"A man walks down the street, it's a street in a strange world, maybe it's the third world, maybe it's his first time around...

...He doesn't speak the language, He holds no currency, He is a foreign man, He is surrounded by the sound, The sound, Cattle in the marketplace, Scatterlings and orphanages..."

Now, what I just did was called a "gimme"...It should be nearly impossible for even the musically illiterate to NOT know this extended lyric (alot of negatives in that sentence, huh?). I just couldn't decide which portion of the song to include because soooo much of it was applicable. As though this man (another clue) had actually been to Old Delhi.

And that's the topic of our lesson today, children...Old Delhi.

People and more people...and then even more people coming out of shops and alleyways and on rooftops and on rooftops on top of rooftops. Dark stretches of side street that branch and cut deep into the heart of Old Delhi. Corners and caves of neon...vendor after vendor plying the same trade, selling the same goods...spices, jaleebi, knock-off clothing, saris, Indian wedding attire, silver, trinkets, antiques and all manner of useful or useless crap.

Every step along the main street, Chandni Chowk, must be measured and placed deftly or you'll find your feet covered in nameless liquids and liquids with names you wish you didn't know. Chandni Chowk is one wide sidewalk...pedestrians, cattle, tuck-tucks, rickshaws, cars and buses all share this famous stretch of Old Delhi. From Chandni Chowk you can veer off onto a side street and then cut down seemingly infinite alleyways lined with shops and guest houses and mosques. We found ourselves, kids and all, dodging rickshaws and workmen laden with loads of clothing along the alleyways...smoke and stench and incense. Noise, noise and more noise...people screaming, horns blaring from the motorcycles and scooties speeding at you from behind, vendors hawking their wares..."Buy an Indian helicopter?!?!" which is followed by a demonstration of a toy helicopter, an Indian helicopter, that lifts gracefully, spins and plummets to its doom.

Vertigo sets in when you look skyward while cutting through the alleyways. Telephone wire, electrical wire, wire and clotheslines strung among the buildings. The buildings rise only four or five stories, but when you're on street level, among the teeming and pulsing crowd, the buildings may as well be skyscrapers. Each turn and every bend looks the same. Direction is complicated. It seems like all roads double-back on themselves... everything repeats as though Delhi-6 is a person with an unfortunate stutter.

Of course nothing was the same though, nothing. So many people, individuals, waking in Old Delhi to make their day. Each shop a separate ledger. Old Delhi requires focus and full attention. Old Delhi requires you to filter out what you don't immediately need...the senses that aren't asked to provide input are put away.

The kids found themselves dodging hand after hand outstretched to pinch their tiny cheeks. Eli began to defend himself, smacking down the fast-approaching pincers. We walked with the kids marching between us, their hands in ours. Alise was snuggled against Julie, coiled deep into the sling. Old Delhi is a sensory ambush. Old Delhi comes at you from all angles and it comes with everything. It "Brings It!" It is exciting and unfamiliar. It is tense and exhilarating. Old Delhi has a rhythm that even the whitest of white men (read: me) can find and dance to.

More importantly, Old Delhi is home to the Ghantewala, the oldest sweet shop in Delhi..over two hundred years old. We stopped and sampled the delicacies...delicious. Salted cashews and burfees and sohan halwa (which Julie devoured). The story goes...'Ghanta' in Hindi means huge bell. Well, when the emperor's procession would wander down Chandni Chowk, the emperor would stop for the sweets at this particular shop. The emperor's elephant, too, would be fed. The elephant developed a sweet-tooth, and so, procession or not, the elephant would stop in front of the shop and shake its massive, decorated, bell-laden head until it was offered a treat. Once satisfied, the elephant would move along.

That's Old Delhi, but none of these words do it justice. It is a beautifully ugly dog. It is life, brutal and vibrant. Next time, Julie and I will venture there without the kids...it's just too crowded. We didn't take the camera this time because we could only defend so much...next time, though, next time. You'll see...oh, you'll see.

Delhi...OUT!!!!