Day 3 - I should be so Lucknow...

12:40
A little jet leg hissy fit meant I didn’t fall asleep until gone 02:00 last night. I could feel myself getting tense and fidgety at the frustration of it. Thankfully, I drifted off just moments before petulantly getting up. My body woke me a little before 09:00. Not the greatest of sleeps, but manageable. After 20 minutes of seeing what the day has to offer, I’m conscious my eyes still feel heavy. I turn the light off, pop my headphones back in, and am soon back in the land of zizz. An emergency alarm set for 12:00 is the next thing I’m conscious of hearing. I’ve had somewhere North of 9 hours, and that’s a good thing. I’m glad of my headphones. My hotel is on a busy street, and without them, I suspect I’d have been woken hours ago. There’s a barrage of traffic noises. It’s a particularly beepy interchange apparently. I’ll capture some video/audio of it later, so you can judge for yourselves.

I feel much better for a good sleep. My foot is better, if not yet perfect. I start to make some plans for the day. Manas recommends I spend some time at Bara Imambara - one of the largest Nawab Muslim shrines, and home to some incredible Nawab architecture. I need sustenance first though. I had some snacks on the train last night, but it’s been a long time since my Kathi roll in Delhi…

23:40
What a day! I drag myself out around 13:30, and head down to Chowk, a busy market area 10 minutes walk from my hotel. It’s carnage and chaos rolled into a ball of cataclysmic cacophony. Definitely the source of this morning’s car horn chorus. Walking up the road, I’m conscious of needing to keep an eye on the many, MANY scooters and motorcycles on the road, otherwise they’ll career into me. I also quickly become aware I need to keep an eye on the pavement, so I don’t walk through any muck on the road. It’s a lot to process.

I walk through an area that’s probably best described as the textile market - mostly Western knock-offs rather than anything local. It’s getting, if anything, even busier. I can’t believe there aren’t more car-crashes. It’s 14:00, and I’m definitely hungry. Manas pings me to let me know he’s gonna head over my way soon. I tell him I’m heading for a bite to eat. He pings me back just a few minutes later, saying I should head to Tunday Kebab. I reply saying that I’ve just sat down in that exact place. Kismet.

He recommends some food to order, and I’m not gonna argue. Some mutton kebabs, which are of the smoothest and softest texture of any meat kebabs I’ve ever had. I’ve seen something similar made before. They’re lightly spiced, and without chilli heat - but incredibly tasty. Served with some hot, steaming, flaky paratha, a mint and coriander chutney, and some raw red onion. It’s an incredibly tasty combination. I’m mindful to eat with my right hand. The left is traditionally kept for arse wiping in India, so eating with the right is a sign of cleanliness. I’m not the most effective, but I’ve caught looks before for eating with my left. I order a couple of grilled chicken pieces - Tangri style, and they are perhaps even better than the mutton kebabs. Grilled to a burnished finish, char marks a plenty, and a beautiful spice flavour. The chicken itself tastes of chicken - it has texture and flavour where UK chicken often features neither. My lunch is incredibly good, and costs me about £3.

It’s a 40 minute walk to Imambara. Manas is heading in from outside town, and says he’ll pick me up along the way. The temperature is in the high teens, and I enjoy the lack of heat as I march Westwards. I walk through some of the most hectic parts of town, and find myself loving the vagaries of the parts I pass through. I’m catching a lot of looks - I know it might initially seem like it’s my svelte figure, or dashing good looks that are attracting looks, but I think, I THINK it might be that I’m a white face. One guy is staring so hard at me as he rides past on his motorbike that he nearly crashes into a car. I’m quite the tourist attraction.

Traffic is slow, and I actually reach Imambara before Manas catches up to me. It’s been a good post prandial march, and despite the fairly chilly weather, I can feel pinpricks of sweat on my forehead. Manas arrives, and we head into Imambara. It’s a 17th century Muslim shrine, built by one of the Nawabs, the rulers of Lucknow for centuries. It’s an impressive edifice, and as Manas tells me, is one of the largest structures made entirely out of stone, and without iron. We wander around the labyrinth, and then around the main hall of the complex. I’m surprised to find a display in the main hall which talks about the use of Hebrew language and reference to the Torah - the holy book of Judaism. Again, Manas comes through with the detail - which is that different sects of the Muslim religion have differing levels of connection to Judaism, despite what recent history of the Middle East would tell us.

From Imambara, we head East into town. Manas has a driver, called Arun, who is our impeccable charioteer. We stop at a bar called Panchayat. We start with some Indian made craft beers, which quickly run out. We end up drinking frosty cans of Budweiser. We chat, we laugh, we philosophise, we drink beer. It’s tremendous fun to hang out together. After 5 beers, we head deeper into the city centre, and stop for some food at Al-Zaiqa. Manas has been coming here for 30 years. It’s very unassuming to look at, but the food - by the Power of Grayskull, the food. We have a chicken curry - a chicken leg in a rich, spice laden gravy. There’s no chilli heat - just the most sumptuous depth of flavour. Manas orders a chicken masala. Now, I thought ‘masala’ referred to an India spice paste. Well, it does - but it also refers to a dry curry like this. I’ve never eaten anything like it. It’s rich with coconut, cardamom and clove. Banging. We mop it up with more flaky, buttery paratha. Manas tells me that the right hand / left hand thing is no longer a thing, but I can’t bring myself to use my wiping hand.

Manas’ childhood friend, Ritesh, joins us. He lives in Ireland these days, down in Cork, where my Dad was based for a few years. We finish up at Al-Zaiqa, where a couple of people ask to have their photo taken with me as I walk out. Honestly, I feel like I’m in a pound shop version of Take That. Fake Fat maybe. Manas makes a quick call, which I subsequently learn is to Ritesh’s wife, Apurva, encouraging her to come out for drinks. She acquiesces, despite having been ready for bed, and looking after their 3 year old, Aria. We head to a car called Social - just up the road. Manas orders us a vodka and sugarcane drink. It’s delicious. Strong with booze, sweet with sugar, but weirdly - not overly so. A couple of rounds is enough. I’m definitely feeling ready for sleep, and Manas is looking increasingly refreshed. Ritesh receives a call from his Mum saying Aria is refusing to sleep, and that’s enough to encourage he and Apurva home. We call it a day, but a successful one.

Tomorrow, Manas is taking me to the village where his Dad grew up, 45km outside of Lucknow. I want to make a good impression, so need a decent kip…Читать далее