After three weeks walking Delhi streets, I think it is a completely fair assessment to describe it as a battle zone.
Usually there is some order to traffic, usually the larger vehicle gets right of way. Here, not so much. Rickshaws, motorcycles, street dogs, scooters, pushcarts, cars—all seem to have right of way. I’ve failed to deduce any sort of pattern to the hierarchy—I’ve seen rickshaws pull out in front of cars, pedestrians in front of rickshaws. It’s definitely a battle zone.
And that brings me to Holi—the holiday where things are literally thrown at you. So a new dimension has been added to my daily commute, an actual assault on my person.
Holi is Saturday and the newspapers have flashy color ads of bright paints and smiling people. Reality is a little different.
In the past week, I’ve had no less than a dozen water balloons thrown in my direction, mostly breaking at my feet. Three have been direct hits, including my bag as I was crossing the railroad tracks this morning at 9am.
The road across from HRLN is particularly hazardous and pictures below of kids three stories up strategizing and wrecking havoc on pedistrians.
And no balloons? There are always water guns or simply a bucket of water. Seriously.