In every city I have visited during my life I have always managed to visit at least one of its museums, especially when it reflected the country’s culture.

And because of my profession, having developed home and fashion accessories in this country for more than a decade, the decision on the last day of my stay to rush to the Craft Museum was taken very conscientiously.  I knew it was a must but had no idea the place, together with its shop, would turn out to be one of my favourites in the world, alongside the Musee de Quai Branly in Paris.  But what I like the most is a concept of its own.  I will explain.

The institution of the museum, aimed at housing objects of antiquity, is of Western origin.  Indians themselves did not have a tradition of setting up museums of fragmented sculptures, rusted swords and cut-out-of-context paintings.

Broken images were immersed in holy water, worn-out objects were left to decay and merge with the very earth from which they were created.

It is due to the continuous process of abandonment of the old and the reproduction of the new that the traditions of craftsmanship have formidably survived in India.

As India adopted a ready-made Western archaeological museum concept in the 19th century, it missed out the fact that, unlike the West, the ‘past’ and ‘ present’ are not so severely divided in its case, and it therefore failed to give adequate importance in its museums to the evolving context of its culture -

The living practices of rituals, festivals, and weekly markets; picture-shows of itinerant storytellers; the materials, techniques and tools of  artisans;

the cultural changes and the attitude towards the past and the contemporary tradition as such.  It is this overlooked dimension of Indian culture which is emphasized in the concept of the craft museum.

The low-lying museum building most appropriate for displaying India’s rural and tribal arts is designed by the renowned architect Charles Correa to act as a metaphor for an Indian village: street-affable, accommodating and active.

A walk across the crafts museum building would be through open and semi-open passages covered with slopping, tiled roofs aligned with old carved wooden Jharokhas, doors, windows, utensils and storage jars and perforated iron screens.

Through courtyards with domed pigeons houses adorned with arches and latticework panels, terracotta shrines dedicated to basil plants, massive temple chariots and vermilion-covered anicolic wait side altars, providing every now and then a peek through a window into vast museum galleries.

The museum’s collection of about 22,000 objects covers a range of bronze images; lamps and incense burners; ritual accessories; utensils and other items of everyday use; wood and stone carving; papier mache; ivories; dolls, toys, puppets, and masks; jewelery; decorative metalware including Bidri work; paintings; terracottas and cane bamboo work.

The museum’s rare collection includes carved figures of the Buddha, folk deities of coastal Kerala, tribal bronzes from Chattisgarth and carved architecture of Gujarat represented by a whole Haveli.

The village complex comprises 15 structures representing village dwellings, courtyards and shrines from Arunal Pradesh, Himachal Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Gujarat, West Bengal, Tamil Nadu, Orissa and the Andman Et Nicholas Islands.

What’s impressive is that through your walk in the different facsimile regions built with regional material, you have the feeling you are voyaging through the whole country meeting with local masons, artisans, thatchers and carpenters.

In every hut or courtyard, day-to-day items are displayed a bit like in the industrial design floor at the MOma in New York.

By an informal estimate, there are more than 30 million weavers, craftspeople and folk artists living in India who posses inherited skills by which they earn their livelihood. In this program, the Museum invites about 50 craftspeople from all over the country to demonstrate their crafts and find new market opportunities.

The program apparently has proved to be extremely popular with school children, artists, designers, the craft trade and the art-loving public like myself and many of my colleagues from all over the world.

The puppet performance was divine.  I got all sorts of gift for my nephews, family and friends.  What a great place to spend a few hours in Delhi, touring India as a whole.  Certainly a must!

Joelle’s Picks:

Bhairon Road,
New Delhi 110001.
Open 1000-1730hrs; Closed: Monday

There is a simple reason the Moghuls, and later the British, lusted after India: Its fabulous wealth and treasures – from emeralds the size of eggs to sumptuously embroidered fabrics.

It has been a while since India was the workshop of the world, and much has been heavily tarnished by its equally exceptional poverty.  Its post-Raj socialist fling instilled an insular attitude towards quality – shoddy goods presented as the price of independence.

Although quality remains erratic, production a problem and packaging idiosyncratic, things are changing, and it won’t be long before the “Made in India” label is once again sought after.

The country’s craft heritage is celebrated in Delhi’s shops.  In fashion, a new generation – led by designers such as Manish Arora and Rajesh Pratap Singh – is setting out to prove that chic doesn’t come cheap, the tradition can be modernized and, in Arora’s case, that bold colors are nothing to fear.

Say goodbye to the tat of the past, swept away by the rising expectations of Delhi’s shopping-mad middle-class.  Prepare to be dazzled by the wares of the world’s biggest bazaar.

Among  my favorite  is Sunder Nagar Market, where old and established shops co-exist happily with glitzy, high-end boutiques and department stores.  One can buy anything from seasonal handicrafts to designer clothes.

Backed by the Delhi Zoo, the Sunder Nagar enclave contains some of the city’s lungs—small parks, the nicest of which are behind the main market in a pleasant residential neighborhood.  The main market has art and antiques dealers, a wonderful tea shop, and is home to Matthews’ Sweets, famous for its confections. Street-side, sit-down cafes offer vegetarian snacks.

Ravissant

One of my favorites in the city.  Apart from couture, Ravissant is a seamless blend of the unorthodox with the traditional.  Extremely chic, wearable from Saint Tropez to Sardinia, passing through Rio de Janeiro and Saint Bath. It’s basic cut, high contrasts and fine craftsmanship are a distinct feature of its collections. Today, Ravissant is a name to reckon with in fashion capitals across the world.

What I like about them is that in 1984, they went beyond fine dressing to fine living, the perfect tailored concept to a lifestyle brand.  By introducing a range of designer furnishings, made painstakingly from materials from its very own looms in India.

Today, Ravissant houses an enviably extensive range of intricatedly hand-embroidery bed and table linens, furnishings and furnishing fabrics in silk jacquards, damask and linen.

An amazing sterling silver collection is on display with enamel work.  The manager told me that the finest Dutch, German and Swiss silversmiths were flown in for starters with modern crafting techniques giving way to age-old methods, creating a collection unique in styling and design.  Their jewelry has a Bucellati touch of inspiration to die for.  29, Sundar Nagar Market , New Delhi -Ph: +91 11 2435 2629 /+91 11 2435 2729

Rajesh Pratap Singh

Easy to miss, if only because the sculptural wall of lockers in the entrance suggests a post office rather than a boutique, the interior of Rajesh Pratap Singh’s all-white store manages to create maximum impact without overshadowing his clothes.

A wheeled operating table straight from the great world war, complete with surgical light overhead, bears some kind of highlights; the rest are simply arranged on stretchers and rails.  Singh designs for both men and women, and eschews the lucrative wedding-sari trade, a stage of many Indian designers.

The ambiance may not shout ‘hospitality’, but there is nothing clinical about these clothes, which are elegant and beautifully tailored.  The emphasis is firmly on the cut, drape and texture rather than the color which is – for the most part – a palette of monochromes and muted tones. /  9, Lodi Colony Main Market, New Delhi 11003/+91 32 624722/+91 24638788 -

Bharany’s

This incredible hidden shop in Sunder Nagar is a must for the those are passionate about old textiles, shawls, and tribal art.  Their collection of enameled  traditional Mughal style jewelery is absolutely impressive.  The intricate jewelery items are crafted with great finesse and designed by Ramji Bharany and Mahesh Bharany’s, who like their father and grandfather have a great flair for jewelery, art and curios.

Founded by Mr. R.K. Bharany, and launched in 1900s, the house of Bharany is a treasure-trove for every art lover, connoisseur and critic in the world.  It presents a wide variety of Indian art ranging from jewelery to royal textiles and curios referred to as “The Grand Old Man from Amritsar” by famous Indian art critic Mr. Karl Khandalavala.  This family-run enterprise is today in its third generation.

R.K. Bharany acquired art objects and textiles extensively.  As a result, he was referred to in almost all art books by eminent art historians such as A.K. Coomaraswamy, M.S. Randhawa and K.J. Khandalavala.  He had the eye of an aesthetic, keen interest and inborn passion for collecting old textiles.  A gold medal was awarded for his unique collection at an exhibition held in Calcutta in 1906.

His son C.L. Bharany inherited his father’s intuition and passion for collecting arts, though in wider varieties.  His valued art pieces were often borrowed from this personal collection by the Government of India to be displayed at different Festivals of India held in Paris, London, Russia, Washington DC, San Francisco (U.S.A) and Japan.

C.L. Bharany has a great passion for collecting a wider variety of arts: wooden artifacts, tribal art pieces, a variety of textiles, shawls, and robes (Chogas).  Additionally, being a connoisseur of art, Mr. Bharany is a renowned author as well, having written several books on Indian art, poetry, philosophy, mythology and novels.  He has also written, produced and directed plays. / 14, Sunder Nagar Market New Delhi-11003/Ph +91 2435 8528/+91 11 2435 3957 /E-Mail bharany@vsnl.com

Manish Arora

Susy Menkes of the New York Times wrote the following about Manish Arora after a 2008 Haute Couture show in Paris:

“It was mad, it was in the actual sense of the words a fashion circus. But with his show of Indian color embroidery and decoration, as if seen through the larger-than life movie cameras of Bollywood...

…Manish Arora is building a reputation for vivid colors, optimistic design, and making use of India’s extraordinary handwork.”

The shop is in a very quiet and hip neighborhood in Delhi called Lodi Colony.  When you enter it is guaranteed to put a smile on even the weariest face.  The impression you get is the aftermath of an explosion in a sweets shop.

Powerful pinks, oranges, lilacs, turquoise and blues interlace with vintage furniture in a language that only Manish can speak.  Pop icons of Indian culture and a Victorian flowered flair melt harmoniously with richly embroidered Mikey Mouse and Lichestein.  Opt-Art is on the menu and Miss Geentanjali, the store manager, wonders how many more photos I intend to shoot.

I am a little embarrassed.  I try on a georgette cap-sleeved top in a bright fuchsia and several luxurious, 30000-rupee outfits, inspect the sunglasses and the Mac make up line – all designed by the artist – and still attempt to shoot the activities simultaneously with my camera.

Miss Geetanjali is right, it’s crazy, but fortunately I am backed by Miss Meesha, Manish Arora’s personal assistant and press manager at the Three Clothing head office in Noida.  Prices for ourfits vary from 18000 to 30000 rupees./ 3,Main Market,Lodhi Colony, New Delhi-110003/ Ph: +91 11 246 38878 /+91 11 246 38898/ E-mail: geetanjali@threeclothingco.com

Global Handicrafts

This is the place to go if you need charming, colorful crystal knobs for the drawers of your powder room chest.  You can be sure your friends and guests will notice, and you’ll be able to tell them nonchalantly, “Oh those? I got them in Delhi.”  They are the dream of every savvy interior designer.  Moreover, they look very expensive and you can bargain them down to the price of 35 rupees each!

In the same small antique shop that looks more like Ali Baba’s tavern filled with copper, brass art ware and handicrafts, you can find glamorous, authentic vintage posters from exotic Bollywood films that you can easily take home and have framed for the price of 500 rupees each.

The Moroccan-Turkish style lanterns are my favourite.  They are colorful, romantic and extremely cheap.  They come in different sizes from 200 to 500 each. / 34, Sunder Nagar Market, New Delhi- 11 0003/ Ph +91 11 41 50 7221 E-mail: fatehbirdi@hotmail.com

Sage by Gita Chopra

At the luxurious, recently-opened Emporio – a high-end local and international brand shopping mall (by the way, one of the most impressive I have ever seen) – a very good, long-time friend and soul sister just inaugurated a luxury boutique brand called Sage. Bed linens, cushions and handmade quilts are elegantly displayed on elegant lacquered shelves.

It’s pure haute couture for the home. Beds of intricate handcrafted silk flower marvels are applied onto the surface of elaborate, quilted bed covers.  Colors are delicate and sober and match one another in subtle tones of plums and light greys, dark reds and oranges.  Burgandy placemats and matching embroidered table napkins are what you should take home in your suitcase.

Guitta has been delivering goods for Ralph Lauren, Anthropologie, and several other international brands.  On my visit to the store she confided to me she’s planning within the next six months to introduce some furniture designed by her daughter Aisha and another designer’s hip lighting fixtures. /302- Emporio-Nelson Mandala Marg Vasant Kunj-New Delhi 110022 /Ph +91 11 4606 0972/73

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Lovely ceramics from Italy, black and white desktop accessories, glittering cushions in Swarovski crystals and other sparkling materials, vinyl furniture in a Disco look, modernist floor lamps with a touch of Hindi flair, this small hidden shop of interiors in Lodhi Colony Market is a must!

The Delhi flagship also has a store in New York City, which means you can easily make your choices and, depending on where you live, the goods will be delivered to you in time. /Flat no. 55 A,Middle Lane- Khan Market- New Delhi,110003/ Ph 011 435 288335/36/38 – E-mail; Khanmktstore@address.home.com

Wow!  This has been a very long day, shopping like a mad in Delhi.  I wish you all the same fun.

Joelle’s picks:

Sources: Wallpaper city guide: Delhi

‘‘A good perfume is like a good woman, it shouldn’t be too blatant; it should slowly but surely make way into your mind and your heart.”

Ram Singh

Is there anything that can evoke a memory like the wafting fragrance of a real desi perfume?  In this regard, attar – the centuries old Indian art of blended perfumes – comes redolent with nostalgia when the elegant, dignified, sophisticated, grand and unhurried lifestyle made people praise the aesthetic subtleties of grace and personal charm.

Attar, originally an Indian perfume, has a heritage of multipurpose potency behind its distilling.  These unforgettable fragrances of the world are presented in cut glass decanters.  Now these fragrances are in vogue in the Parisian fashion seminaries, especially since Naomi Campbell, the bewitching model, fell for Indian mehndi and attar of late.  Stolen from fresh flowers, the fragrances are whisked into glass bottles after a very tedious and long-drawn process.

I am walking in Chandni Chowk when suddenly an old Indian man bumps into me with a box filled with old glass bottles.  I almost fall to the floor and – mortified by the incident – he invites me into a small shop to drink rose water essence, the same thing my grandmother used to give me after a long, heartbroken cry.

Here I am in this very old apothecary.  Aromas and scents permeate the atmosphere in a room filled with very old wood furniture and very old salesmen.  Nobody seems to care about my entrance.  I drink the delicious filtered water while I watch the busy activity around me.

A young couple, apparently bride- and groom-to-be are picking a few items for their home and wedding.  The young girl sees my increasingly curious interest and asks what I do.  After I hand her my card, she proudly shares with me that people often use the same perfume for years, in fact sometimes for their whole lives.

She then elaborates, talking to me out loud and looking upward as though she is reciting a script, while her husband-to-be experiments with different sandalwood essential oils samples.  “The queen of all attars happens to be Rooh Gulab, which was discovered by Noorjahan, the wife of the Mughal emperor Jahandir.  Once, when she went for her morning bath, she found an oily layer on top of the water.  It was kept to cool overnight and when it was later distilled as she had ordered, it turned out to be the costliest attar – priced at 3500 rupees per ten grams.

I decide quickly, hearing the story, to ask another extremely old man to bring me a small bottle of that specific attar.  The brothers Ram Singh and Krishna Mohan Singh – owners of Gulab Singh Johri Mai, Delhi’s oldest attar shop established in 1816 – explain to me that it’s not an easy job to collect pure and fresh flowers for the purpose of extracting attar from them.

The Singh brothers relate their tales of running from pillar to post in search of fresh, pure flowers for gathering.  For Rooh Gulab – the attar of roses – they visit the flower gardens of Kannauj, Aligath, Ghazipur and Jaunpur.  The condition is that the flower must be plucked at dawn and used before the sun rises, for after that the fragrance begins to leave the blooms.

Young men and gods dreamed of maidens walking in a cloud of jasmine, rose and marigold scents.  I am now ready for my own consultation.   I am offered a wooden tray with different small, bottled scents.  I am to choose the ones I like.  Like Cleopatra, I pick the heart before seduction, I wear sandalwood powder on a wick of attar-soaked cotton tucked behind my ear .  It’s a symbol of prosperity and culture.

Mr. Singh suggests increasing the powerful effect desired by using the fragrant attar along with burning incense sticks daily.  The incense is burnt in a gold and silver censer.  “I see,” I reply.  I ask to include herbal soaps without animal fat in my basket.  I keep with my scent selection from the wooden tray.

One of them particularly captures my attention.  It’s Frankincense. I remember studying the Torah portion of the week where the Hebrew priest Cohen Gadol valued Frankincense highly and used to spread this essence in the sacred temple tabernacle.  I request more information about the essential herb Boswellia Sacra’s mystical properties:

The word is from the French word ‘Franc’ meaning ‘luxuriant’ or ‘real incense’ and together with Myrrh, it was the first gum to be used as incense.  Also known as Olibanum, Frankincense was used by the ancient Egyptians as an offering to the gods and as part of a rejuvenating face mask.  It was also used to fumigate the sick, in order to banish evil spirits.  I decide to take the attar, the incense sticks and the essential oil for my bath and massage.

The old man slowly packs every single one of the 7 scents I have chosen in different forms.  All of these were sampled with a coffee bean sniff break in between, from aromatherapy oils to soaps, fragrance and incense sticks and cones to perfumes, attars to medicinal drops.  Among those I chose were Tuberose, Amber (in a large glass bottle), Jasmine, Indian Neroli, (better than Tom Ford’s), Lavender, Tangerine and Lime.  I will treat my depression, rheumatic pains, hangovers, migraines and digestive ailments.

And like men – nawabs, rajas, landlords, subedars, and nobilty during the reign of Akbar Shah II sat for hours - I did too, delicately sniffing and choosing my attars.  These were placed in exquisite boxes with ivory inlay work and Belgian cut-glass decanters, then sent to the inner sanctums of Mughal queens and princesses and other purdah-clad women from the nobility to sample and select their favorite fragrances.

While I wait at the cashier for my bill to come, Kristan Mohan laments that this quaint way of keeping fragrant is gradually slipping into the realm of “antique things in our grandfather’s time”.  But the elder brother Ram is hopeful as he says, “Attars are like flowers – as old as them but as fresh as tomorrow’s new drops.”

Without a word but perfumed to my soul, I leave the shop with a smile.  Through nobody has the time and delicacy to make it a passion anymore, I was privileged enough to have bumped into a man that made me understand my fondness for this art still remains untouched.

Joelle’s Picks:

Attars for the summer: Rooh khus – protects from hot,dry winds.  Cooling effect, five drops when added to 1 kg of sugar makes a perfect drinkable syrup.

Attar Keora: Cures both high and low blood pressure.  Just the thing to beat the rising mercury.

The Old Shop: Gulabsingh Johrimal- 467, Chadni Chowk-Delhi/Ph:+91232.637.43/32919886/E-mail info@gulabsinghjohrimal.com

The majority of India’s population are Hindu, while around 200 million (20 per cent) are Muslims. Several other religions such as Sikhism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Christianity, also flourish.

Jawaharlal Nehru saw unity in this diversity, and the Constitution of India declares it to be a secular republic where the state has no official religion and all faiths can be freely practiced.

Taboos are attached to all religions, but it is especially important to be aware of the sacredness of the cow and the avoidance of cowhide products (such as shoes and bags), among Hindus.  Muslims have a taboo regarding pork and pigskin products.  Sikhs and Parsis don’t smoke tobacco.  With these in mind you can freely walk your way around India’s pluralistic society.

The bedrock of Hinduism constitutes the four Vedas and the Upanishads, which are a holistic compilation of knowledge, philosophy, and ethics.  Yet, Hinduism is not a religion of the Book, but a way of life that has systematically evolved over the years.  In practice, Hindus worship a huge pantheon of gods and goddesses whose iconography has always fascinated me.

Socially, they are divided  in four castes: the upper caste Brahmins (priests), the Kshatriyas (warriors ), the Vaishyas (merchants and traders) and the lowest caste, Sudras (workers).  The caste system envisioned society as an organic whole with each part or caste performing a vital function.

The traditional family structure was that of joint family presided over by a patriarch.  This is now fast disappearing in urban cities like Delhi.  Yet, Sanskara, traditional values are still instilled into children and complicated rites mark each stage of orthodox Hindu life.

There is also an aspect of Hinduism which shuns idol-worship and prefer to concentrate on larger philosophical issues.  Sadhus who wear saffron to indicate their retreat from material world are its most visible practitioners.  They hold the most respected position in Hindu society.

The great pantheon of Hindu gods and goddesses is a bewildering array, ranging from anthropomorphic symbols and shapes to exotic half-human, half-animal forms.  Each god has a personal vahana (vehicle) and symbols of power.  Although community worship takes place in temples, especially on festivals, for most Hindus the home – with its own shrine and personal deities – is where the daily prayer puja (prayer) is conducted.

The Hindus pray in mandirs, or temples, which are found everywhere.  Although the inner sanctums in many temples are off-limits to non-Hindus, I have been able to secretly sneak in.  My hands  and legs trembled in front of sacred rituals where certainly my camera was not allowed…but something told me that I had to try to take some shots.  For several days – with a feeling of guilt – I explored  the curiosity of my soul pilgrimage, leaving my shoes at the door and my camera hidden in my pocket in every case.

More than once I was told by intimidating shoe-keepers and security guards that deities cannot be photographed and again I wouldn’t understand why, when I could walk down Chandni Chowk alleys and purchase the exact same idol representing the same energy for just a few rupees.

When visiting the beautiful and impressive shrines around the city, guides would tell me that Shiva was temporarily moved to another room for maintenance and Ganesha would replace him until the statue was fixed.

Some animals, such as monkeys, bulls, elephants and eagles are reverted in the Hindu faith.  Temples to Hanuman, the monkey god, are found in every corner of the town.  Hanuman’s wisdom and strength make him the patron god of Indian wrestlers.

Every Tuesday morning and at lunchtime, long lines stretch out in front of one of the most famous temples in Delhi as office workers come to say their prayers to Hanuman’s day.  It is therefore auspicious to offer sweetmeats and fruits to live monkeys as they wander in hordes near temples and in the old part of the city.

Hindus believe in one God: Brahman the Supreme, the ultimate ineffable reality.  Their rich imagination has given concrete form to different aspects of the mind, and the many faces of reality are depicted by rich imagery.

Trimurti (the threefold manifestation) symbolizes three aspects of Brahman, Brahma is the creator and the first member of the trinity. Vishnu is the preserver or sustainer.  Shiva is the completer or destroyer.  The gods go through the same experiences as humans on earth,and so people can relate to them.

Hindus generally fall into three broad groups of adherents: Vaishnavites, followers of Vishnu and Khrishna; the second consists of Shavited, the followers of Shivam.  The Shakti cults form the third group and are devotees of the mother goddess. Babas and Gurus (venerated holy men) wander through the streets.

Sva-dharma (personal duty) is all-important in the Hindu faith.  The Bhagavad Gita is clear that it is better to do one’s own duty, however poorly, than someone else’s, however well. After three main stages of the Brahamanical system, a fourth stage called Sannyasi, is to be reached.  It’s the stage of one who has renounced worldly things. Each individual is said to have three obligations:

To the gods – addressed through daily worship, rituals and regular guidance provided by priests; to the sages – achieved by the study of the Vedas, the chanting of mantras, and through offering hospitality to Brahmins and priests; and to the ancestors – fulfilled by producing a son to perpetuate the family and necessary to perform the funeral rites for ancestors.

It has been a very intense day.  I am emotionally moved and shaken.  I wandered through different degrees of spiritual energies, absorbing openhearted all that surrounded me with great passion and  an observer’s devotion.  Prem Singh, who is Sikh, is waiting patiently for me.  His prayer was delivered not long ago to a familiar shrine belonging to his faith.  I got a deity indigestion.

It’s time to come back, withdraw and cocoon for my meditation.  Where are my father’s psalms of David?

If you are in Delhi one of the most important adventures you can experience  is to stroll one afternoon at Chandni Chowk, in the heart of Old Delhi.  You must first be very relaxed and rested.  I even suggest you take your morning off at the Oberoi Spa before facing what’s coming in this busy – extremely busy – commercial center.

Chandni Chowk was once a grand processional thoroughfare that led from Red Fort to Jami Masjid.  When it was laid out in 1648 by Jahanara Begun, Shah Jahan’s favorite daughter, a canal ran down the center of the stately tree-lined avenue.

The Shajahanabad’s most elegant boulevard is now a wide avenue extending from Red Fort to Fatepuri Masjid. It is still the heart of Old Delhi, where both religious activity and commerce mix happily together.  All along it’s length are shrines sacred to various communities.  The first is the Digamber Jain Mandir.

Next to it is the bird hospital for sick and wounded birds.  Loud chants, clanging bells and calls of vendors selling flowers and vermilion powder surround the Gauri Shankar Mandir, dedicated to Shiva and Parvati, which has a linga said to be 800 years old.  

Very interesting is the Sunchri Masjid. This “Golden Mosque” with three gilt domes was built in 1722.  On March 22, 1739 Nadir Shah stood on its roof to watch the massacre of Delhi’s citizens.  The temple is sick and it’s interior is extremely elegant.  I will elaborate more in the next post on Religion.

Chandni Chowk or “The silvery moonlit square”, was then lined with merchants’ shops and the grand residences or Havelis of noblemen and merchants.  What’s fun today is to stroll through the Bazaars with a camera and a pocket full of small denominations of rupees.  My favorite is Kinari Bazaar.

Tightly packed stalls sell all manner of glittering gold and silver trimmings such as braids, tinsel garlands, and turbans for weddings and festivals.  Old Delhi Bazaars are legendary.

An English visitor to these bazaars over hundred years ago wrote in praise of the “Cashmere shawls, gold and silver embroidery, jewelry enamels and carpets” to be found here.  My favorites are Raja shawls in tones of red and crimson at a price of 125 rupees.  They are going to look extremely aligned with the rigor my dark blue Armani suits.

I am walking in the crowd with my camera in one hand and the eyewitness travel guide in the other.  The smell of food, birds and smoke from rituals in temples nearby makes me slightly dizzy.  I am told that nearby we can go to Karim’s.  Tucked away in a narrow lane of the South of Jami Masjid, it is Delhi’s most authentic eatery.  It was named after a legendary 19th century chef, and the restaurant is now run by his descendants.

Maybe I am tired.  I wonder why I don’t always do what I recommend people do on my trips.  I should have had a massage at the spa before coming here…anyways now it’s too late.  By the way, this is the perfect spot to get in and protect myself from the constant noise and street movement.

Menna Bazaar.  This very traditional textile and saree shop is simply impressive.  Hundreds of colorful embroidered textiles from all the regions of India lay neatly organized in piles, one on top of the other.  Traditional Rajastani motifs blend in with very rich and intricate designs from Varanasi and Kolcatta.  Mr. Narender Ahuja, the manager for 30 years, is proud to open and show me, passionately – as if each and everyone piece he had embroidered himself.

Silk crepes, georgettes and brocade sarees are also found in those shelves and I am assured they can be shipped worldwide.  My driver and bodyguard Gurbinder Singh talks to them in Hindi.  They all laugh, possibly at my enthusiasm.  I am making my last calculations, 10.000 to 12.000  rupees for each saree I picked.  I better leave this place now.

I am on my way to Darib Khalan, the jewelry lane and where artisans have worked for over two centuries.  Churiwali Gali has garlands of glass bangles strung along rods to match every saree or lehenga. This lane is popularly called “The Bangle Lane”.  Paradise, my girlfriends.

Khari Baoli is Asia’s biggest spice market.  It spills across this streeet, which derives its name from a step well that no longer exists.

The great thing about the city’s modernity is that this great wholesale Katras of Chadni Chawk and Jami Masjid still retain that souk-lke quality.  Like in Marrakech, Jerusalem or Istanbul, its narrow streets are lined with shops whose goods spill out onto the pavement and shopping still means vigorous bargaining for a bewildering array of goods.

With my hands full of shopping bags, I decide to buy fruit from a woman who just threw a tomato at my head as punishment for having taken a picture of her in front of Bollywood stars’ posters.

Reconciled and proud of my afternoon, I decide it’s time to go back to the Oberoi and take that massage I missed in the morning.  I jump on a cycle-rickshaw  and am carried to my car.  Chadni Chowk is still alive in my mind, so alive that I will come back to it sooner that you think…

Joelle’s Picks:

The Saree Shop: Meena Bazaar: 1852. Chadni Chawk, Delhi -110006/ph +91 23265112.23277624 -E-mail:  meenabazaar@hotmail.com

Marriage and Dramatic goods: Prem Collection: 2179,kinari Bazaar, Dariba Kaian, Delhi, 11006/ Ph +91 9811034744

The source: Eyewitness Travel

Hinduism categorizes a man’s life into four phases: brahmacharya (the young man as a student), grihasta (marriage and its encumbrances), vanaprastha (the process of moving into ashrams and retreats), and sanyas (renunciation).

Following the stage of bachelorhood or brahmacharya, a man is expected to perform his marital and social duties to perpetuate the name of his ancestors.  Thus Vivaha or marriage becomes an important institution, a bonding with his partner not only in this lifetime but, supporting the Hindu belief of reincarnation, in all lives thereafter.

It’s been a very long day.  I am invited to a dinner to celebrate someone’s birthday.  I am wearing my Diesel jeans and a black laced shirt from Rio.  My hair is as I  left it this morning – dried naturally – and obviously my camera in my pocket.  On my way to the birthday party, in the car with four friends, I suddenly hear the sound of drums from afar.

For a second I have the impression of being in the Rio Sambodromo for Carnival but I know I am dreaming.  As we approach the increasing sound, I notice  several elephants adorned in festive attire and heralds in red uniforms carrying bright lights and fireworks while riding white horses.  They are all “parked” outside a majestic entrance gate, while a procession of people greet each other in front of the gate.

“Hey guys,” I hear myself screaming, “drop me here.  I will see you later.”

“What are you taking about?” screams Chris, “It’s just another wedding. Don’t you know it’s the month of Gangaur, the spring festival?  The Hindus honor the goddess Gauri - who symbolizes marital bliss – which means, dear Joelle, that there are thousands of weddings this month in the city.  Please come with us to the birthday.  It will be fun, with lots of interesting people to feature for your lifestyle website.”

Without any more words or discussion, I ask the driver Mr. Tarsem Singh to drop me immediately here and I say good bye to my friends.  The driver very responsibly tells me he’ll be coming back to pick me up as soon as he’s done with my friends.  I thank him and run across the dark avenue in the direction of what is going to be the most incredible experience I have ever lived in the last few years.

Traditional weddings in India bring into play much of the country’s cultural and social life. Vihaha – the formal, Hindu marriage – is not only an individual rite of passage and a religious sacrament, it is also a socioeconomic transaction between families and clans.  The traditional Hindu wedding serves as an occasion where families meet and bond into a lifelong relationship as strong as the one between the bride and the groom.

The betrothal is usually arranged by the families of the prospective couples.  Appropriate partners are chosen by them in consultation with relatives, friends and sometimes, professional matchmakers.  Some common concerns are of caste, community interests, and the comparing of horoscopes to ensure that the match is socially and astrological auspicious.

For  people who believe that life is celestially organized, the matching of horoscopes or janamkundli is a necessity- no wonder they say marriages are made in heaven.  The betrothal is celebrated by gifts in the form of sweets, clothing and jewelery exchanged between the two families.

And talking about heaven, at the entrance gate apparently no one seems to notice my presence.  Suddenly I hear a voice at my back speaking in Portuguese: “Joelle?  What in heaven are you doing here?”  I turn around and I am shocked.  Friends of mine from Salvador, Bahia who now live in Zurich, recognized me. They were clients of my store in Sao Paulo.  Apparently they are guests of honor of the prestigious Sikh family named Sethi.

I am instantly introduced to the family.  Apparently this is the third daughter’s marriage this year.  I am a little embarrassed by they way I am dressed, but their hospitality is so warm that I can’t help forgetting the jeans thing and feel completely free to savor the incredible exotic delicacies from Rajastan in a food station near me.

I eat strange colored candies inside fresh green leaves, and bright colored paper in different tones of pink.  Apparently I can pick sweet or salted – I ask for both.  At least I am a being ecologically proper.  I am torn between dancing to the sounds from the three different stages of orchestras playing pure Bhangra beats, hysterically photographing everything – afraid to miss one detail, and savoring the immense and sumptuous selection of elaborate meals (mainly delicious kebabs from Awadhi cuisine).  Wow!  I am going absolutely crazy.  Is this what Bollywood is about?

I am told by my new and old friends that, with the approach of the wedding day, the bride begins preparations for the occasion.  Female relatives bathe her in a cleansing wash of Tumeric water, often accompanied by affectionate teasing.  The bride, dressed traditional finery, has her forehead painted with floral motifs.  The eyes are made to appear larger with Khol, and color is applied to her lips.

The application of Mehndi or henna on a bride’s palms hands and feet is a common custom among both Hindus and Muslims in the north of India.  The intricate designs that decorate  the palms of the bride include folk art figures of plants, birds, fish, and other auspicious symbols.  The tips of the fingers are completely covered with henna, proclaiming married love.  No wonder they fill the bride with romantic dreams.  Henna is believed to have a cooling effect, but is also a symbol of the sensual union of the couple.  The deeper the red of the henna deeper the love between husband and wife.  Check my bride’s photos:

The bride, the youngest of the three sisters, looked like she came from a fairytale.  Beautiful is not the right adjective.  The unconventional saree attire, the Ghungghator veiling of the face – generally used for protection from the evil eye and respect towards the elders in the family – helps to impart an illusion of mystery and romanticism.  Her jewelry is the most striking factor.  If my friend Zineb was here she could see that her saree was embroidered with large emerald stones cut in pears.  Someone assured me they are real.

The jewelry forms an integral part of the bride’s costume.  Apart from the aesthetic appeal of ornaments worn on different parts of the body, they also indicate the new marital status of the bride.

All jewelry, but particularly gold, is part of the streedhan -the wealth of the bride that is her prized possession, later to be passed on to her children.  In several communities the bride and groom sit on symbolic thrones, enshrined for the time being as a prince and princess.

Beneath a decorated canopy, the sacred fire – regarded as the receiver of the offering and a conduit of the gods – was attended by a priest, possibly Brahmin.  Under his guidance the bride and groom were instructed to recite ancient verses and to feed the fire with butter, seeds and grains.  The fire serves as the prime witness to their union.  This ritual reached a climax with seven circumnavigations of the sacred fire.

Around me is a grand feast.  Relatives and friends dance frenetically around the newlyweds.  Bangra bands come down into the crowd.  Everyone is happy. Among the guests are some European counts and countesses with kaftans embroidered in diamonds and men wearing turbans either in pink or lilac.  It’s a Bollywood atmosphere entangled with the Rio Carnival festival.

The bride and groom danced the first dance, followed by the bride and her father/the groom and the bride’s mother, the bride and the best man/the groom and his mother.  The newlyweds cut their wedding cake and the lavish sweet is served.

The Sikhs and Hindus of Punjab look upon marriage as a sacred and indissoluble bond.  Sikh scriptures do not recognize divorce since they consider the husband and wife as one spirit in two bodies.

The married Hindu woman will eventually observe the Karvachauth fast to pray for the long life of her husband, and in certain regions of Rajastan women – married and unmarried – will carry brass pitchers filled with water on their heads to take to a temple for a ceremonial bathing of the goddess Gauri.

I return to my driver, a little drunk and with an upset stomach, and with my camera loaded with emotions.  Half asleep in the car, I am making a retrospective of the colorful feast of this evening images and my own concepts of a long lasting marriage, the terrestrial union between a man and a woman.

This “constant alignment”  business makes me wonder if it belongs to humans or only to deities.  After all, don’t we have some of the divine sparkle within ourselves?  Doesn’t that sparkle shine in what we humans call a wedding ceremony?

I don’t seem to find the aligned answers.  What’s important though is that the information I need to process in time will be securely stored from my camera and later into my “lifestyle” !

This post is dedicated to Avi Oster

My roommate at the Oberoi Hotel is a prominent fashion stylist She comes to Delhi to embroider luxurious silk, mousseline and taffeta Kaftans from Morocco.These marvels will eventually be worn by wealthy Bohemian-luxe jet-setters and members of the well-heeled Casablanca society, including the royal family of Morocco itself.

It goes without saying that, by osmosis, I am automatically inheriting global connections bridging the growing crowd of affluent Delhi businessmen, socialites, stylists, artists, and their friends, families and entourages, who are all friends of their friends of friends of other friends from Casablanca, Paris and New York we certainly must have met somehow. Whatever.

Zineb, the stylist, calls me on my Delhi cell.” Have you got plans for tonight?  She speaks English like a Moroccan who at the moment has a Hindu accent in the British language.”I was thinking of editing my pictures in bed, watching MTV India over a yogurt and champagne, I answer. “Ok,” she says.”It’s a good idea, until I arrive. There are so many cows and the traffic is dense  I am still far from the Oberoi, you have time.”

“We are invited to the Consul of Costa Rica reception at the Taj Mahal hotel. We’ll follow to Veda (because you to have a look), and then to the home of a friend of the friends we met last night, who invited us for dinner at his house. After that we are going to a reception for a stylist, friend, and colleague of mine on a “Farm” and after that…..”

I interrupt her and tell her, “It’s OK, I don’t need to know more, it’s OK like that.”

“Get dressed then,” she tells me, “otherwise I will carry on as I am not finished!”

I quickly put on a simple black cotton Ana Abdul dress by my friend the designer from Brazil, and an interesting necklace I bought this morning at the Red Fort.  I am ready to face the night in Delhi. At the restaurant Lebanese belly dancers looking more like Hindu deities perform among models, diplomats and boring French businessmen.I beg my friend Zineb to leave as I am tired, jet lagged and terribly hungry.

I must say though, the restaurant Veda is extremely impressive.  Its location is among Connaught Place booksellers, kitchen appliances shops and showrooms. Still bearing imperial seats of approval.  Veda’s interior is a bold collision between Marbella 1976 and a Moghul mirror palace. What’s interesting, I am told by a local PR while she sips champagne, is that it began life as a ‘Fusion’ restaurant, combining classic Indian and other Asian flavors, but it was a step too far for Delhi foodies.

A reversion to much simpler, northern Indian fare served with a contemporary twist, such as pyramids of rice and cone shaped poppadoms, for example, resurrected its appeal. With its leather banquettes, orange walls, and red glass chandeliers, Veda comes into its own after dark, and I must admit it’s a pleasant place to escape the searing early afternoon heat  I tell Zineb I am satisfied and we can proceed to the next dinner at the friend of her friend’s home.

We arrive at the home.  A small crowd is enjoying drinks.Apparently the group was back from a show of the Rolls Royce where apparently one was purchased a few hours ago by our host and the occasion needed to be celebrated among friends and friends of friends.He’s a lovely man in his 50’s, his name is Harinder, he wears a dark moustache and is impeccably dressed in an expensive blue suit. Harinder welcomes us, introducing himself.He’s single, divorced and wealthy.

His home is filled with contemporary Indian Art works. They surround the library, living room and the eclectic 1970 dining room.I feel I am coming from an authentic set production of one of the early Wallpaper Magazine editions.Brass columns, reclining Buddha statues, Tiffany lamps, checkered tables in bone and vintage wood.  Wow!

We are invited to sit in the impressive dining room. The chairs are very heavy, of massive wood and upholstered in a brown leather matching the interacted mirrored pattern in the ceiling. He excuses himself because the main cook is not feeling well and therefore we should be content with a ” fewer” varieties of culinary house specialties:  Tandoris, Masalas, Raita, a cooling yogurt salad – everything is so spicy – all kinds of curried meats including minced lamb; chicken with the name of Reshmi ; Seek, and Mughlai Kebabs; rice and vegetables; warm, delicious Chapati Indian Bread and all sorts of  pickles, and chutneys served by a troupe of very young help.

They light the candles, they serve the wine, they move the heavy “royal” armchairs, they invite us to sit.  They know everything they need to do just by looking at the host’s eyes. Impressive! I remember I had to repeat several times to my help in Brazil the same requests over and over again!

We celebrate, and when I ask the pr what the host does she replied, “Business”. With this answer, the wine in my head and the delicious food in my stomach, once more I beg my friend Zineb to take us out of this wonderful apartment into cool elevator with acrylic cubic lamps on its ceiling  and move on into the rest of the night lights .

We are heading to a party at a farm. Delites (Delhi inhabitants) that live in the center of the city like to spend their weekends in these spacious farms in the city suburbs. They are generally houses with huge gardens and pools where most of the parties, weddings and reception take place. We are invited to a stylist’s 50th wedding anniversary.The evening is cool and Zineb operates in this environment like a queen from Morocco landing on a conquered land.

Torches, garden lights, Bohemian chandeliers, Ferraris, Mercedes coupes, candles, jewelry and sarees and more food delicacies are the main attraction of this late evening. People talk about the latest fashion designs, some gossip regarding the wedding season and the latest London exhibitions  I am getting sleepy but stimulated and entertained by a young and very charming Indian Jewish Photographer called Sidi Tawadey. He invites me to his exhibition ” Une Vague de reves” A wave of dream on March 31 . I will be in New York City…but his light, very green eyes are captivating, and they are telling me gently I should stay.

We are now on our way to Manre, the ultimate and newest spot in town.  It’s almost dawn. Chris Miller, a young American enterpreneur who is part of the group, suggests we spend some of our time at this place.  It is in the very south of the city, in the neighborhood of Saket, at the MGF Metropolitan Hall.

Named after a small town in the Champagne region of France, Manre  is the brainchild of Ramola Bachchan and her partner Kanwar Deep Singh whose vision it was to create a luxurious dining-out experience of international standards in New Delhi. Glamour and sophistication meet here in this sprawling dramatic space, where attention to detail and impeccable service underline an exquisite culinary experience.

In addition the uberstylish bar has become a popular hangout with the cocktail set. Stylish men and women are intimately gathered on white leather armchairs in private dining rooms, a larger party is taking place on the terrace rooftop.The music is loud, with Samba Euro beats. Chris, who is young and handsome, tells me that Manre has become the favored destination for the Capital’s cool crowd as well as the global traveler, where four distinct experiences in the same location seamlessly string together from breakfast to dawn!

The rest of the group left for the Singapoure brand Indochine, at  Lado Sarai not far away from where we are and Magique in the Garden of 5 Senses behind Saket. I am ready for a very deep and long sleep in this city, when I thought it was only New York that never sleeps.

I undress and look at the small embroidered pouch I got as a gift from Zineb from a small hype shop called Mai near the Hotel. It depicts a couple in a luxurious jeweled encounter….who knows, I may get to be part of what is the marriage experience in Delhi.

Good night, I will dream about it…who knows, my dream may come true.

Joelle’s Picks:

The restaurants- Bar- lounges :

Veda  : H 27, outer circle Counnaught Circus New Delhi, 110001 Tel + 91 11 41513535

Manre bar  M.G. Road saket New Delhi H.O. 110001 / Ph: +91 11 4066 8888  +91 011 4066 8888

Indo Chine Forbidden City: Lado Sarai, Aurobindo Marg (beside Qutab Golf Course), New Delhi; ph: 29523330.

Magique:
The Garden of Five Senses Said-ul-Ajaib / Mehrauli – New Delhi  PH: +91 11 4600 8333

Olives bar & Kitchen: Address: Kalkadass Marg, Haveli No 6-8, One Style Mille, New Delhi, 110030 / Ph: +91 11 2664 2552/ Fax: +91 11 2664 4860 / Email: ashish@olivebarandkitchen.com

Bukkhara: ITC Maurya Sheraton Hotel, Sardar Patel Marg, Diplomatic Enclave, Chanakyapuri, Delhi, 110021 / Ph:  +91 11/2611-2233

The Shop: Mai – d1o- opposite Nirulas, New Delhi 110024 / ph +91 11 465-43-3600/

One day has passed since my visit to Jami Masjid.  Yesterday I had a headache, today I am adding body aches.  The accumulated lactic acid in my muscles from scaling the Mosque Minaret yesterday is hardly allowing me to walk properly.  I am a wreck and still terribly jet lagged.  Moreover, I need a suntan and I honestly could do with a break from the hectic urban city traffic, holy cows, and dust.

I decide to have a look at the garden and check out the pool.  Who knows, perhaps I’ll dive into one of the many treatments available.   Amit, the pool attendant, follows me with a pretty wooden tray while he asks if I would like my reclining chair facing the sun or in a shaded spot.  Curious as usual, I don’t answer him immediately…I am intrigued by the different cute things he carries on top of the tray.

Two small bottles of SPF 20 protective lotions on either side of a cold, white, small towel on a ceramic plate; an aromatized rose water spray re- freshener; a small Himalayan bottled water from the Tata Group promising the “Elixir of Life”;  a funny square wood panel with buttons and words such as “call for menu”, “call for drink” and “call for help”.

After picking my place in the sun I decide to call for help.  “Amit, please could you please bring me the menu of Spa treatments?”

“Of course Ma’m,” he replies, quickly running inside.  The temperature is perfect, the sun is mild, and a light breeze gently caresses my very white, not-anymore-Brazilian skin.

“Take your body on a journey of transformation as soon as you enter the serene and soothing spa and fitness center.”

Wow, I like this introduction!  While I read, I am checking my most recent E-mails on my Blackberry from New York, Sao Paulo and Brussels.  Soon my clients and the ones I love are going to immerse themselves into a deep night’s sleep because of the 10 hour difference, and I feel my liberation into this journey will soon be initiated almost furtively and happily, without guilt.

My desire at this very moment is to be pampered in holistic treatments based on Aromatherapy and Ayurveda.  I am definitely sure that my body and spirit will at last be revitalized, rejuvenated and re-freshened.

In the spa menu I read about Ayurveda.   Ayurveda is a holistic system of healing which evolved among the sages of ancient India over 5000 years ago.  This ancient science focuses on establishing and maintaining the balance of energy within us, promoting harmony between the individual and nature.

It is important to know that in Ayurveda, each person is viewed as a unique individual governed by one or more of the universal forces of nature.  Good health is promoted by balancing these energies.

Among the many treatments: Banana Oatmeal, Cucumber Yogurt, Honey Softening Mask, luxury back treatment, Chakra head shoulder and Ayurvedic massage, Rain Mist splendor experience, Orange and Oat, Lemon Yogurt scrubs, and Honey Almond Cleanser.  Hawaiian, Balinese Aromatic and Stone Massage are supposed to be very popular too.  I try to pick the most suitable for my muscles’ injuries and my state of mind.

Shirodhara, is a rhythmic precision of trickling oil for two whole hours onto the forehead.   It is believed to awaken the third eye, which in turn triggers healing and restores good health, apparently good for calming the mind and soothing the senses.  I think I am going to pick the Marma Massage therapy.

At the bright  reception desk Shelly, with a sign of Namaste, registers my room number and name.  Her third eye is adorned with a pretty round Tikal between her eyes.  She  introduces me to a small, smiley young Indonesian girl named Pook.  After crossing a long  corridor whose walls are made of Italian Travertino marble slabs facing the magic dark blue pool, Pook invites me into a fresh and welcoming room.

Pook asks me to undress while she closes her eyes, ready to leave the room.   At the same time she handles a nice tray with a variety of room incense.  I am supposed to pick my favorite.  “It’s about your mood Madam,” she affirms.  Without noticing her departure, I realize she’s not in the room anymore.

In front of me lies the responsibility of my mood choice.  Bergamot: refreshing and uplifting.  Eucalyptus: invigorating, clarifying, energizing.  Jasmine induces euphoria and relieves nervous exhaustion.  Lemongrass: purifies the emotions and relaxes anxieties.

I must admit in India I am never anxious, and my emotions are at their purest.  Don’t ask me why, but this is a fact.  What I really need is energy and soothing my muscles.  Eucalyptus will be perfect.  Pook is back.  She lights the aromatizer with a tea light candle and the Eucalyptus essential oil.  She explains that it’s the same essence we are going to use on my skin during the massage therapy and on the soles of my feet.

Without any more words Pook shows me with a Namaste sign to a large container with multicolored rose petals floating in warm water.  Gently my feet are transported into this blessed Eucalyptus immersion.  After this I am invited to lie on a bed embellished with an Indonesian blue and white block printed cotton throw and very pure white sheets, where I am asked to rest my forehead downwards in a hole where a dendrobium orchid is waiting silently to be replaced.

With a specialized pressure point technique on my energy gateways, my palms, soles, upper and lower limbs, Pook concentrates on my reflex points, promoting within my senses a feeling of complete physical and mental well-being.  She then asks me to turn onto my back.

Adapted to the traditional Indian system of natural healing, for 45 more minutes Pook applies a facial that apparently will stimulate my “Marma”, which are the vital energy points on the head, face and ears.On my way out to the sauna and hot steam bath, wrapped in a very comfortable bathrobe, I thank Pook for her great touch.  Like in a song of appreciation in her pronounciation, she thanks me back.

I am now fully energized and purified, ready to once again face the intricate beauty of this chaotic but yet organized metropolis called Delhi.  But most important at this moment is that I am definitely blessed with that touch of  serenity.

This morning, I feel like staying around my neighborhood.  I have a strange headache and do not want to overdo it.  My new driver Gurdyal Singh – known also as Bopa Rai – is waiting for me at the Oberoi’s entrance door.  As I do every day, I pass the usual routine security checks almost as if I am going to take a flight to Israel.  Except today, crossing narrow alleys filled with traffic jams of holy flower vendors, cows, and tuc-tucs, the flight  is to the grand Mosque Jami Masjid.

This grand Mosque, built in 1695 by the emperor Shah Jahan on a natural rocky outcrop, took six years and 5,000 workmen to construct at a cost of nearly a million rupees.  My flight continues onto a magnificent escalation of red sandstone steps leading to the great arched entrance that will certainly lead me to one of the city’s most beautiful marvels.

Mr. Gurdya-Singh-Bopa-Rai the driver leads me to an old and toothless man who looks both at my feet and shirt, stating in a loud voice without looking at my driver that I must take off my sandals and wear a flowered blue long cotton Kaftan on top of my clothes.

Hoping to find “that thing” clean, I don’t speak with any of them.  I pay for my entry, get a shoe ticket, and an access to the tour ticket.  Without further impediments, I walk barefoot onto a very cold stone floor in the direction of where – once upon Aurangzeb’s times – horses were sold and jugglers were said to perform.

I find no jugglers around but several sweets sellers and shoe minders, very popular professions around tourists sites nowadays.  According to my guide the huge 28 m (300 ft) square courtyard accommodates up to 20,000 people at prayer times, especially during Friday prayers and on Eid, when it looks like a sea of worshipers.

Next to the ablution tank in the center is the Dikka platform where, before loudspeakers took over, a second prayer leader echoed the imam’s words and actions for worshipers too far from the pulpit.

Mr. Gurdya-Singh-Bopa-Rai tells me it’s time to get ready for the ‘escalation’ to the main tower.  Mind you, I am still barefoot, the floor is very cold and apparently it’s a must I extend my visit to the top of at least one of the two minarets.

Still 10 hours jet lagged and nursing the remainders of a headache, I agree to Mr. Gurdya-Singh-Bopa-Rai’s proposal.  I understand after a few minutes that this is the only way I can visit the tower anyway, for being a woman I am required to have a male escorting me.  I wonder why….

Off I go, climbing stair after stair.  Groups of people are coming down and there is hardly space for two people on the same step.

I have to admit I am a little claustrophobic while I climb.  This long – too long – Kaftan…my hat, the dark space, people’s voices and smells in the tiny space make my head spin around.  I am breathless.  Mr Gurdya-Singh-Bopa-Rai suggests I rest a little before reaching to the top, promising me I won’t regret the escalade once I get to see the beautiful view.

After 20 minutes of steep climbing, we finally make it to the top.  I feel I am going to die.  I had no idea I was so out of shape.  From the top of my minaret, I can clearly see the imposing black and white marble domes surmounting the enormous prayer hall, framed by the great central arch.  The view of the Old Delhi roof line giving way to the high rises of new Delhi is absolutely remarkable.

An interesting panel on the wall on our way back to pick up our shoes captures my attention: It’s the time schedule for the prayers.  I love it.  I’ll just come back and watch this spiritual performance into what I called previously my flight.  I’ll  just need to fasten my seat belt next time on my way to the sky.