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My morning starts like every other: I'm woken
at 7.30am by a knock on the door, and there's
Islam, handing me three of the daily papers.
'Good morning, Mr Tim. Breakfast?' I'm staying
as a permanent guest at the Hotel White Empire,
in the center of New Delhi. It may sound like
the headquarters of the Indian Klu Klux Klan,
but I'm assured the name stems from the Boogie
Nights-esque all-marble interior.
'Morning Islam. Coffee, eggs and toast, thanks'.
According to the hotel menu, I get a choice of
eggs: poched or omlate.
I'm doing the Delhi shuffle as part of a media-exchange
program designed to improve cultural understanding
between countries. I've travelled extensively
within India several times, I suspect I was chosen
as much for my past travelling experience as my
media qualifications. But that hasn't made the
challenge of finding a place to live any easier.
The property agent I was dealing with (who, rather
mysteriously, wore a large handkerchief on his
head at all times) dragged me round dozens of
cockroach-infested apartments before I gave up
and decided the White Empire was for me.
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After
breakfast, there's always time for a shave at
'Bharat's barber shop' set up on the footpath
outside the hotel. It's indulgent, but this is
one of the many affordable
pleasures India has to offer. And
while it might be indulgent, it's less dangerous
than some of the more eccentric
services
It's the last moment of solitude I get before
Harjeet Singh's auto-rickshaw shoots me into the
middle of the seething anarchy that is New Delhi
traffic.
As I hang on for the white-knuckle ride to work,
Harjeet deftly manoeuvers his belching three-wheeled
charge through gaps in the traffic that I swear
don't exist, one hand on the throttle, the other
furiously honking at anything within sight.
With a grin and a wink, Harjeet whips off down
a narrow street as a 'shortcut, Sir', and as usual
the trip takes exactly the same amount of time
as yesterday. I never mind, because despite the
rickshaw being exactly at bus-exhaust level and
the temperature already climbing towards the dusty
35-degree maximum, there's never a dull moment.
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