India Gate. 

A memorial to those Indians who gave their lives in the first world war and other conflicts of that time. Standing in the heat and bustle of Delhi it is hard to comprehend that men volunteered from their cities, towns and villages and wanted to defend their ‘mother empire’. 

Men signed up and traveled to die in Flanders. I cannot imagine how they would have coped with the trenches, the cold and the wet. What type of hold did we have over this nation that men would do that? Indians fought across many of the first world war conflict zones. It was quite humbling to learn this history and pay respects to them.

The moment could have been even more humbling if it was not for the hawkers that descended upon us like a plague of locusts. Horrid. Forcing lighters, postcards and cheap souvenirs in your face, stopping you from walking. This site was the worst that we ever encountered. I suppose they know that westerners will come here, and with other museums and monuments closed it was the only location for the day. 

I suppose a reality check is needed. These traders are only trying to earn a living, a very meagre existence, probably working for gang masters and needing to sell their goods to survive. It is hard to put that into perspective when as a group leader you are checking that the all the group are fine after being submerged into this frenzy.

We walked from India Gate through the impressive gardens that lead to and from it. We had escaped from the sellers but had picked up a group of boys, the numbers increased by the minute. 

There were more girls than boys in the group but we tried to put them into the middle and we walked faster. The chasing pack walked faster. We had to stop, confrontation was inevitable. I stepped forward, but not quick enough, Gilly got to them first. It was a perfect demonstration of how the Indian people are such a contrast. The traders made us suspicious, but all these boys wanted to do was have their picture taken with western girls. They were polite, spoke good English and meant absolutely no harm. It was quite fun mixing with them, the girls were flattered and I came down from’combat’ mode. Less than twenty four hours in and it seemed as though India was not going to allow any ten minutes to be boring. Contradictions, contradictions. 

With photos taken, plenty of handshakes traded, we were left alone. A pleasant experience. Now, what to do? We walked to the edge of the park and sat by the road in front of the main museum – which was closed. Like a blooming flower, the bees were not far away. Two, and then a third tuk-tuk arrived, hemming us in.

“Where are you going? Museums closed? We take you to palace?” There was a desperation for the business. These guys were not going away. Gilly stood up to them, but they were not going to respect a woman. The group looked on, they were physically blocking us in now. 

This was my moment. I stood and walked to them. Gilly had told them we had no plans, and we were happy to walk but they were not listening. With the whole group listening, I approached them, stood as tall as I could and looked the leader squarely in the eye. 

“We do not need a tuk-tuk. If we did need tuk-tuks we will not use you.” He stood, not moving. And then the line that gave me my role in the group, or at least broke the ice and demonstrated I would be able to step forward. “Now, **** off.” They got the message. I am not someone who swears, nobody within the school had ever heard me swear before – but the three tuk-tuk drivers moved away. Turning to the group there was an acceptance and some smiles. I needed that confrontation, a lot of my frustration and the claustrophobia of the city came out in three simple words. Some basic Anglo-saxon had lifted my spirits and helped me bond with the group.

Wandering through those gardens and green space insulated me from the city that surrounded us. The noise was in the background, but there was something about walking on grass and seeing the sky above that was calming. 

We did not really know where we were going but we set off for Connaught Place – a large roundabout and a place where tourists would gather. On the roundabout was a large western style restaurant, with a large, spectacularly moustached doorman type greeter on duty. It was very western, but there is a very important point about this.

Most trips you want to try and engage with the local culture, experience something of the lives they lead. For me, India forces itself upon you. I had found it almost suffocating. To have these moments of escape are vital. They are more than vital. 

Although we ordered Indian food, it was surroundings that I was comfortable in. Slowly I was fighting back. Unfortunately, India had only just started – and I did not stand a chance.