Seeing Red

A young guy who works at the Delhi hotel where we were staying stopped us on the stairs as we were headed out for some dinner.

"You know what I have?" he asked quietly with an eager smile. I, on the other hand, wasn't too eager to hear the answer. In every country we've visited thus far, men approach me on the street, purportedly inviting me into their shop for some cheap t-shirts or a tailor-made suit. But they get too close and soon their lips are near my ear, whispering the true nature of their business: "Opium, hashish, weed." It's more amusing than anything else and since I can simply keep walking, it's no big deal. But being cornered in my hotel and solicited? That's a bit more uncomfortable.

But then: "Beer," he whispered with a grin.

"Is it secret beer?" Jillian asked. We were both a bit confused, but our pusherman quickly explained. Sure, alcohol is legal in India, but conservative Hindu and Muslim cultures have seeped into the regulation of it. It's heavily taxed and difficult to get a license to sell, so most places don't even bother. We were staying in one of the most densely populated and popular sections of Delhi and we were within walking distance of one bar. So naturally we went and it felt like we were entering a speakeasy. As opposed to every other storefront on the chaotic street--wide open, bright, loud--the bar's doors were dark and behind them was a staircase leading to an upstairs room full of Indian men and Western tourists. The Indian beer is Kingfisher and the label reads, "Alcohol content exceeds 4% and does not exceed 8%." I suppose every batch is different.

Delhi is insane. Sensory overload doesn't even begin to describe the sensation of walking around that city. For starters, it feels at bit like the episode of Star Trek in which Kirk, et al, land on the planet with too many people. I kept feeling like all of Delhi's 12 million denizens must have decided to come downtown for the day. In addition to overcrowding: honking cars and rickshaws, infinite men offering their services, cows, the pungent smell of urine, women in dazzling saris of all colors imaginable, children rummaging through garbage on the street, beggars, men launching snot rockets from their noses on the pavement in front of you. And that's just the first hundred feet.

It was Valentine's Day and while Jillian couldn't help but remark that Delhi was just about the most unromantic city she'd ever visited, we managed a small connection to that faux-holiday by visiting the Red Fort. The fort was constructed during the mid-1600s by an emperor seeking the pomp he felt he deserved and it houses a massive interior full of halls, residences, towers, and a mosque. Our favorite was the Hall of Public Audiences, where the king demonstrated his solidarity with his subjects by hearing their complaints and worries. Except that the seat he occupied during these sessions was at least six feet off the ground and constructed of marble--not exactly down to earth.

I wonder if any of the emperor's subjects began by explaining that the crops had failed, his cows had died, and his children were sick and then, leaning in as close as possible, whispered, "I have beer."

In front of the Red Fort

One of the king's many receiving halls