Jai Hind (Part 2)

I'm observing again: look and listen with me.

Chai

Indians have taken two things from the British and made them their own: tea and bureaucracy. Whilst they have managed to plunge the latter into new depths of tedium and frustration, they brew a cuppa unparalleled by any I've had at home.

This is no small feat considering that the majority of the population did not drink tea in vast quantities until the early part of this century. 'Til then it was taken without milk as part of a range of Aryuvedic medicines and not seen as anything remotely recreational. It was the British - ever enterprising and exploitative - who launched a massive marketing drive which, eventually, made tea a staple of the daily Indian ritual.

As with most things, Indian people decided to modify it to their own tastes adding spices to give it a kick. This Masala Chai isn't really to my liking - bit too herbal - although it's a damn sight better than the Masala Lemonade I ordered in a Pizza Hut which had the pungent aroma of rotting eggs. I am, however, a huge fan of the rich, sweet milky tea they serve, infused with ginger for a little bite. It's the fuel of the Cycle Rickshaw drivers here and I am sure me Gran would've approved of the sweet chai, celticising the brew with a drop of whiskey for/of good measure.

People

It's a stupid category. I've made some great friends and I've met other people I'd rather kick in the eye. Same as anywhere else in the world. The one thing that does stand out is that men hold hands…everywhere! They're not gay, they're just mates out for a stroll. Fair play to them, I say. Women sometimes hold hands, why not men?

I am, of course, a hypocrite. Am I going to adopt this trend whilst shopping in Manchester? Or whilst I'm nipping into the Unicorn for a swift one? Am I balls. I agree that someone has to be the first, but that 'someone' better have a higher pain threshold than me.

Another intriguing quirk is the head wobble or slide. Difficult to read at first and only made slightly easier to interpret as your time in India rolls on, it usually means yes, but then it can mean no as well. I've started doing it, and hope to annoy my friends and family as they translate this new symbol in my lexicon of body language as best they can. This rather confusing practice of acknowledgement is indicative of the lack of general consensus: if you have a question - from directions to the price of fish - few people will give you the same answer, but the answer each will give will be as sure as the day they were born. It is best, therefore, to ask at least three people and hope two of them agree.

Above all, Delhi can be quite an aggressive place so don't expect open arms at every corner. This isn't India: it's Delhi, and Delhi is like any other major city. If you go around all smiles and Hare Krishna, prepare to be ripped off. I suppose having been repeatedly invaded throughout is entire history hasn't helped, and the level of paranoia the security forces have developed can be quite surprising - you can't use an internet café without first showing your passport. Remember, Delhi did not inspire Kula Shaker. Although I do have it on good authority that Crispin Mills spends most afternoons under the Moolchand Flyover selling holographic posters of Ravi Shankar out of the back of a clapped-out Ambassador Classic.

Tibetans

Tibetans are, by and large, lovely people. Their laugh is something to behold - ringing with a goodwill that will almost certainly make you laugh as well.

Despite having lost their country and suffering a systematic dilution of their own traditions and culture by the influx of mainland Chinese into the 'Special Autonomous Region', the Tibetans I have met have been a damn sight friendlier than most Delhi-ites I encounter during my days. They're also the cheapest source of beef in the capital - if you know where to look of course.

My trip to McLeod Ganj taught me to appreciate them even more - from the Lama I met on the bus to the refugee girl who tried, with the patience of a saint, to teach me to make momos. You would think that in their position they'd be angry and treat strangers with a huge degree of suspicion. But, no. I remember during my first visit to the Tibetan restaurant in Delhi how the children were treated as members of the family, rather than servants. They were expected to help out, sure, but they were not ordered around, shouted at and barged about.

It certainly made a refreshing change.

Transport

If you want to get around in Delhi, you have a number of options:

Walking - hard to do with a lack of pavements unless you like playing salmon to the stream of bikes, motorbikes and cars that will be speeding towards you.

Bus - very cheap, but takes a while to get anywhere. You're also likely to have to stand crammed into a tin can on wheels…if you can get on the bus in the first place. There are official stops, but many aren't too well defined and appear to be quite random.

A new fleet of London-style buses has hit the streets, which promise a safer and slightly more comfortable experience. They even have doors at the entrance points, taking all the fun out of gripping on to the stairwell as the bus takes a sharp turn.

Now that really isn't Delhi, is it?

Metro - Briiliant way to travel and not that expensive…just doesn't cover South Delhi (yet). Due for completion by the 2012 Games, it will make Delhi a hell of a lot easier to negotiate. I for one will look down on anyone who visits Delhi at this time as they will be unaware of the sheer pleasure of waiting for an over-priced Auto in the pouring rain because there's no other alternative means of getting around. They won't know how they're born.

Bike it - I know many who do with a great deal of success. Good for them. But unless I have a bike that operates with 'Firefox' speed and maneuverability than I am likely to end as a splat on the grill of a 4x4.

It's always good fun to spot the array of motorcycle crash helmets on display in the Delhi Rush Hour. Varying from the full black protection spheres with visors to construction helmets and even what look like toy helmets, motorcyclists in the capital ensure that karma has the last word on their chances of making it from A to B.

The Auto - Driven almost exclusively by grumpy, sour-faced men who never use the meter and always overcharge an arbitrary price. They are, however, by far the most convenient way of getting round the city, but expect to haggle…hard. Extra charges apply when it's rush hour, at night time, when it's raining (aka when you're at your weakest), when it's the weekend, if they have to travel outside of their comfort zone etc etc. For the uninitiated, an Auto is a three-wheeled taxi cab, also referred to in some parts of the world as a uk Tuk. Even if you've never ridden in one, if you've seen Octop**** you'll know what one is.