- Some of the lost Delhi chapter

There was much that I didn’t take pictures of. There were endless visits to dilli haat, that haven of pretty authentic-ish Indian stuff in a sanitised, pretty inauthentic environment. Though now, even dilli haat has its own ethos - an amalgam of customer convenience, managed access to artisans, bad performances, pretty good food and well, architectural pastiche, on reclaimed land over an open sewer system. I bought a little box and a little pendant to go into it for my main gori, Indian looking scarves for my two main goras, and other junk for everyone else.
There was the crazy shopping outing with my heroine number one at DT and MGF, malls galore. Lunch was had at Ruby Tuesday, shoes bought in a manic manner, and pounds gleefully converted to Indian rupees. There were several drunken events at the Sheikh Sarai HQ, amid power cuts and home cooked food. The shiny black Nokia 6080 recorded these untiringly, but now finds that it cannot transfer the images to my computer unless I get it an expensive subscription to internet. Nakhrey…
There was a night of dancing and very very expensive booze at two nightclubs, in one of which we all decided to be lesbians to stave off the portly computer geek (?) who salivated at the edge of the dance floor. The other nightclub was where I characteristically wasted an opportunity to get hot ‘n’ heavy with a punju lad with a cockney accent. Yes, from London. He wasn’t half bad though, all considered.
But praps the best times were had on a Sunday afternoon, when two friends and I arbitrarily decided to visit Tughlaqabad fort. We ended up going to its erstwhile outpost, half a kilometre off, across a vast field of dust and kids playing cricket. Parking was easier, for one.

there's bloo, busily checking messages from irrittating aunty type clients

there's a pretty swagger

there's some scamps

there's Delhi.