Pahar Ganj: New Delhi

When people asked where I was staying, I proudly told them Pahar Ganj, they would smile and nod like they should have guessed. They were probably fighting the urge to turn me around to check if I had a Lonely Planet sticking out of my back pocket. It was full of young foreigners, but even fuller of life and an Indian current of activity that could care less who they were temporarily sharing the space with. For two nights I went to the same spot and drank Chai under a darkening purple sky with a group who mutually accepted the foreign break in the ordinary as I leaned onto a windowsill between friends. I sipped and watched shadows skip across blue and green lights, beaming from the back of alcove businesses that line the street and fill the holes of storefronts. There were layers of activity, business and commerce in the middle of the road and edging the stores, then a soft and fuzzy layer of transient alcohol between the two.
As much attention as I would get, being a sweaty pale guy with a camera - there isn't much that could interrupt this pulse of night's seething color, flavor and life as usual.