flâneur

Numb in India, part 1: Where the sun never sets

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In which I return to the scene of the crime

Today I’m writing from Old Delhi, in the grubby, ungovernable heart of India. Every guide to Old Delhi describes it in the same words. Buzzing, bustling, hectic, frenetic, chaotic, overwhelming. It’s not: in fact, this might be the calmest, most sedate place I’ve ever visited in my life. On the streets, a near-total stillness reigns. Every square foot is packed with tuktuks, rickshaws, motorbikes, the odd three-wheeled van, sometimes wooden carts strapped to old, bony ponies or static cud-chewing cows. Nobody is going anywhere. The vehicles tangle together at every unmarked intersection.…

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