The Shatabdi Express, with its ticket cost including food on the way, was becoming popular as a means of train travel. Fast, almost non-stop, neat, and clean. When I mooted the idea that we could dispose of the van and travel to Delhi by this train, the entire group agreed. Everyone wanted to experience it. So, off we went to book tickets, and luckily, seats were available. Disposing of the driver, we set out in the morning to Delhi. All of us enjoyed the journey and returned to the same hotel in Delhi, Rail Bhavan, I think. It was adjacent to the New Delhi Station. Delhi was quite hot, and a couple of trips and visits had been planned by me.

Phut-phutis operate on designated routes, but we managed to get hold of a guy who was prepared to take us around Delhi. Eight of us crammed into four seats. I was sitting in the front with my nephew. He was not heavily built, nor was I in those days. Yet we kept pushing each other to get a firm grip on the seat, both afraid we might slip and fall down.

We made a nostalgic visit to the school where my brother, sister, and I had studied. The Headmaster I met to introduce myself as an old student who wanted to go around and see the school did not display any enthusiasm. We took some pictures. My niece commented that she could not find my name on the honors list anywhere. How could she? I was always precariously clinging to the middle in academics. With the unwelcome feelings still buzzing around me, we left. After showing the house where we had lived before leaving for Chennai, we went to the now-famous Pahar Ganj House. We were not allowed to enter, but some of the friendly Sardarjis, when reminded of my friends there, got excited.

But are these visits to old places that kindle memories always nostalgic? A definite no for me. If one has selective memory, perhaps the happy memories can be stored away for easy recall. But sad memories? Is there any way to destroy them or erase them? These visits did bring back some happy memories, but along with them came some pains. Accepting them with some balance, we moved on to Qutub Minar and finally to Connaught Place. A Delhi visit is never complete without peeking your head here.

Palika Bazaar is a bargaining place, and you need to be a Delhiite to know where to start. If you want a free ride, you can find many here—in quality, originality, price, size, and anything else. A funny Sardarji owner of a shop reacted humorously when we told him our final price. He said, “Sir, this is semi-final. Let us postpone the final after some more discussions.”

And duly, without fail, we got duped when we bought a shirt from a vendor. My brother-in-law and I rushed back, but the vendor had vanished.

The next day, my brother-in-law and I stayed back while the rest of the family went for a visit to Agra. It was stiflingly hot. The two of us tried to go around a bit, but it had become so hot that I thought I was getting a stroke. Desperately, I searched for a vegetarian restaurant. Confusion and hurry make you miss things. Round and round we went before we finally located an upscale restaurant. Crashing into a chair, I asked the server to bring me ice water first. Delhi heat is dry; you don’t sweat. What is needed is humidity. Drinking water may not be enough. That is why Delhi had so many air coolers. A cold shower would have been the best thing. Maybe the air-conditioned atmosphere, the water, and the food all helped me. I lived to see the next day.

Not being very comfortable with credit cards, I hadn’t taken any. In fact, I didn’t have one. And suddenly, I was running out of cash. The expenses were being handled by me to be divided later, and I had taken the responsibility. At midnight, my niece took me to her bank’s ATM and withdrew some cash. Another lesson: even after the most careful planning, you may run short of cash. This often happens during such visits. Always better to carry cards or extra cash. You cannot afford to get stranded. I had only myself to blame, and I did.

Continued in 121. Thought Purging for Mind Constipation