After rejoining Kumar at our designated meeting spot, we proceeded to the Lotus Temple. During our journey, Kumar and I exchanged some personal information. He was 55 years old and had three sons, just like me. Clearly, he was more well-off than most Delhi residents, but he confided that COVID had devastated him and his family. He explained that everything had come to a standstill due to the pandemic, and most were still struggling to recover. He feared that his family might never fully regain their financial stability, a sentiment echoed by many in India.
Upon reaching the Lotus Temple, I was enthralled. This sacred place offered tranquility and the opportunity for quiet meditation. Completed in 1987, the temple ranks among the world’s most visited sites, attracting over 4 million visitors! Shaped like a colossal lotus flower, the building was both modern and spacious, receiving recognition for its architectural uniqueness and cutting-edge engineering.
Much like Qutub Minar, it was surrounded by lush lawns and gardens. There was no entry fee; visitors passed through a metal detector and walked a short distance to reach the temple. As I approached, I encountered a kiosk where people handed out bags similar to those found in grocery stores. They informed me that these were for my shoes and directed me to deposit the bag in a designated building. There, I received a numbered token in exchange for my crocs that I put in the bag. Walking barefoot felt liberating, and an attendant provided a brief orientation, including a reminder not to take photos inside. To my delight, there were fewer than a dozen people inside the structure, which could accommodate up to 2,500 individuals. It was said to be air-conditioned, but I certainly didn’t feel it—I could only imagine how stifling it might become with hundreds of people present. I spent some time meditating and then visited another building near the entrance that recounted the history of this Baha’i house of worship.
I spent nearly an hour there, learning about its principles, which resonated with my own beliefs. While recognizing the existence of some form of God, much like Hindu and Buddhist faiths, it emphasized the importance of nature, global unity, love, and peace, regardless of one’s religious affiliation. The founder, Baháʼu’lláh, began teaching in the early 1800s in Tehran, Iran, with the aim of unifying the world. However, conflicts with the Muslim faith led to his imprisonment for years, culminating in his execution. His sons took up his cause, expanding the Baha’i religion worldwide. Today, it boasts approximately 5 million followers globally, and you can now count me as 5,000,001. Exiting the temple, I felt rejuvenated, having achieved the inner peace I had sought. I anticipated encountering similar moments of fulfillment during my adventure and was pleased with the journey’s trajectory. Kumar’s decision to get us there early proved wise, as hordes of people began arriving as I made my exit.
Feeling somewhat renewed, I was ready to have some fun. All of my previous activities had been in New Delhi, and now it was time to explore Old Delhi. As we approached Old Delhi, it became clear that the poverty level and population density had intensified even further. As I mentioned earlier, I was comfortable with this. Abject poverty was something I had encountered in previous adventures to Vietnam, Tanzania, and even certain Caribbean islands. I found it to be an intriguing experience that underscored just how incredibly fortunate I was. Many of these impoverished individuals exuded more happiness than the average American, despite the latter often believing they needed to “Make America Great Again!” Naturally, one had to be street-smart and stay vigilant, taking in everything happening in the surroundings.
It was difficult not to stand out as the sole white individual in sight, as I hadn’t seen any other white people since leaving the hotel, and l’m likin it! Kumar understood my desires and suggested I be dropped off at a station bustling with rickshaws. He connected me with his friend, a rickshaw driver who would take me on a tour of the densely packed markets with narrow, vehicle-restricted streets. Kumar would meet me on the other side of town later on. I boarded the rickshaw and began pedaling, feeling fully immersed in the heart of impoverished Old Delhi. I loved it!
Our journey led us to the bird market, not dead birds that you eat, but rather, live birds. I asked the driver to stop so I could explore. I wandered among the many cages containing parakeets, doves, and canaries, all stacked in cages 5 high, and there were fish tanks in the back. It reminded me of the five and dime stores like Woolworth’s and Kresges, if you are old enough to remember them.
After touring through various markets we parked the rickshaw strategically so we could best navigate through the cluttered and chaotic paths on foot. The nut market, bike market, fabric market, fruit and vegetable market, clothing market, Etc. If there is a product generally essential to human existence you will find a market for it somewhere around here.
My only request from Nancy was to bring home plenty from the spice market so that became my goal and the only thing I was interested in finding. ₹18,900, about $220 worth of spices later, I had successfully completed my mission to bring home spices to my Queen!
As we strolled back to the rickshaw, I found myself captivated by the wonders of my surroundings in the thickly populated markets and lost sight of my rickshaw driver. Having only seen the back of the driver’s head mostly, I began to come to terms with the reality that I was a lone white person LOST in these bizarre surroundings, and my emotions were shifting from fascination to fear!
By the way, the Asian term for markets like this is the “Bazaar.” Note the difference in spelling. I observed the market sequence and did my best to retrace the markets I had passed in the previous direction. I moved swiftly and scanned carefully for the familiar profile of my driver’s back, hoping he was just ahead. There he was, not far in front! He was engrossed in a phone call, oblivious to my whereabouts. I caught up and kept him within arm’s reach until he guided me back to my seat in his rickshaw. Some experiences in life can never be recreated, and looking back, I immediately declared this as one of those “once-in-a-lifetime” moments that will forever be etched in my memory, for which I will always be grateful.
Pedaling through more markets again, we reached my meeting point with Kumar. We were originally scheduled to visit the “Red Fort” and other government buildings constructed by the British during their occupation that began in 1858. However, I told Kumar to skip it. I had no interest in the British influence on Indian culture; I was more intrigued by India’s history before and after gaining independence in 1947. Kumar then took me to another place called a Bazaar, but this one was an indoor building with four floors and air conditioning. Fabric is one of India’s top exports, and there were countless choices to explore in this building. I had no idea that Nancy wanted me to pick up embroidery until she sent me a picture as an example. I did buy some soap and a hand-painted piece of silk art featuring the sites I had visited that day. All my purchases and items in this bazaar were handmade, providing income for India’s less fortunate population.
Later, Kumar brought me to a very nice restaurant around 2:30 for a late lunch. He did not expect to be invited to join me, but I persisted and eventually persuaded him to do so. He ordered a simple bowl of soup while I opted for the most expensive item on the menu, lamb, and enjoyed three Kingfisher beers. Kumar had recommended them, and they became my “go-to” beers throughout my visit to India. He settled for water. When our waiter arrived, his serving dish was overflowing with meat. I pointed to Kumar’s empty plate and instructed him to share, saying, “I can’t eat all of that.” This left Kumar with no choice but to join me. The caste system I had heard about in India seemed to hold true. Those serving me took their responsibility seriously, always asking if everything was okay and dedicated to meeting my approval. I wasn’t fond of being treated this way, but I understood that it was part of the culture, treating me as their superior. I tried to make them feel like equals, but Kumar wouldn’t have it. It was his professional commitment to serve. Kumar then took me to the hotel he had chosen for me.
It was near the airport, barely meeting my standards, but it cost only a third of what the Holiday Inn would have. He arranged for his son to take me to the airport at 7:30 the next morning for ₹1,500, and we said our farewells. I had his number and promised to call him in three weeks on my way back home. He advised me to call him two days before arriving back in Delhi, but I later forgot to do so. Rain had been forecast for every day, but it never materialized.
Rich Citro Adventures 