80/ 100 Julie, Shuresh and Kalu

On previous trips to India we have visited brilliant exhibitions and then made the bold decision not to buy the accompanying book. Then when we get home and wish we had the book in question we discover it is very difficult, and very expensive, to find here in the UK.

The last time we did this the book in question was for sale at an exhibition in the magnificent Jaipur City Palace and was the thoroughly enjoyable Pukka Indian – 100 Objects that Define India. This year we visited a wonderful exhibition at the Bengaluru Museum of Art and Photography (also home to the waistline devastating Smoor chocolate cafe downstairs). This show was all about the creation and history of the labels that were affixed to textiles when they were shipped from India to the UK. Trust me when I say it was much more interesting that you might think.

Like a toddler crashing after a birthday party my brain was addled from the excess of sugar I’d consumed in the cafe earlier and I made the bold decision not to purchase their book – Ticket Tikka Chaap. Fiona told me I was being rash but what would she know. That night, when I was out looking for Idli, I knew I’d made the same mistake as before but decided I was going to make it my mission to find a copy of that book before leaving India.

We ended our trip to India in New Delhi – a city full of bookshops. Many of those bookshops were within walking distance of our apartment in Hauz Khas but, as you can guess, not one of them stocked this particular book. The one place that everyone kept recommending for all our book needs was named after my birth city—the Oxford Bookshopso I took that as a sign that I had to go there. The only small problem was that it was at Connaught place which was not somewhere we really fancied going. Not because it was dangerous or anything as dramatic as that, but because its main visitors seemed to be glitzy upper-class tourists who make fine prey for the street hawkers.

Fully prepared for what was to come we emerged from the dark and stuffy Rajiv Chowk metro station and into the centre of what is basically a humungous roundabout. You are surrounded at ground level by unappealing Western-style shops whilst above, countless hungry kites fly overhead waiting to scavenge the bodies of tourists who have simply given up and died from repeating the phrase “no thank you” too many times.

The touts here were quick and fierce. Not only were they more persistent than usual (I think we were too early so they had too few people to prey upon) but they had taken their conversational techniques to the 2nd level. Rather than offer you something you didn’t want these guys (it’s always men) first pretend not to be scammers.

They break off from their fake phone call, sauntering over to warn you about the scammers and thieves. People here, they say, will steal your phone or camera or rucksack and try and take you to a distant market where they receive commission. Then, when they think they’ve managed to befriend you, they make it very clear that they don’t want your money, nor do they want you to buy anything at all from them. They are only being helpful.

However, they advise, there is a great secret market that literally nobody knows about and it’s so secret it conveniently isn’t even on Google Maps. They say tourists like us absolutely love it and, as luck would have it, he had a TukTuk just around the corner and he was just about to head that way. Well wouldn’t you believe it. Such a coincidence.

We didn’t go anywhere with that guy, or the next dozen. The secret market seems to be well known by plenty of folk so I am wondering how secret it actually is? We also didn’t get our training shoes cleaned by any of the people offering that, nor did we take up the offer of a TukTuk ride anywhere in the city for Rs200, or a haircut, or even ear-cleaning. We also ignored the advice that literally every single shop in Delhi was closed today, except for one distant shop that this guy knew of.

I lost my composure eventually when I was trying to take a photograph of some dogs with a man wittering away in my ear, telling we where he knew of some better dogs in, of course, another market. He did apologise for annoying me to be fair, and at least the other hawkers took notice of my wrath and we continued to the bookstore unbothered.

Once we had the book(s) safely tucked into my rucksack we headed for a coffee when I spotted these three fine dogs sunbathing across the wide pavement in front of a shop called Miniso that is most definitely not a direct copy of Uniqlo. I made a few photographs and sauntered over to chat to a chap who, like the dogs, was catching some of the early morning sunshine whilst reading his newspaper.

Apparently this was his shop, he told me, but he prefers to let his staff work indoors whilst he sits outside with the dogs that were named Kalu, Shuresh and Julie. He also has two dogs of his own that he keeps at home and he said that he simply couldn’t pamper his own two dogs whilst watching these three indie dogs starve on the street. He feeds them daily and makes sure they have plenty of water and gives them each a bed. There are in fact five dogs under his care, which is why there are three more beds drying on the railings behind him.

He also told me—and these are his words, not mine—the central dog, Julie, is really fat because she is a typical girl and she eats all the chicken he gives the three of them.