A whirlwind tour of Delhi

We spent the day sightseeing around Delhi with a tour guide on a giant bus with "Tourist" emblazoned across the windshield. Meanwhile, all about us were hundreds of the three- wheeled motorized rickshaws painted in a festive lime-green and lemon-yellow, bicycle rickshaws packed to the last inch with little kids in school uniforms, while women in brilliant saris flew by on motorcycles, clinging to the Western-dressed men who invariably drove and trailing streams of gold-embroidered scarves like a wake of water. Everywhere we went in the city the air was thick with a mixture of humid haze and car exhaust and woodsmoke that was slightly nauseating yet almost invigorating: To me, the smell- and the filmy haze in the air - evoked a sense of the exotic,

Our first stop was the Jama Masjid (the Friday Mosque), built in 1653 by Shah Jahan. Constructed over the course of only 5 years, the amazing structure rises over the surrounding city of Old Delhi, faces west (like all mosques), and consists of an enormous open plaza space with a large pool in the center surrounded by rampart-like walls with tear-drop shaped archways to look out over the buildings and busy life happening below and the Red Fort (also built by Shah Jahan) through the distant haze. After climbing the steep stone steps to the entrance, we removed our shoes (with the option of buying slippers to wear while we toured the sacred space) and the women in our group donned light, brightly-colored floral robes provided to make sure we were properly covered. We made an eccentric group wandering through the place of worship in our slippers and robes, looking, as Kat put it "like the Mad Woman escaped from the attic".

While some of the people inside the Jama Masjid were worshippers, many were tourists like us, enjoying the marvel of the rose-colored stone, the graceful teardrop domes and doorways and the decorative engravings from the Koran in musical-looking Arabic writing. Staring out of the archways, Jeanne observed how they "reframe how we see the world."

Leaving the mosque, we made our way through the few people who had gathered to beg or sell us trinkets like miniature cobras dancing out of little baskets, beaded headdresses and guide books about Delhi. In pairs, we climbed into bicycle rickshaws for what was one of the most thrilling rides of my life. We swarmed through the streets like a school of fish, sometimes inching along, sometimes picking up speed, dodging to the side of the road when trucks laden with towers of white bags came honking from behind.

We rode through the narrow, packed "streets" of Old Delhi, little more than paved alleyways shaded by massive tangles of power lines. All around us were closet-sized shops bursting with shoes, eye glasses and wooden carvings for sale. We competed for space with vendors of produce and cheese on rolling carts, miniature trucks filed with cages of chickens, an occasional goat and even a shiny, latte-colored calf. A constantly evolving stream of smells accompanied us at ever turn - ripe vegetables, livestock, burning incense, the smell of leather- and wood-working, the scent of lavender... We arrived back on the high-speed thoroughfare just in time to see a man riding down the road on the back of a camel!

For many people in our group, like Julia and Sue and Kat, the rickshaw ride was the highlight of the day, a fireworks display for all the physical senses at once. For others, though, the best was still to come.

After the chaos of the rickshaws in the teeming streets, our next stop was a soothing oasis. Raj Ghat, the memorial to Gandhi (whose name "Mahatma" means "great soul"), was a tranquil place of manicured emerald-green grass and quiet walkways surrounding a simple marble bier decorated with two wreaths and a glass-cased torch. In this setting, listening to the humble yet incredible history of the man who fathered a peaceful revolution in his own country and inspired people in countries around the world, from the segregated US to apartheid-governed South Africa...it was easy to believe in happy endings. Some of us felt inspired and moved, as we imagined how much the world had been strengthened by one person with a dream of peace and equality.

If the market streets had been an explosion of sight and sound and the Raj Ghat had been a treat for the mind and heart, lunch was the final sensory extravaganza. At a restaurant unappetizingly-named the ChickenInn, we ate baskets and baskets of naan dipped in colorful and flavorful plates of saag (spinach) with paneer (cheese) and creamy daal (lentils). Butter chicken, pickled onions, mint chutney, spices I can't even name... It was like a festival on my tongue. Afterwards, we nursed cups of chai and coffee with dessert, which was gulub jamun (cheese balls saturated with sugar and rose water).

Outside the restaurant, both Beth and Marianne braved encounters with a cobra, who appeared to be entranced by a turbaned, flute-playing handler. The rest of us braved the handful of persistent vendors, selling miniature copies of the Kama Sutra and decorative bindis (a sticker for the forehead signifying happiness in marriage for women and fire and strength for men).

Our next stop was the Tomb of Humayun, which our guidebook calls a "magnificent structure in red sandstone and white marble" and "one of the finest examples of the garden tomb, precursor to the Taj Mahal." It was all that and more - a serene and scenic complex of walls and gardens and fountains fed by straight stone canals. The tomb itself was housed in an elegant double dome said to be characteristic of Mughal architecture.

The sun was dropping low as we climbed the long stairs to the open patio-like space in front of the tomb and looked out over the delicately-spaced gardens and buildings we had walked through.

Getting back to the bus, we passed a police car with a sign in the windshield proclaiming "officer on duty" while the man in the driver's seat lounged with his bare feet on the steering wheel. After a day traipsing through the monuments of Delhi, most of us were pretty envious!

 Our last stop, a government-sponsored store and workshop of traditional Kashmir handicrafts, was a bit comical. They sat us in a wood-floored room and served us tea while they demonstrated the traditional way the carpets have been - and continue to be - made for centuries. At the end of a long day, in an over-hot room and still recovering from jet lag, Nancy nodded off and almost spilled her tea! But that didn't slow her down from falling in love with the carpets they unrolled across the floor six inches thick. After she bought a rug, the salespeople "smelled her credit card" and led her through rooms of jewelry and gems and  hand-worked silver. Meanwhile, the rest of us were led through rooms of silk scarves, gold-threaded saris, and robes - and plenty of mirrors to pose in front of! I don't think any of us escaped with our wallets unscathed...

Back at the hotel, we enjoyed one of the most important activities of our trip: our yoga practice. On a rooftop of the hotel, John led us in gentle breathing and movements, intended to flush the system and encourage expansion. After a day of enjoyable chaos, with the prospect of more eye-opening experiences tomorrow, flushing and expanding were just what the doctor ordered...


To see photos of our trip, please visit our Facebook album: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=266765&id=294275506729


About Inner Connections Yoga
Inner Connections Yoga, in Castle Rock, Colorado since 2002, is a place where the ancient traditions of Hatha yoga are brought into the experience of our modern lives. John and Jeanne Adams, the studio owners, help their clients to unite the interconnecting aspects of body, breath and spirit, and also connect yoga enthusiasts in a supportive, friendly community. Every year, Inner Connections leads a group yoga trip to an international location. Past trips have included Brazil, Fiji, Honduras and Costa Rica. For more information, please visit www.InnerConnectionsYoga.com.