India Again: Molested by Monkeys

“Hey Ma’am, the Gardens are that way,” the random rickshaw driver unhelpfully informed me, assuming I missed the massive gate immediately to my left. The Lodi Gardens weren’t my priority. I had spied a Mother Dairy cart and I was going to have my first rose kulfi in 4 years. I paid my 30 rupees, walked through the gate, peeled back the wrapper and popped it in my mouth only to have a grown ass monkey jump me and wrestle the ice cream from my hand. It took seconds and then I had a group of smaller monkeys grabbing at me demanding more treats. The ice cream thief sat on the side of the bridge, eating my ice cream and making threatening faces at me as I scowled at her. I thought I might cry. A MONKEY STOLE MY ICE CREAM! I briefly considered fighting her but who wants a rose kulfi a monkey was licking? And would I win? 

People warn you about the touts in Delhi, the people who trick you out of your money or luggage and misdirect you, but no one tells you about the ice cream thieving monkeys. 

Even without the monkeys, Paharganj is an assault on the sense. You walk the narrow streets, trying to avoid stepping in shit and getting hit by scooters and rickshaws and right beside your ears is the incessant refrain of “hello Ma’am hello’ from someone who is going to follow you for a block or two is hopes you are foolish enough to turn and make eye contact. Everyone is honking, yelling, spitting or blowing their nose loudly and it can be quite exhausting. Especially when you have been in a pandemic for the last few years and your love for humankind muscle is feeling a little flaccid.

It’s all looking up, though, friends are here and flights are booked for Varkala!