Doing Delhi til I Drop

I am having a malfunction with my camera or computer and lost most of my photos from today, including a most spectacular piece of fabric from the Crafts Museum, a photo I took on the sly even though we were not permitted to take any photos; maybe I am being punished, and if so, it would serve me right.  Today I went to the Indira Gandhi Museum after almost being thrown out ot the guest house here because I didn't get in until after midnight, and all the keys to all the rooms had been locked; nobody was here to let me into a room.  The guard and some other non-English speaker kept gesticulating with their arms, telling me that I had to leave.  Hands on my hips, I insisted, "You are going to throw me out in the street?  A female guest from a foreign country?  Are you crazy?"  All the time I was imagining sleeping out at the corner where the rickshaw drivers sleep on the pavement.  Some days are just like that for me, and I realize that I am just a hair's breath from being one of those people, living on the street, floating about on the fringes of the social sructure.  Get a grip, Faith.  Back to Gandhi...

I read all the materials about Indira Gandhi, her marriage, her relationship with her father, her two boys and then her grandchildren, and I looked at her books and her living room, saw photos of her, read her writing, and then saw photos of her grieving over the loss of one of her sons.  Finally, the her clothes she wore the day she was assasinated by her own security guards are on display, and by that time, I felt as though I knew the woman and wept.  When I got to Rajiv's tale, her other son who came to office after her death, I was as captivated with his as I was with hers:  his marriage to Sonia, their life together, his politics, their children, etc... Then, there was a display of HIS clothing on the day he was killed by a bomb.  I could barely walk through the rest of the museum.

 At the outside of the house is the path Indira Gandhi walked on the day she died; it is made of slices of glass that look like water flowing, but at the end of the path is a square of clear glass, which is were she fell after she was shot.  Remarkable.

I really couldn't resist this photo of Gandhi with Hubert Humphrey and Lyndon B. Johnson, primarily because Hubert looks so distressingly distracted.

I have no photos of the Crafts Museum which took me two Metro rides and then a few scalding kilometers of walking to get to, but it was a superb look at the fabrics, brilliant colors, gorgeous designs, and hand work that was so intricate and so magical I was in pain just thinking how I could POSSIBLY endeavor to attempt such feats of stitchery.

After the museum, I his the metro again (Delhi's Metro is so well organized that it makes life a piece of cake here) and got myself to the shopping place tor hand woven Khadi fabrics where I bought several meters of fabric for quilting, and the women and men were all laughing at my buying these little pieces of fabric instead of two-storied sari quantity.

Before I bought the fabric I went to Hanuman's Temple where men were standing to pray, ringing random bells that dangled from the ceiling.  One woman was rushing around one of the glass cases with an image of Hanuman, and I thought she was either the clerk on her way somewhere or she was lost.  One woman was sitting on the ground, chanting a loud prayer and looking ever so much like my friend, Ellen Hicks.  Then, I noticed the woman who might be a clerk or lost was still walking around the glass case, and she had an orange bag with her; I thought perhaps she was shopping, but she picked up her pace, scarf flapping as she went. Round and round she went as a man began to turn on all the lights and opened up a counter behind which sat about 15 more Hanuman figures.  More worshipping, more clanging of bells, and the woman kept lapping that glass case.  I slowly descended the stairs, figuring some things are just too mysterious even for me.

When I got downstairs, a man told me that the woman was doing a form of praying that required going around 108 times!  That lady's going to be hungry after so many laps!

After my experience with laps and fabric, I looked across the street, and what should my discerning eyes behold, but a Starbucks!  Didn't I just rush in there, full of curiosity but also ready to sit down?  I ordered an iced coffee and a chatpatha parata wrap, all of which came to less than $5.00.  

This really is a wonderful world!  Here is the inside of Starbucks in Delhi, where all the young, beautiful people hang out.  Oh, and so do I...

One last thing, in the Metro there is a section called "For the Elderly and Disabled."  Hey, that's ME!