On Saturday, Heather still had guests in town, so we each did our own thing for most of the day. This was actually the first time that I ventured into Delhi without someone else with me. The day started on the right foot because I was able to negotiate using my favorite driver, Divendar; he usually drives James, and James was in Darjeeling. We set off at the civilized hour of 11am to do some shopping. I was on the hunt for some 'traditional' clothes to wear to a wedding that I may be going to in Kathmandu in two weeks. I started off at Santushti, a very posh shopping village in the Diplomatic Enclave in Delhi. I didn't find much in the way of wedding options - I'm chubbier than I should be now anyway, and to boot, most Indian outfits have very small sleeves and tight necklines. Of course, it's not like me to head home empty handed, and I did find several kurtas that I liked a lot. The bad side of shopping at Santushti is that all of the prices are fixed, and fixed at wealthy foreigner rates. The upside is that they have some beautiful things.
After poking around in the shops for an hour or two, I headed for The Garden Restaurant at Lodhi Gardens. I had a great meal outside in the garden, on my own, private, canopied divan. The restaurant is pricey for Delhi standards, but I'm sure we'll be back. It's a lovely setting, with red lanterns hanging from huge trees, and lovely shaded tables. They have a very nice continental menu, also, which is a refreshing change every once in a while. On Lonely Planet's recommendation, I had the Lamb Moroccan, which was excellent, along with a salad and a nice glass of red wine. I was planning on stopping there, but then the waitress brought the dessert tray. Now, I need to take a moment here to explain that I have not been suffering food-wise. I am really liking Indian food in its tremendous variety, and save one bout of food poisoning, the local diet and I have been getting along quite well. That said, I had a moment on Saturday that was reminiscent of Day 25+ on Survivor, when they show the semi-starved contestants mugs of beer, a pizza, or a hamburger and give them the chance to earn the food as a reward.... There, on the dessert tray in all of their chocolaty goodness, were brownies. "Do you have cold milk?" I asked. The waitress gave me a look that indicated that I was clearly crazy, but said that, yes, they did have cold milk. And so, I couldn't resist. Just when I don't think I'm homesick, I am undone. Cold milk and warm brownies a la mode....it tasted like home to me and it was worth every calorie. I rounded out my afternoon by meeting up with Heather in Khan Market and helping her pick out some lovely duds by a local Indian designer. We then headed home. Divendar took such good care of us - I love that man. We were practicing Hindi in the car, using the flash cards that I had made, and he got SO excited. Hindi, when delivered by a native speaker, sounds a lot like a verbal waterfall. It's very lyrical and beautiful, but somewhat overwhelming. Needless to say, all three of us were giggling most of the way home. Divendar was so tickled, he even called one of his friends so that she could listen to us stumble through what little Hindi we know over the phone. We sailed into Essel and were treated to a 'light' Indian dinner cooked by our very own Abdul. Sometimes simple is best... paneer, aloo gobhi (potatoes and cauliflower), chapati, and salad --- the keys to Heather and Megan's hearts.
Sunday morning, we rallied around 10:30 with brunch and a visit to the main Sikh temple in Delhi as our primary objectives. Since we were fairly early for brunch, we decided to stop off in a sari shop that one of Heather's friends recommended to us. From this point on, my day was a lot like the shopping montage in Pretty Woman - for those of you who know me well, you'll know this was pure bliss. Heather and I spent a solid two hours sipping chai and being swathed in some of the most beautiful silk fabric you have ever seen. Teal and peacock, sterling silver, crimson and petal pink - there was something for everyone. I think the sari guys (yes, it's all men in the shops) thought we were a bit nuts because we eschewed the spangled chiffon and georgette numbers that are so popular in northern India, and insisted on seeing the woven silk saris that are more typical of southern India. Heather selected a sari that is silvery grey with gold embroidery, like sunshine peeking around storm clouds. It sets off her blond hair perfectly. Heather claims she's never going to wear her sari at home, but she supposes it's worth it for the use we'll get out of it here. I think she's nuts. Fabric that beautiful on a lovely woman is never going to go out of style - no matter what. For myself, I picked out two saris and a salwar kameez. I know, I know...too decadent...but one was too gorgeous be passed up, one was too good a deal to turn down, and the salwar kameez is just more practical to wear, not to mention being done in my two most favorite colors. So, that's my justification and I'm sticking to it.
The first sari I bought is an iridescent, petal pink with gold embroidery. It is a lightweight, gauzy silk that will be perfect for warm weather. Each sari comes as a length of embroidered fabric, with the end-most piece intended to be made into a blouse that is worn underneath the remainder of the fabric. We discovered in trying on multitudes of options, that a sari with some patterning throughout is more interesting. The ends of the saris, which drape over your shoulder, are the most intricately embroidered. The second sari is a deep turquoise blue with a magenta border and gold embroidery. There are golden floral swirls embroidered on the blue field and a thick gold border that runs through the magenta. It is gorgeous. I'm sure that I don't carry it off as well as an Indian would, or someone more svelte, but it is so beautiful that I just decided to treat myself. Everyone deserves to feel like a princess, now and again, and you can be sure that any time I drape that sari, I am going to feel like a million bucks.
After the big sari decisions were made, we headed upstairs to see the salwar kameez. Heather picked out a princess-seamed ecru and gold ensemble. Mine is teal, antique gold, and crimson. The tailor came and measured us to fit the salwar kameez pieces, and to sew the blouse and petticoat which go under the saris. My pink sari will have a sweetheart neckline on the blouse; the turquoise and magenta number will have a magenta blouse with a simple rounded neck. After a hefty deposit, exchange of business cards and much goodwill, we were on our way - blissed out on shopping and ready for brunch.
I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but Heather and I are on a best-of-Delhi Sunday brunch tour. We've tried the Shangri-La (which was beautiful but is also where we got sick), the Oberoi (which was so good, Heather went two weekends in a row), and now we decided to try the Imperial. All of the brunches that we've tried have been fantastic, and easily rival the best brunches I've had in the US. The Shangri-La was notable for its free-pour Veuve Clicquot; the Oberoi for its free-pour Moet and frangipan tart; but the Imperial was the best yet. We rolled up a gravel drive and were greeted by a turbaned door man. Gorgeous flower arrangements punctuated each arch and doorway, and the moment we entered the lobby, we were awash in the lilting scent of jasmine. At the restaurant, 1911, we were ushered to our table on the patio by a fleet of perfectly solicitous staff. Today was a beautiful day in Delhi - 70 degrees with sunshine and a light breeze; it really could not have been more perfect. Crab salad, seared ahi, caprese salad, prosciutto, steamed scallops, and salmon-wrapped artichokes started us off. They were followed by paneer tikka, tandoori prawns, tandoori naan, and tandoori chicken, in all it's glory. Tandoori naan is bread cooked on the inside walls of a clay oven; we watched the chef deftly hook the bread before it fell into the coals and tuck it into a white-linen-lined basket for our immediate, buttery enjoyment. At just this point in our gourmet sojourn, Heather discovered the seared-to-order foie gras, subsequent to which, I discovered that Indian mango chutney is God's gift to foie gras. Last, but definitely not least, dessert - miniature éclairs topped with dark chocolate and gold leaf, creme brulee served perfectly in an eggshell, lovely chocolate truffles, strawberry tartlets, and hazelnut millefeuille, and for Heather, lots of stinky cheese. I must not, must not, become used to this, because it will end very abruptly, come October.
We hung around the lobby of the Imperial, smelling the jasmine for as long as we could, and then got picked up by our driver, Amit, and headed for the Sikh temple, Gurdwara Bangla Sahib. Bangla Sahib is like a smaller version of the Golden Temple complex. It is not so scrupulously maintained, but it is also clearly seeing heavy use as a daily place of worship. I find Sikh temples to be very welcoming and peaceful, even when crowded. The routine here is similar to in Amritsar - remove your shoes, wash your feet, cover your head, take a promenade around the sacred pool, sit in the temple and enjoy the chanting. I imagine that the experience will not be as calming when summer sun is making the white marble glaringly hot, but in February it is very pleasant. I am so thankful for how welcoming the Sikhs are; we are extended the same courtesy as any other visitor, more in some cases, even though we stick out like a sore thumb. Heather was a little frustrated that we're still getting the 'what country are you from?' bit, but I don't ever really expect to blend in completely. I am appreciative of being made welcome and at peace with not quite fitting in.
Surfeit with happiness, good food and peace, we rolled out for Gurgaon. Heather and I are the sole occupants of the guest house this weekend, so dinner was made to order. Biryani, butter chicken, chapati and salad. The perfect end to the perfect day.
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