Multiple Choice Question:

Today, your state of mind could best be compared to:

A) The mangy dog taking a dump in the middle of oncoming traffic, sniffing upwards at the exhaust-filled air, unaffected by the buses, taxis, and motorbikes swervering around him.

B) The wild-eyed autorickshaw driver puffing nervously at his cigarette while dodging cow road blocks and acrobatic pan-handling children.

C) That banana leaf paper tray, once so beautiful as it cradled syrupy golden sweets, now trampled underfoot by apathetic cows nosing their way through piles of garbage.

As I've come across these images lately, I think I can make an informed decision: the last, C.

It had been a productive morning, placing orders for materials with an actual person, finding myself contentedly dirtied by studio work, so I thought I could spare an excursion afternoon. My adventure buddy, Anne and I took off for Old Delhi. Yes, New Delhi has its evil twin, Old Delhi. Actually, sometimes the two swap places, making things very confusing. We were set on seeing big old things, the city's oldest and biggest mosque, Jama Mashtid, and Lal Qila, a walled red fort perched atop a hill. (To you Roman historians, it seems to stretch the size of Circus Maximus!)

The fort was closed, so we made our way to a Hindu temple that appeared to be open. As customary, we took off our shoes to tiptoe through suspiciously colored puddles and fresh bird poo. (Turns out, the back of the temple housed a bird hospital decorated with the most marvelous informational painting depicting how birds get hurt: young boys armed with kites and sling shots seem to be the targeted culprits, followed by the often demonized carnivorous cat.) The interior of the temple was closed, so we flagged down a cycle rickshaw and, after incessantly insisting that, "No, we don't want the grand Old Delhi tour," had him drop us at the old mosque.

Let's just say women, especially foreign women, beware Jama Mashtid. We had our heads covered, but not well enough, I suppose. They rifled through our purses, charged us camera fees, and kept pointing at a rules signboard as we watched other non-Muslim but Indian women file through. They kept us outside the gates, telling us to wait. Again, us watching other women, many with heads uncovered, walk past. A small crowd gathered, men wanting to tell us what the mosque rules were, some very passionate, and it became a game of sorts, one that grew in number. After a vehement, "Shoes down! Shoes down!" (We were standing with shoes in hand to give to the appropriate shoe-keeper.), We forfeited and left, without seeing the splendor that lay past the entrance. I'll return eventually, I'm sure.

You know, one of my motivating reasons for coming here was to empathize with those who struggle to belong in cultures they find themselves in. So, along those lines, I'm grateful for today. Love for people and places must be tested before one can proudly don the "I heart Delhi" T-shirt, literally and metaphorically.