Sugar Heart...

Sugar Heart BP Thyroid...

I saw the "Sugar Heart" part first, in beautiful red type. I pondered it for a while, before seeing the rest. While it was only Sugar Heart, in the heart of Old Delhi, it had a different meaning. Then I saw a man in the next shop: the caricature ofthe obese Indian sweetmeats shopkeeper. Sugar Heart BP Thyroid...

(10 AM) Breakfast: 2pcs Tibetan bread, butter tea, omlette.
1st drink: A glass of water at the Gurudwara Sahib near the metro station
2nd drink: Fruit juice from a Sardarji's stall in Chandani Chowk
Lunch: Beef Biryani and Kadahi Chicken
3rd Drink: Vegetable Juice

time now: 2:30 PM

Delhi is positively hot right now. I desperately need a place to pee, and perhaps to sit and sip on something cold, preferably something that is not a non-alcoholic apple beer from Kashmir.

The highlight of the day so far has been seeing a patch of sunlight through a door and straying in. A man was sunning himself in what is now a courtyard, but was once a house of magnificance beyong words. It was built by Aurengjeb, the old man living there told me. I believe him: the brass gate, the alabaster pillars some standing and some fallen, a pool carved of alabaster, a raised dias of alabaster, delicate lattice over windows that were once the screen between the jenana and the main courtyard--the workmanship, the aesthetic, the very architectural life of the place belied its erstwhile glory.

The alabaster pool, the old man told me, used to be filled with the sacred threads of the Hindus vanquished by Aurengjeb, being forcefully converted to Islam. Apaprently, the women of his harem, his concubines and his consorts sat behind the lattice purdah and, as Aurengjeb fed hte "newly converted" muslims, said:

"hinduon ko sataya jaa rahaa hai...
"pakorey barsaya jaa rahaa hai"

Next was the Jame Masjid. Photo will be posted later.
A kid was hagglign with an old man over the price of mango toffees: mango juice reduced and cut into cubes. Before I could communicate to the old man that I would buy the candy for the kid, the kid was gone. So, I had to eat the candies. Um, yum, yum.

Boys on roofs were kite-fighting and training their piegons, but I got yelled at by an old man for taking pictures of the roofs. So much for tehjeeb.

Just outside the Chandani Chowk metro station is a tent-house for the homeless, called "Begharon ka Ghar," home for the homeless. They were being given food when I got there. An enthusiastic man over-heaped a hungry man's plate. The supervisor yelled: "Where will you put the vegetables? In your ass?" "Terey gaand mein rakhkhega sabji?"

A man had dolls made of fine rubber and silk, Rs 20 each pair, barely 3" tall. They would jump in the air, kiss each other, come closer, go apart, sleep, awake, dance. I was mesmerized. Magnetc, definitely, and some sort of remote switch. But all for only INRS 20. Awsome. He wouldn't tell anyone how the dolls worked. He just sat there, legs folded, immobile. I tried to video-tape it, but he stopped the game. He wouldn't explain anything unless someone bought a pair of dolls.

Someone bout a pair. The trick was very simple: he had the finest black thread running through the heads of the dolls, which then had to be hungon a line. Tugging the line a little made them dance. Simple wire-fu. Made me wonder if this was an old art form, or if he had invented itwith the thinbnest, strong nylon available. Because, it was impossible to see the thread, in broad daylight, albeit in the shade. Nevertheless, I was very impressed.

I have to  get hte cyber to break a Rs 500 note. Lets see if this works. I think I owe about Rs 20.