Itchy Feet

If days in Delhi are about long hot cab rides with drivers insisting on playing CDs of Kumar Sanu hits, or have the FM stations belting out the latest Hindi filmi hits, the nights are almost magical. The heat of the day is gone, there are early signs of winter in the air. As most of New Delhi is slowly drifting to sleep, Old Delhi continues to bustle with chaos. Traffic piles up at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night at the intersection outside the Red Fort, horns blare with abandon and fist fights threaten to break out any moment.

The fort meanwhile has shut for the day for visitors, but is illuminated, coyly waiting for the sound and light show to commence. We walk through group after group of policemen, and barricade after yellow barricade (which incidentally, I do not grudge since they serve me very well in the absence of a tripod).



I stop in front of Lahore Gate for this crooked view at the majestic fort, making a mental note to return sometime during the day. More metal detectors and frisks later, we are suddenly walking through the covered bazaar which now boasts of some of the ugliest touristy trash that can be found in Delhi...



And well inside the fort, we sit in the open, facing the diwan-e-khas, watching the lights dance and the sounds roll through the open spaces; the laughter of women at the all-women Thursday bazaar, Shah Jahan's vision for the Taj, Aurangazeb's bigoted pronouncements all the way to the call for independence early last century. We shiver slightly in the nippy air, as the son-et-lumiere brings alive centuries of Mughal Delhi.



We walk out after the show, hurried along by the slightly impatient securitymen who are waiting to lock up behind us and leave for the day. A quick dinner and a strange desire for late night ice-cream at India Gate expressed by the husband later, we find ourselves at the said gate.



India Gate is strangely dark and inaccessible; more policemen, more yellow barricades. However, all around is activity - balloon sellers and buyers, icecream vendors on their cycles and icecream eaters, photographers and the photographed, cops going round and round in their vans, children at their loudest best and couples very quiet on the lawns...



Bahut sari tasveeren khichvayi hai humne... I have had lots of pictures taken, said the balloon man, feigning great reluctance, and promptly putting his hands out and his smile on for this perfect pose. All is almost well with the world, if I can bring myself to ignore the number of security checks and police vans I encountered in a single evening...

In sunny Goa, not all signboards are scary. Some of them are well, interesting...



I hung around for a bit hoping to meet the John massagist (from Delhi) himself. And then figured out that if he is 'gents', chances are he would meet only other 'gents'...

And while on Goa, here is a relevant if cheesy line I came across - Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take; but by the moments that take your breath away... Which leads smoothly to these moments which almost did...

There is cricket in Goa. Match on a hot Sunday morning, complete with a small stadium, spectators and commentators...

And then there the more serious business of football. On the roads, in the playgrounds, in schools. Even in hoardings. Everywhere...

You are in Goa and you are not cheering for football??



Hot? Who says it is hot? 11 am on a Saturday morning, these kids were plaing football and screaming their lungs out. Notice that some of them are actually playing barefoot. Ouch! Just watching them made me tired....



Can you spot the football in the air?

Abrupt cessation of sport when one of the kid spots me. Time out under the tree to discuss the stranger with the camera. Play not to resume till she moves away.

So long as we are telling you what not to do, we thought we may as well tell you this too - do not abuse children



I mean... what?

Spotted across Goa beaches and snapped at Palolem finally...

Snapped in more than one way. Picture this - group of drunk bare-chested, beer-bellied, white under-weared (yuck, don't even let me get started on this one) Indian men playing leer-leer on the beach. Young white mom in swimsuit and very pretty little girl (not older than six) in pink swimwear playing on the sand, building castles, complete with pink pail and shovel. Men watch for over ten minutes, as they frolick like fat dolphins who have lost their way and landed on the shore, and found paradise there.

Little girl cannot bear the midday heat and takes off top while mom just just gone to fetch a bottle of water. And suddenly one of the men rush towards the girl with camera in hand. I start to scream, hey you cant do that - while mom returns and with a firm shake of her head, refuses to allow the budding photographer to click a picture of the kid.

And before you jump up and tell me how much I am over-reacting, please read this. And this. And many many other such discussions that I keep coming across. And also open your eyes and see the world around you carefully. It must be scary being a parent in today's world...