I liked the mix of Hindu and Islamic architecture and I liked the Qutb Minar itself. I also enjoyed the wild life: stripy Indian squirrels skittered hither and yon, myna birds hopped about pretending to supervise and bright green parakeets swooped between the two huge rain trees outside the mosque. As I was watching the parakeets the drizzle stopped and the sun struggled out from behind a bank of cloud.

Squirrel, Qutb Minar complex

Connaught Place

We drove back to Connaught Place, the commercial centre of New Delhi, and said goodbye to Vik having agreed that we would choose our own restaurant for lunch and then find our way back on the metro.

Connaught Place consists of two concentric circular roads around a small park. The name was correctly applied only to the inner circle, but that is now known as Rajiv Chowk after Rajiv Ghandi. The outer circle is Indira Chowk after his mother.

Tuk-tuks in Connaught Place

We wandered round just to have a look, but with an eye out for lunch. Despite its spectacular growth rate India is still a poor country and most of it remains rooted in the third world. Connaught Place is where India can be seen grappling with what it will become; it is a long journey from poverty to affluence but India is on that road and seeking the best route forward.

Finding a café or bar was easier than finding a restaurant. On one of the radial roads we passed a branch of Starbucks with a queue outside. Either young Indians are developing a taste for weak coffee or Starbucks has a social cachet that had previously eluded by.

Queuing for Starbucks, Connaught Place

Eventually our search for lunch became serious. On Rajiv Chowk itself we let a man waving a menu entice us through a door, up a flight of stairs and onto the roof terrace of a hotel. Despite the weather’s steady improvement it was still too cool to eat outside, but there was an indoor bar/restaurant which provided a beer and a very satisfactory vegetable thali. It was not cheap – by Indian standards – but reasonable seeing as we were eating in the very centre of the capital city.

After lunch we walked right round Rajiv Chowk, leisurely completing more than a full circuit. We had difficulty telling how far we had gone, so we took a fix on one distinctive shop and stopped when we came back to it.

The park in the centre had high railings and queues at the access points. We joined a queue and shuffled forward as everyone was frisked and ushered through the metal detectors. When it came to our turn we were waved through; apparently middle-aged* European tourists are not the terrorist demographic. Beyond the metal detector was the most formidable set of ‘Do Not’ signs I have ever seen; ‘NO FUN’ would have been shorter and easier.

There were, however, lots of people sitting on the grass, groups of teenagers sprinkled in amongst the family groups. In the centre, concrete terraces and grass banking overlooked a small amphitheatre. There was no show, but that did not stop people sitting on the terracing and carefully watching a space where nothing was happening.

Watching nothing in the park, Connaught Place

The Delhi Metro

After a stroll in the park we made our way to one of the many entrances to Rajiv Chowk metro station. It is only here in the centre of New Delhi that the metro dives underground, and we descended into the huge station at the intersection of two of the city’s three metro lines.

We worked out where we wanted to go and acquired a ticket, or more precisely a plastic token with a magnetic strip that opens the barriers, and descended into the bowels of the earth.

Efforts have been made to educate Delhiites in metro etiquette and to persuade them not to push onto a train as soon as it arrives, but to wait at the side for people to get off first - a distinctly unIndian way to behave. Our train arrived full to capacity, if not beyond. Rajiv Chowk is the place to see and be seen on a Sunday afternoon so there were maybe a thousand to get off and a hundred to get on. It would have been a bigger test the other way round, but the education does seem to be working.

The trains are modern, there are announcements for every station and a map which lights up to show where you are and where you are going. I had to stand all the way, it was only five stops and no great hardship, but a Sikh man got up and offered Lynne his seat, so there are gentlemen still in Delhi, even if they are thin on the ground elsewhere.

Patel Nagar and around

We had several hours to kill before heading for the main line station and the overnight train to Varanasi. We did a little shopping to equip ourselves with a picnic for the evening, visiting the bakery we had identified the day before. We spent some time in a coffee shop and explored the local park, maintained by the neighbourhood’s senior citizens’ forum.

The Park, Patel Nagar

To Delhi Station and the Magadh Express

Later Mohammed – who had made all our ground arrangements – arrived with a car and took us to the railway station. Last year our Vietnamese guide Joe had warned us that Hanoi station would be ‘chaostic.’ Actually it was relatively calm, but we liked the word, and New Delhi station gave us a chance to use it. Thousands of people were eddying around in the concourse, and once Mohammed had ascertained the platform, we joined the torrent pouring through the barrier, not that there was a barrier as such, the great tide of people had swept it aside, along with its metal detector.

We were soon installed in our compartment on the Magadh Express, which left at precisely 20.10, right on time, for the scheduled eleven and an half hour trip to Mughal Sarai, a small town some 20 km from Varanasi.

* elderly begins at 70, dammit, and I reserve the right to change that upwards in a few years’ time. [As of late 2020, middle age goes up to 75]

Delhi and Uttar Pradesh

Part 1 Delhi (1) Mainly Old Delhi but Some New Delhi too

 Part 2 Delhi (2) Some Old Things around New Delhi

Part 3 To Mughal Sarai and Sarnath

Part 4 Varanasi

Part 5 Allahabad and the Kumbh Mela
Part 6 Allahabad (2) A Bit of Foot-slogging
Part 7 Lucknow (1) City of Nawabs
Part 8 Lucknow (2) La Martinière College and the British Residency
Part 9 Agra and the Taj Mahal
Part 10 Fatehpur Sikri

Delhi (1) Mainly Old Delhi but some New Delhi too

Mosques, Forts, Bazaars and Delhi's Ceremonial Centre

15-Feb-2013

Delhi, Arrival and Orientation

India

Delhi

Modern, clean and calm, Indira Ghandi Airport is everything India aspires to be. Once through the airport we were driven to our hotel along streets, some of which were modern, a few of which were clean, but none were calm. Indian drivers do not do ‘calm’, they do ‘horn’.

Usually a hotel’s location is described with reference to the city centre. In Delhi that does not work. Old Delhi and New Delhi are adjacent but very different cities, and New Delhi has separate administrative and commercial centres. Our hotel was in New Delhi - in the suburban sprawl rather than the planned central district - in a middle class residential area near Patel Nagar metro station. It had modernity in the shape of the metro – like Bangkok’s skytrain, it is mainly built over the streets rather than tunnelled under them -...

Delhi metro, near Patel Nagar Station

...and it had tradition, in the sense that there was a comfortable spot for a cow to lie down.

A comfortable spot for an urban cow, Delhi

Despite persistent suggestions from the local tuk-tuk charioteers that they should drive us somewhere, we insisted on exploring the area on foot. It offered few facilities for a pair of itinerant foreigners, but we did identify a promising bakery and a couple of possible restaurants. We visited one in the evening, it was a ‘Vegetarian Family Restaurant’ (i.e. no meat and no beer) but the food was good – Gobhi Noorjaimaini (Cauliflower with cashew nuts), and Dhal Makhani, with a couple of naans and Gulab Jamun to follow. The restaurant was cheap and clean, always a pleasing combination.

16-Feb-013

Old Delhi

In the morning Vikram turned up to show us Delhi. A good linguist and very competent guide, he had been a promising cricketer in his youth, opening the batting for Rajasthan under 19s. With that youth not very far behind him, he was newly married and manfully shouldering the responsibilities of adulthood - but not without a little nostalgia for the days when cricket filled his life.

This day, though, was not one for cricket. We were aware that February is relatively cool in northern India, but we had not expected drizzle, nor the biting wind that seemed to follow us round the city.

We drove the 4 or 5 km to Old Delhi through the relatively light Saturday traffic. Less than 1% of Delhi’s 17 million inhabitants are Christians, but along with railways and cricket (and both will feature in subsequent posts) the British left India with a proper respect for Sunday, and to a lesser extent Saturday, as days of rest – at least for office workers.

The Jama Masjid, Old Delhi

We soon arrived at the Jama Masjid (Friday Mosque). Inthe 17th century Delhi gradually assumed the mantle of capital of the Mughal Empire, and although Shah Jahan, the fifth Mughal Emperor, actually ruled from Agra (where he built the Taj Mahal) he made a major contribution to the move to Delhi when he laid the foundation stone of the Jama Masjid in 1650. His thirty year reign was a golden era of Indian prosperity.

Entrance, Prayer Hall and Minarets, Jama Masjid, Old Delhi

Capable of holding 25 000 worshippers, the largest mosque in India sits on a low hill on edge of Old Delhi.

Looking across a drizzly Old Delhi from the Jama Masjid to the Red Fort

We climbed the steps, removed our shoes, paid a photography fee and entered. Lynne had come equipped with a headscarf, but they were not interested in that, providing her, and every other western woman, with a voluminous dressing gown. Heads remained uncovered and many of the dressing gowns lacked fastenings and blew open in the breeze, trailing behind their wearers like Batman’s cape.

Lynne in a flowery dressing gown by the East Gate of the Jama Masjid, Old Delhi

The courtyard is surrounded by a wall wide enough to accommodate a good proportion of the peak time worshippers. In the centre is a pool for ritual ablutions while the prayer hall, bracketed by two towering minarets, faces Mecca at the western end. Constructed of red sandstone and marble it is an impressive building, but there is little inside. Islam is a religion of sunny regions and praying normally takes place outdoors; carpets cover the flagstones and shade can be arranged as needed.

Inside the Prayer Hall, Jama Masjid, Old Delhi

Walking round such places we usually stay off the stone so as not to burn our bare feet. On this day the carpet strips were wet and slimy, the flags stones were cold and the small puddles were too numerous to avoid; not the best day to visit.

Pile of shoes outside the jama Masjid, Old Delhi

Handing in Lynne’s dressing gown and reclaiming our shoes, we descended the steps towards a scrum of cycle rickshaws.

By Rickshaw to the Bazaar, Old Delhi

Vik selected us a likely peddler and another for himself – unlike in Yangon cycle rickshaws can accommodate two passengers - and we set off along one of Old Delhi’s wider roads.....

One of Old Delhi's wider roads

....before diving into the narrow lanes of a bazaar. Not all the shops were open and there were fewer people than on a week day so we were able to make reasonable progress without running anybody over.

Into the bazaar, Old Delhi

I have previously photographed impressive tangles of wiring in the old part of Hanoi, but that was nothing compared to Delhi, even the rickshaw man pointed it out as a local wonder. Later in our trip television news would report a fatal fire in a Calcutta bazaar cause by such wiring. The report went on to list a series of similar fires in recent years. Nobody should have been surprised.

An impressive tagle of wiring, Old Delhi bazaar

Whilst considering the possibility of immolation we were able to enjoy the lively ambience and to take a good look at those shops that were open - in this area the main business was wedding saris.

Selling wedding clothes, Old Delhi bazaar

Chandni Chowk, Old Delhi

Eventually we emerged into Chandni Chowk, that ‘marvellous artery of Delhi which epitomises the magic and mystery of an eastern city.’ Or so wrote Lovat Fraser, editor of the Times of India, in 1903. It was then, according to the Rough Guide ‘a sublime canal lined with trees and some of the most opulent bazaars in the whole of Asia.’ It is now, they say, ‘a seething mass of honking cars, auto rickshaws, cycle rickshaws and bullock carts’. That is the description I recognise.

Gurdward, Chandni Chowk, Old Delhi

We turned left towards the Sikh Gurdwara, but went only as far as a gap in the central reservation which allowed our peddler to perform a u-turn. Having survived this manoeuvre we progressed to the end of the street past the Central Baptist church, a Jain temple and a Hindu temple; such is the diversity of India.

Down Chandni Chowk to the Red Fort, Old Delhi

The Red Fort, Old Delhi

Across the T-junction at the end of Chandni Chowk is the Red Fort, the huge sandstone citadel commissioned, like the Jama Masjid, by Shah Jahan.

The Red Fort, Old Delhi

We crossed the moat, now dry but once full of water and crocodiles, and entered, as all tourists do, by the Lahore Gate. Beyond the outer gate there is a right angle turn before the inner gate, to prevent elephant powered battering rams working up any momentum. The risk of marauding war elephants is low these days, but the authorities clearly have other threats on their minds as an army post is sandwiched between the two gates. As we walk through, men behind blast proof shields were pointing their guns straight at us. They are there, we are told, for our protection, but having a rifle aimed at my chest does little for my feeling of security.

Lynne enters the inner Lahore Gate, Red Fort, Old Delhi (the soldiers were out of shot, right)

There are a couple of bullet holes in the brass cladding of the inner door, put there when the British took the fort in 1857. We apologised, and passed through into Chatta Chowk, a covered street lined with market stall sized niches. As the ladies of the harem could not leave the fort to visit the bazaar, the bazaar, or at least the cream of the city’s carpet makers, goldsmiths, jewellers and silk weavers came to them.

The Naubhat Khana (Drum House) is the entrance to the royal enclosure.

The Naubhat Khana from the Hall of Public Audience

Beyond that, across a garden, is the Hall of Public Audience wherethe emperor sat on a two metre high marble throne, currently protected by a mesh screen. A pigeon was trapped inside the mesh, so it may not have provided effective protection but it did efficiently spoil all attempts at photography. Female members of the court could listen and observe from behind a screen carved from a single piece of stone. The public could actually approach no closer than the Naubhat Khana so the audience was conducted by messengers who sprinted back and forth across the garden.

Carved screen. Behind this the ladies of the court could listen to the Public Audience

Deeper into the inner sanctum are various royal apartments, a hammam and a personal mosque built by Aurangzeb, the sixth emperor, who reversed the Mughal's traditionally tolerant approach to religious diversity. The Hall of Private Audience once held the Peacock Throne, but the fort was sacked in 1739 by the Persian emperor Nadir Shah who carried the throne back to Tehran to be used by the Shahs of Persia. It now resides in the Tehran treasury, where we saw it in 2000.

The Moti Masjid, Aurangzeb's mosque, Red Fort, Old Delhi

To the north is the last surviving formal garden, once quartered by channels of running water pumped from the River Yamuna which ran below the fort’s eastern wall. The river has since moved and the fort now overlooks a rather more prosaic ring road. Marching across the front of the garden is a line of buildings constructed as barracks for British soldiers. Shah Jahan, meanwhile, revolves quietly in his grave.

In the formal gardens with the British barracks behind, Red Fort, Old Delhi

The Raj Ghat

With the drizzle continuing, we left the Red Fort, pausing only to buy a model tuk-tuk (a gift for our grandson) from an itinerant vendor. A short drive south brought us to the Raj Ghat near the Delhi Gate to the old city. Ghat means river bank, but the River Yamuna has moved away from here too and the Raj Ghat is actually a garden. It was here, the day after his assassination in 1948, that Mahatma Ghandi was cremated.

The Raj Ghat, Delhi

It is as peaceful a place as can be created in the heart of this noisy city. We walked through the garden and onto the walkway which looks down on the eternal flame. Vik suggested we should stay there rather than descend to the flame itself as we would have to remove our shoes and the carpets were wet and slippery. At the time we agreed, no one likes the feel of wet carpet beneath their feet, but I have since regretted that I did not insist on taking a closer look. The flame stands beside a low black plinth inscribed with the great man’s last word ‘Hai Ram’ (Oh God) - a statement of great piety or, perhaps, surprise.

The India Gate and the Rajpath, New Delhi

In 1911 the capital of British India was moved from Calcutta to the shiny new purpose built city of New Delhi, designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens. We had set out to see Old Delhi, but from the Raj Ghat it was convenient to head a little further south and then drive down what was once the Kingsway, the central avenue through the administrative heart of British India. Now called the Rajpath, it performs the same function for independent India and grandstands are erected along the side of the road for the Republic Day parade.

We started by the India gate, built in 1931 to commemorate the 90 000 Indian soldiers killed in the First World War and now the national memorial for all India’s war dead. Although not part of the original design, it is also by Lutyens (as are the Cenotaph in London and the Thiepval Monument on the Somme). Having designed the Kingsway/Rajpath with more than a nod in the direction of the Champs Elysée, Lutyens could not resist putting an Arc de Triomphe at the end. The empty canopy behind the gate once housed a statue of King George V

The India Gate, New Delhi

We drove up the Rajpath in the opposite direction to the parades, passing the Indian Parliament building, a circular construction set back from the road…..

The circular Indian parliament building a little away from the Rajpath, New Delhi

… and various secretariat buildings….

Government buildings beside the Rajpath, New Delhi

… until we reached the Rashtrapati Bhavan at the end of the road; once the residence of the British viceroy and now India’s Presidential Palace. India is a parliamentary democracy, power lies with the prime minister, Manmohan Singh, and the role of the President is largely ceremonial, but in compensation President Pranab Mukherjee gets to live in one of the country's finest houses.

Rashtrapati Bhavan, New Delhi, official home of the Indian president

For lunch we were taken to the sort of restaurant guides think tourists will like, and perhaps some do. Clean and bright, the clientele consisted entirely of westerners, mostly tour parties sitting at long tables and eating set menu lunches. The à la carte was overpriced and probably underspiced, certainly our soup was, and that was all we chose to eat. The place’s one redeeming feature was that it sold beer, though at a price; a bottle of Kingfisher costing as much as in an English pub.

Returning to our hotel we drove along some wide roads lined with large houses in well-kept grounds; the Delhi elite certainly live in pleasant surroundings, though once outside their compounds there is no escape from the city's angry, snarling traffic.

An Excellant Garlic Chicken, Delhi

In the evening we walked from our hotel to the other restaurant we had identified. The Chowra Chick-Inn looked a touch forbidding but at least promised meat, though again we had to wash it down with a glass of water. We ordered garlic chicken and another cauliflower dish. Five minutes after we had ordered the waiter returned and said quietly ‘the garlic chicken is very spicy.’ ‘Good,’ we said and he looked at us, shrugged his shoulders and went off to the kitchen. In fact it was spicy but not very spicy. I have eaten hotter garlic chicken in Stafford, but I have never eaten better garlic chicken anywhere. The meat was tender and succulent, the subtle spicing enhanced the flavour and there was a pleasing blast of chilli. It was one of the best meals of the whole trip.

Delhi and Uttar Pradesh

Part 1 Delhi (1) Mainly Old Delhi but some New Delhi too

 Part 2 Delhi (2) some Old Things around New Delhi

Part 3 To Mughal Sarai and Sarnath

Part 4 Varanasi

Part 5 Allahabad and the Kumbh Mela
Part 6 Allahabad (2) A Bit of Foot-slogging
Part 7 Lucknow (1) City of Nawabs
Part 8 Lucknow (2) La Martinière College and the British Residency
Part 9 Agra and the Taj Mahal
Part 10 Fatehpur Sikri