Gleefulness riding on exhaustion.

Day 16: Lajpat Nagar; Central Market – Check.

“This is an Indian man convincing their shit: Sir, I’m telling you. Best price, take it and go. Take it... and go. Take it and go.” – Russell Peters.

It was day 16 of my Delhi trip, and being my 12^th post, I’m being nourished with this overwhelming sense of pride. Absurd may be, and many people may concur that roaming around markets with open rooftops in blazing Indian summer isn’t really the best idea, but then that is what travel writing is all about, isn’t it?

Laid out in what seems to be more or less like a grid, with the streets occupying the interlaced lines and the shops and stores aligned on the inner segments, Lajpat Nagar’s Central Market is an unparallel shopping hub. Crowded by a healthy population of women, all shops welcome bargaining with arms wide open. From clothing wear to accessories, leather belts to bags, there is every room for a sliding price tag. So, don’t be astonished if, after recurring negotiation trials, you manage to bring down a Rs. 300 product to a mere price of Rs. 50.

And the best part, for commodities like hand bags and handkerchiefs, you don’t even have to look for a definite shop. There are mobile shops, a term which I suppose has been introduced in a post before. It’s basically a one man shop, who holds huge packets of handkerchiefs with him and walks throughout the market, trying to sell them off at negotiable prices. After a certain point of time, you feel there’s a virtual obligation that he’s holding onto, because although he may start pinning the price at an unaffordable scale, but won’t take much time to get him well below what you asked for.

It gets funnier when you come across a young man trying to sell sunglasses; they won’t approach you with a customary smile, or even an attractive tone in their voice. They come up, wearing a godfather like personality and slipped into a tight leather shirt, sparklingly designed jeans and brimming with self confidence, putting on a suspecting look on their faces as if they’re trying to slip packets of nicotine in your bag.

The next thing on my shopping list was shoe laces. But how is it appropriate to set the rates in a shop that has only a torn umbrella as its roof with the owner sitting on a rag, equivalent to what you can expect to get in a high end store. 20 bucks for a pair of laces! Well, I bought five, and being grateful to my mother’s incredible skills at bargaining, I got them for 75.

Food, as we go again, was the customary gold dust. We began with a bite at Mc. Donald’s where, after engaging myself in an exhausting feast with chips at Cardiff, I again fed myself those long potato sticks. Not really much to talk about that. Nevertheless, the one thing I have failed to comprehend is the sudden fall of relish I used to have for Chaat, which now I don’t. Throughout the trip, the only fodder I relied on was a glassful of heavenly Banta (a bottle of lemon drink with an addition of a slash of lemon juice and masala) that rejuvenated my lungs, Chhole Bhature at Rozy restaurant (I know the name sounds bogus, but apparently the place has been a popular eating joint for many people, and is running in its 25^th year), and a Pan flavoured stick kulfi (the normal stick kulfi, with the exception of its green ‘pan’ colour , a distinct flavour and some pan pieces that replenish your breath in its last bite).