A Recipe for Successful Weight Loss

Ingredients

Some street food such as Chole Kulcha or Chicken Momos
A lassi
A reduced intake of alcohol
Greatly increased intake of water
Reduced appetite
The start of a hot Delhi summer
Some exercise such as walking, swimming, yoga and running

For this recipe it is important to have first settled into your new surroundings and have a routine. Attend yoga three times per week at the temple across the road and revel in listening to the temple bells whilst contorting yourself into various assans or meditating. Combine this with walking to and from work. This is especially easy to do if you find it a hassle getting in autos. Add a smattering of swimming and running. Sweat.

For this recipe you will find it easier if your VSO placement is in an area where your choice of food is Western junk, greasy Indian takeaway or tasty and cheap street food. Keep forgetting to take in your own food so you resort to the street food. Bake at a Delhi summer temperature of 42 degrees (or gas mark 19). This level of heat is necessary to ensure the mix of street food becomes a lethal concoction of bad salad onions, infected meat and bad hygiene. You will find your tolerance to these foods won’t be as good as the locals even if you think being in country for 5 months will have sorted you out. Add these ingredients until you see the first few rounds of the so-called Delhi Belly.

Reduce your appetite drastically at this point. If the infection has persisted, reluctantly take some antibiotics until the weight loss really kicks in. The next stage of the recipe needs only a few ingredients. Add only dry toast, probiotic dahi (a.k.a. yoghurt) and peeled apples. Ensure you wash this down with 6 – 8 litres of water a day. Occasionally add a pinch of rehydration salts. At this point stop all exercise unless you can be sure you have enough energy and there are toilet facilities nearby.

Should you feel better, you can decide to add another infection from street food. At this point there is a real danger of dehydration or acute gastroenteritis. Ensure you stay in contact with a good doctor and you know where the nearest hospital is. Should you have a second infection, again stick to the above few ingredients for another week. Once you are better from a second course of antibiotics and you are back on normal foods, go to a notoriously dirty Indian town such as Varanasi for the weekend. Be careful whilst eating out in travellers’ cafes and clean Indian restaurants but then decide to drink a lassi on the last day.

Call the doctor on your return stating you really don’t want to take a third course of antibiotics but will if you must. If you’re not feeling well at this point you can add some humiliation by having to attend the doctors with a stool sample. Add the antibiotics depending on the results of the sample and continue with the usual diet of dahi and toast. Add the occasional egg if the recipe tastes bland.

Once the effects of Delhi belly decrease and appetite returns, keep meals small and resume levels of exercise. If the above steps are followed correctly you will find you can negate the effects of the weight gain recipe and even enhance your weight loss.

HEALTH WARNING: This method of weight loss will only work with a calorie controlled diet. Please see your doctor if you have any pre-existing health conditions.

Pics courtesy of:

http://antibioticsandalcohol.net/

http://www.smccd.edu/accounts/salahuddinr/

http://showmethecurry.com/category/odds-ends

A Recipe for Successful Weight Gain

Weight yoyo-ing is apparently usual in Delhi due to the change in temperature between winter and summer. Mine may have been a little bit more extreme. Gillian McKeith watch out, here’s how I did it:

Ingredients:

Lashings of Ghee 

Butter naans 

Karti rolls 

Anything with paneer 

Greasy but available Western food: burgers, pizzas, fries

Sundaes

Cheap local chocolate: 5 star bars are ideal

VSO volunteers

New surroundings

Sugary Chai

First take a change in surroundings and embark on a VSO in-country orientation programme in Delhi. Mix the following ingredients in a big pot: boring hostel food such as watery dahl and rotis, the same rice and pickle every day and soggy toast every morning. Simmer for a while. Chuck in a new set of colleagues and put around 18 in tiny shared rooms for 4 weeks. In order to make sure the ingredients cook correctly attend the really intense Hindi lessons.  Ensure all bonding sessions are done over food and meals out.

Once the broth has simmered for a week or two, add the greasy but available Western food at Eatopia and McDonald’s. At this point be careful of your morals when it comes to globalisation, you may have to discard these for the sake of your mental wellbeing. Continue to add a smattering of fries and McAloo Tikki burgers every few days. Stir occasionally.

At the end of the second week add in the plentiful local supply of new, cheap and tasty food at Gulab’s and other restaurants in Mehar Chand market.  Be liberal at this point. Don’t spare on any of the Butter Naans, Karti rolls, paneer or anything with ghee.

You will find this result reinvigorates your tastebuds and your appetite. Take at least one portion of the meal daily and add in some comfort chocolate such as the local 5 star bars if you wish to have quicker results. After 4 weeks, add the start of a cold Delhi winter, some accommodation issues, two extra weeks in a guesthouse and plenty of warming sugary Indian Chai.

After a few months you will find the recipe has been successful. If followed correctly you could gain anything from 5 – 10 kg.

Next instalment coming soon: Recipe for Successful Weight Loss

 

Easter in Varanasi – Bodies, bulls and bacteria

In Delhi they say travel before April when it really hots up in India. Two other volunteers, B and N, and I decided on a last trip to Varanasi before the summer months. On the day we arrived at New Delhi train station in good time. The boards weren’t showing our train and the enquiry desk had a queue of people that snaked almost out of the station. We went up to the bridge that crosses all platforms and each board above each platform was showing different information than the boards downstairs. Dodging porters with three suitcases apiece on their heads and the occasional sleeping body we traversed the bridge looking at each board. None showed our train number. We went downstairs. The boards were stuck over an hour behind at 5.30pm and we were due to leave at 7pm. We had 20 minutes to find our train. Panic was going to set in soon.

After another few runs of suitcase dodging and body hurdling we were getting desperate. We eventually found three men that looked like they might know. Platform 9 they said and we ran. T minus 5 minutes and counting. People trundled along in the heat, toddlers sprang out of nowhere and huge families blocked our path. On the bridge we reached platform nine. No train number was apparent as we hurtled past and down the stairs. We checked the charts plastered on the carriages. It was the right train but we were another six carriages away from ours.

Suddenly the train started moving. Luckily the health and safety rules that exist in other countries don’t in India. We ran to the nearest open door and jumped on the moving train. We walked down the train sweating and laughing to the amusement of our fellow passengers. Two carriages down and the door to the next carriage was locked. A passenger told us the door would be opened after five or so minutes. After ten minutes the door was still locked and the train had stopped at another station. We made another run for it.

I shouted to the other two that we’d reached our carriage and to hop on at the next door. I heard a shout back as the train started to move, ‘It’s locked!’ We ran back screaming and laughing with our rucksacks on. It must have been great entertainment for the usual passengers strewn around the platform waiting for their delayed trains. ‘Quick get on, get on!’ ‘Hurry up and get out of the way!’ Spectators wouldn’t have needed English to understand what was happening.

We finally found our seats. As we were in different parts of the carriage we decided to take three seats in one berth and hope we wouldn’t be moved on. We spoke in pidgin Hindi and English to the man in the remaining bunk. He later laughed at us bored playing The Name Game and told us there is an Indian equivalent called Antakshari meaning last letter.

We had the usual staring from male passengers but our friend was gracious and friendly. Helping to find out what had happened when we didn’t get blankets and there was no food service. It was a new train, named the ghost train by B. No wonder it hadn’t existed at the station. I was grateful for his presence when I woke up in the middle of the night to a man sat on my bed as my friends were sleeping soundly in their upper bunks. I sat up speechless upon the sight of the stout greying man dressed all in white. The apparition spoke to me in Hindi and prodded my rucksack which had been jammed behind my head. Baggage thieves are notorious on Indian trains. I said ‘Kya?’ (what?) It was all I could muster but it was enough to wake my fellow passenger who firmly spoke to him. I could make out he was saying this is not your compartment, go and find your own. He floated out backwards with a monologue moan, ‘sorrisorrisorri’. I half expected to hear a rattle of chains as I thanked our friend before rearranging my baggage and settling down to what was then a fitful sleep.

We arrived to the usual barrage of touts and phoned our guesthouse for our pick-up. We did not disembark from our auto at the guesthouse but outside the tiny streets that lead to the ghats. With baggage in tow we trundled after our guide in 40 plus heat dodging cowpats, hawkers and temple-goers until we made it to the Ganges and our guesthouse. After dumping our luggage we went to explore the ghats and the tiny maze-like streets.

Whilst walking past a stall, we noticed a Deaf guy signing to his friend. I said hi and we got chatting to him and his three friends. We took them up on the offer of being shown round the next day and some sari shopping. I love how the Deaf community is so small. When you bump into anyone in the world you find out they know the same people. They’d all met the Director of my organisation at campaign rallies for the rights of Deaf people. In the heat we let our new friends and moved on to find lunch and much-needed shade.

Shortly after, we nearly got run over by a dead body under a colourful cloth being carried aloft on a stretcher by six men. Draped with garlands of flowers they made their way between the piles of wood for cremation down to the ghats where the body would be burnt on a pyre. Rumours are rife of body parts being seen floating down the river as poorer families can’t afford the more expensive wood needed to fully burn a body. On a sunrise boat trip, we saw the strange sight of people sifting ash by the funeral pyres for jewellery and gold teeth.

Varanasi was a strange delight and our eventful train journey should have been an omen of what was to come. A fun afternoon was spent marvelling at famous Banares Saris with our new Deaf friends. It was relief to get off the streets where the goats munch garbage and buffalos wait to be milked. A particularly grumpy one had seen my red kurta and tried to go for me. A local man had to lead me back shielding me from the bull to get back to my friends. When I thanked him he broke out into a grin and charmingly said, ’You do not need to thank me. It is my right and my privilege to help you in my country. I spent the next few days wondering how I had managed to pack what seemed to be everything red in my wardrobe.

We ended our last day by having a lassi with our Deaf friends. As I was signing away I could see passers-by forming a small crowd until they got bored and moved on. I could hear the lassiwala say to B and N, ‘she knows their language?’ It strikes me as ironic that this humble man who lives with a buffalo outside his shop understood immediately that sign language is another language. How is it possible that some members of the government fail to comprehend this when they suggest ISL is merely a set of gestures relating to Hindi?

Unfortunately that lassi was what probably gave us the bug that left N ill on the train home that evening. B wasn’t feeling too great either. We didn’t get our waitlisted tickets for our original train back causing more chaos at the station. The one we got instead went to East Delhi forcing us to get a Metro back into town. Lucky for us we had got chatting to a passenger who led us to the Metro station. I’d explained that B and N were ill. He marched me to the front of an hour long queue for tickets. When the man behind me protested he responded, ‘These are guests in our country. You should treat them as such.’ I was received with a gesture to move forwards to the ticket window which I gratefully accepted under the circumstances. When we parted at the Metro interchange he made sure we got to the correct platform and I shook his hand vigorously marvelling again at the kindness of strangers. Thankfully my bacteria decided to strike only after I’d gone home and been to the shops for supplies. I’ve been pretty much hunkered down since we returned two days ago and have been swallowing antibiotics regularly ever since. I’m definitely heading back to explore more of Varanasi in the cooler months. Next time I think they’ll be no ghost trains, no lassis and definitely no red clothes.

Get your coat love, you’ve been pulled! – The Indian Traffic Cops

I was working at the weekend. Shocked at getting up at 4am on a Sunday, I got the train to Agra for a Deaf event. My colleague and I were doing a presentation on interpreter training and some filming. He had been there a few days so I got the train there and he gave me a lift back. We were waved off after a productive day and we settled in for the 4 hour drive back.

Not even out of Agra, my colleague answers a phone call on his mobile. Two minutes later, we’re pulled by the police. Now I’ve heard a lot of stories from people about the police and corruption, especially in Delhi.

One friend told me he got pulled for no reason late one night and he knew the police were going to make something up and charge him. He hid his cash under a floor mat apart from 200 rupees. They duly came over with a charge of speeding and told him he could pay the fine of 1000 rupees. He said he had nothing on him and offered up his 200 rupees which they took and went on their way.

Another work colleague told me a story of her husband. He is Deaf. He was pulled one night and as Deaf people are not allowed a licence, but drive anyway, he was a bit stuck. With no one to communicate between him and the police, it was a bit tricky. He ended up paying a 400 rupee bribe.

The stories of the traffic police and their bribery are endless but as another work colleague tells me their pay is so bad it is how they top up their wages. Actually, people queue to get government jobs. They are coveted positions as they provide the security of a job for life with pension benefits. So much so that recently one young man was sadly killed in a stampede at recruitment centre. 

So back to Agra, my colleague pulls into the slip road and follows the policeman to this little hut. The car is in the middle of the road and autos are beeping, weaving their way round, going up on the pavement and down onto the road again. Other cars mounted the other kerb and got round somehow. I sat in the passenger seat wondering whether my presence was a help or a hindrance. Watching the cops was interesting. I could sense they like being able to wield their power but are open to negotiation. Possibly as they know they are in the wrong but it’s just what they do.

I saw my colleague negotiating, gesturing at the car. The policeman was fingering his licence deep in thought. Meanwhile, one of the Deaf guys at the meeting came out of nowhere, jumped in and moved the car to one side. He leapt out again and was signing to the police who was waving at him to go away.

Ten minutes later and my colleague jumps back in. He’d had to pay 1000 rupees but he had negotiated down from actually having his licence taken away and having to appear in court. He’d told the police he was staff at an NGO, I was a teacher visiting and they were embarrassing him in front of me. Apparently it was good I was there. It was even better when our Deaf colleague turned up just on time to back his story up.

We started talking about the corruption and how it is so inherent. To prove this he took out a slip of note paper out of his pocket that the cop had given him. It had the date, the place and was signed by the cop. My colleague explained the paper was in case he was stopped again. He could show it to the next cop just so he wouldn’t be bribed again.

Pic - http://world.casio.com/system/pa/solution/20090820/india_police.html

The Volunteer and the Balloon Seller

Recently a fellow volunteer told me this story which made me laugh. She doesn’t have a blog so I’m putting up here:

In Delhi if you’re in an auto that has pulled up at some traffic lights chances are you’ll be offered something to buy. This could be anything from boxes of tissues to helium balloons, photocopied books that look like the real thing to glossy mags. There can also be beggars or disabled people as there is no welfare here. The sellers can be poor also and working for someone else for a very small wage.

So my friend and fellow volunteer was in an auto one day, stopped at the traffic lights and was being sold something. She shook her head and said to the seller, ‘Mei volunteer hoo’ (I am a volunteer). This drew a blank look as it usually does from the hawker as the word ‘volunteer’ in India is often not understood. The concept is fairly new and sometimes it means you have to volunteer to get experience as you are not good enough to get paid yet. I find myself often going into a full explanation of the whole experienced professional coming to India to share skills and to develop Indian organisations. Unless we do that we can be pretty much looked down upon here but colleagues who work in National Volunteering tell me it’s on the up and there is a lot of interest from people wanting to volunteer and give back to the community. VSO in India are looking into reducing the amount of international volunteers in favour of using the experience that exists already in India. International volunteers will be providing more targeted support and knowledge in the areas where it may still be needed.

Anyhoo...back to the traffic lights. My friend is being offered some delightful goods she doesn’t want. This happens regularly and sometimes we are sitting targets in an auto. If you’re spotted sometimes sellers make a bee line for you because you know, we’re Westerners so therefore must be rich. She attempted an explanation in Hindi, ‘Mere pass rupaiye nahi’ (I have no money).

The seller pulls out 10 rupees and offers this to her. Hilarious. This caused the driver to laugh too. She refused the cash obviously and tried to explain that she works but for an allowance, for essentially what is an average local wage. So he then pulled out a 100 rupee note and offered it to her! This story illustrates why I love this country. Just when you think it is predictable and you know exactly what will happen you get a nice surprise or someone just makes you completely smile.

Pic from http://www.guardian.co.uk/news/gallery/2010/jan/02/1?picture=357553544 

Queuing at the Delhi Counter Part II - A Legal Alien in New Delhi

The visa process is painful. The expat forums are full of queries and no-one knows what the processes are or what the different types of visa mean. As volunteers we sort out our own visas and must sit around for hours in strange government offices. It is a rite of passage one must go through to be allowed to stay in India. Here’s the rather strange story of my experience:

DAY ONE

10:07 Arrive at the Ministry of Home Affairs reception and use elbows to obtain a number. This is slightly different from buying Gouda at Sainsbury’s.

11:03 My number shows up on the LCD. Elbow way to front to hand in form and be given slip of paper that allows me inside visa facilitation centre.

11:05 Queue at visa centre reception. No one is at the desk. After ten minutes a group has gathered and a man rocks up. Elbow in, hand over form and sit down for the long wait.

12:41 Called for interview where there is much staring at paperwork from official. I’m told to come back at 16:30 to collect letter which must be handed in tomorrow, still sealed, at the Foreign Registry Office.

16:40 Return and wait for an hour and a half alongside irate European who seems to think that if you complain about the system it will immediately improve. Collect letter and leave having wasted a day of work.

DAY TWO

07:30 Arrive at Foreign Registry in auto. Realise I need to pay 80 rupees and have only 60. A passerby takes pity on me and gives me 20 rupees. The kindness of strangers. Resolve to hunt him down later and pay him back. Put name on list. I am number 10. This feels like a good number to be.

09:38 Return after breakfast at a nearby hotel to a long queue of pushing Afghani’s on the left and perturbed other where-esles on the right. Push way to front as I am number 10. As I wait two British men push their way into the queue behind me. The one at the front asks if I am British. We have a conversation about queues and what reason we are all here. They require exit stamps in their passports so they may return to India after they have been to Dubai. I tell my new companions that the Afghani queue is for refugees. European woman in front of me turns round and offers a pitying but withering look. She tells me they are not refugees but medical tourists as the doctors in Afghanistan are supposedly not as good as India. Feel slightly stupid and apologise. Get to front and I am told I am late. Get given number 20. Dammit.

10:01 Inside the building clasping our numbers we all queue again to see the man on reception. I chat away to my two new British friends. Number one is the slightly older of the two and is very jovial. We chat about India and the UK, about colonialism and the British influence here. Number two is thinner, slightly younger. He is probably in his late 40s/early 50s with lovely demeanour. Number one chats away with me. He tells me he has a franchise in automatic pizza making machines and he has been trying to sell them across India but this hasn’t worked well so far. Number two says that I shouldn’t believe anything number two says.

10:05 I have by now discussed why pizzas cannot be sold on university campuses yet in India as the food is all subsidised in canteens and delicious. I have also told them both all about VSO, my placement and when asked what I will do when it ends I joke that I may return to the UK, settle down, find a husband. I get a strange look from both of them. Remind self that some of my humour should be reserved for friends.

10:07 Still chatting I ask number one a question. He mishears and says, ‘Our names? I’m Nick and this is Gordon.’ We talk about the length of the queue again. They need to catch a flight to Dubai and have to leave in one hour. I call up my flatmate and get advice from the FRRO guru, Nikki-ji. She has been here many times. I tell her about the two men and tell her my number. She tells me it took her three hours but it all depends on what is in my envelope. I relay this to my companions. As they are here for a different reason there is a small possibility they can get out in time to get their flight.

10:09 OMG! It dawns on me that number two is Gordon Sumner aka international superstar and amazingly talented one: Sting. Realised I’ve been trying to give them insight on India and pizza machines. Cringe and try not to laugh. I can’t look up and fiddle with my paperwork for 30 seconds to regain composure. Breathe.

10:10 Tell number two, aka G/S, quietly that I have figured out who he is. Exchange knowing glances all round. Ask number one who he is as he looks as if he may be familiar too. I have a laugh with them both that he is not in fact a pizza making machine seller and is in fact a BBC journo or something. He tells me his name and tells me I probably won’t find him through Google.

10:12 Ask them why they don’t have a handler. Point to man just in front of us who hands over seven visa application forms causing us to wait another 10 minutes. We agree you probably have to come in person for a visa stamp.

10:13 Tell G and N they probably get asked this all the time but can they donate some money to VSO. Write down my Just Giving website address and my blog address. He reads out Jen Does Delhi. I tell him that it is a play on the title of the famous porn film of the 1970s entitled Debbie does Dallas although state that is definitely not what I am doing here, it's just that the title just makes me laugh.

10:15 Get to front of queue. Man dismisses me and says I do not need to renew my visa until April when it runs out so I should come back then. Tell him I am here to register with police as well. He doesn’t even look at me and waves me away. Say my goodbyes to G and N. N says he will hunt me down and marry me at the end of my placement. I tell him that it would be lovely thank you. G wishes me luck earnestly. Feel amazingly lucky and humbled. What a day and it is only 10:15! Who cares if FRRO have dismissed me?

10:18 Call FRRO Guru-ji. Realise in all the excitement of meeting G and N that I didn’t give the receptionist the unsealed letter I got from the MHA the day before. Tell her that I met Sting and she unknowingly gave him FRRO advice. Inform her that this takes her to new levels of FRRO guru-ji-ness.

10:20 Convince security guard that I need to go back in very quickly as I forgot something. He points back to the queue outside. Wave around letter frantically and look slightly maniacal. Plead. Beg. Get let in again. Phew.

10:22 Barge my way to front of inside queue and plead with man to open my letter. He points to queue and again. Plead again and stand still refusing to move. Thrust envelope into his face and put on my best feminine helplessness face. This never usually works.

10:23 It works! Wonder if famous lovely superstar, G, and future husband, N, are watching this pitiful performance. He opens the letter and tells me to go home. The police will visit my home to check I live there at some unnamed point in the next few weeks.

10:25 Look around to say goodbye to G and N. They’ve been swallowed up by the frantic medical tourists and frustrated Europeans. I head off hoping they get their stamps and enjoy their holiday when they return to fabulous India. Wonder if they’ll be any tickets in the post soon?

(pictures from - http://www.askmen.com/ and http://www.matteoandmathilde.com/2009/10/i-remember-during-my-times-at.html)

Travels, Touts and Trauma

After my recent conference my guest speaker and friend, over from the UK, stayed on for a tour of Delhi, Jaipur and Agra. He has Usher Syndrome which means, in his case, tunnel vision as well as being Deaf. For someone with this condition it can be pretty tough getting around. Imagine then visiting India: a place with few pavements, mentalist driving, little awareness of disabilities and a general level of what feels like chaos. There were incidents right from when he arrived at the airport all the way through to when he left.

To start with, we arrived at a hotel round the corner from my house where my guest would stay. I am not allowed male overnight visitors at my flat and this has been written into the tenancy agreement. My landlord is part of a lovely but rather conservative India family who live on the ground floor. The hotel staff looked perplexed to see their new guest arrive. As the two of us chatted in Sign Language they stared. The staff asked many questions and were horrified when he explained that they cannot knock on his door as he will not hear. They didn’t get it at first but then started to realise the implications of his being there and panicked. As I walked back to my pad at 4am, I wondered how this was all going to work out.

Over that week the staring I usually get went to a whole new level. A white woman, using Sign Language and guiding a man around when pavements are bumpy i.e. most of the time, attracts a lot of attention. We had a few near misses with motorbikes and a few occasional collisions with Rickshaw wallahs, a few stumbling off kerbs and autos trying to drive off whilst my friend was attempting to get in. There were some funny moments and some that were pretty stressful.

The Indian ASLI conference went very well. In India the Deafblind community are not so well integrated into the Deaf community so I had to show a few people how to communicate with our honourable guest. Once people had seen hands-on signing or were told about tunnel vision, they just got on with it. Having my guest at the conference proved to be an awareness raising exercise. In fact that is how the whole trip turned out.

With the conference over we headed by coach to Jaipur. It was impossible avoiding touts whilst being a communication guide. I shouted ‘Jao!’ (go away) more times than I have had to so far. When we got to the hotel however, the receptionist started signing away. Turns out he had a Deaf friend. Bingo. A bit later on one receptionist said my guest couldn’t go out alone until we put him straight. Later that evening he successfully went out on his own in the company of a Rickshaw-wallah. Being forewarned about gem scams in Jaipur, he returned safe.

Whilst visiting the City Palace, my guest had his first haggling experience. Later a Deaf man approached us as he worked in the shop and had seen us signing. If you’re Deaf you meet other Deaf people all over the world. It’s a known phenomenon. Some people had no patience but then you can get this wherever you go and whoever you are. Many more though watched our interactions then would try to make gestures so they could communicate directly. Some helped with the job of guiding once they knew how.

We travelled onto Agra to see the Red Fort, Agra town and the infamous Taj Mahal. A place famous for touts and con artists, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I was lucky to find an auto driver to stay with us for the whole day saving us the hassle of negotiating a price each time. He was very patient and helped out whenever he could. A conman got my guest into the Taj for free as he wanted to take half our entrance fee afterwards. We went in for the cost of my ticket alone and left him outside penniless. There was more being bumped into by passers-by, more stares and logistical nightmares. When you have the beauty of the Taj in front of you though, nothing else is important.

After a late trip on the train back to Delhi we had a day of tourist fun there before my guest went home. Straight to the Red Fort where my guest got another free entry. I declined to go shopping at Janpath. The security guard looked horrified when I said it was just him going in. I told him I would happily accompany my guest if I got in free. This was declined so off I went much to the consternation of the guard.

Later we headed to Old Delhi. My guest got followed, grabbed and no amount of Jao-ing got rid of one man so we ducked into a street food place for a samosa and a lassi. Once replenished I negotiated a rickshaw so we could be cycled around the chaotic streets. When we got out our Rickshaw wallah tried to rip us off and wouldn’t give me my change. We were suddenly surrounded by ten young men who fought with him to return the cash. We ended up getting our ride for half the price I had negotiated and one man told us to leave as the argument continued. I whispered my thank yous and got my friend out of there with relief and gratitude at the kindness of strangers.

Many disabled people here are stuck at home, isolated or just not visible in public. Society here rarely sees positive role models as India has far to come in accessibility, understanding and awarding people their rights. One man told him that he was amazed as my friend was far better off than many here such as the many illiterate and destitute living in poverty. I think my guest, in his short time here, gave many people food for thought and did more than he knows for raising awareness of how it should be in India.