Mr Rajasthani says: It’s crazy to walk there. Why don’t you take a motor-rickshaw as every normal person would do?“ But I just smile and head off. Despite Delhi’s crazy traffic and the insane pre-monsoon temperatures I am very fond of walking at least the two kilometers from the metro to the hospital in Malviya Nagar. Otherwise I wouldn’t have seen: a coppersmith preparing his business for the day. Two women collecting wood for a fire to make breakfast, a stall with fresh Alphonso mangoes, who never make it to Europe but four of them made it into my bag today. I don’t think they will live for long. A shoemaker repairing a pair of boots, several chai- wallahs whose offers I steadily refuse. Would Mrs Rajasthani know that I drink tea elsewhere, a serious crisis would break out. I passed by two men cleaning their teeth with neem leaves and a group of women carrying water on top of their heads. I passed by the „Smile house“ still of one my favorite names for a dental clinic. I chased away two dogs, crossed the street without being run down by a motor-rickshaw and admired a young man, who transported five bags of flour on the back of his bike. From far away the muezzin called to prayer and a man emptied a bucket of water about his head. I passed by too many children picking up trash and selling roasted corn. Too many young girls I see, carrying children, while being themselves still children. A bus stands abandoned in the middle of the road and every car passing by has to horn with furor, as if anything ever started to work while being shouted at. At the far end corner of the street a vendor sells Laddu and I have to close my eyes because it’s so incredible good. Shortly past 7 I arrive and hear B. crying: „Are you crazy to walk down here?“ But I just smile and offer him my second laddu, but while he walks down the floor, I still can hear him saying: „What a crazy kid, she is, indeed!“
Actual cow count of today’s walk: nine.