sugar and spice
It’s my last day in India.
I'm half-awake and stumbling through Paharganj market, dodging tuk tuks and side-eyes from fruit vendors who’ve seen a thousand versions of me before. I snap a few photos of the morning chaos.
Here in Delhi, the hustle isn’t in the streets. It is the street.
Tie a blindfold around my head, spin me in circles, and drop me in any back alley and I still wouldn’t be able to tell you if it’s 3 a.m. or 5 p.m.
Delhi doesn’t do time. It just breathes.
I find a woman working a corner shop, stringing beads together. We talk for a bit before I make a purchase. She suggests I duck down a side alley where there’s good tea and better spice. I oblige her.
I follow the trail she suggested and end up walking down a narrow street with smells I’ve never met before. Heady, ancient, and illicit aromas. Tea leaves piled high in woven baskets. Chili powder red like dried blood. Cardamom pods spilled all over the ground like ants. Everything is loud. The colors, the haggling, the human heat. It’s a kind of theater where everyone’s both actor and audience and no one ever breaks character.
A man calls out to me: “Fortune reading?”
Normally, I’m not a believer, but I get ten steps away, stop, then feel a strange impulse to turn around.
I turn back to him. “What can you do for 500 rupees?”
He thinks to himself for a moment. “Let’s talk.”
We climb a ladder to his little den. Not quite a second floor. Not quite a first. More like a crawlspace between two worlds. You have to crouch to fit inside. The height between the floor and ceiling is maybe 6 feet.
There’s nothing cozy about it. It’s not built for comfort. It’s built for revelation. Mirrors on each wall — not the kind that flatter, but the kind that watch you watching yourself. You're boxed in. It feels like a holding cell or a boxing ring, depending on whatever energy you walked in with.
He reads my palms. Talks about my Venus and Mars energy. He scans my eyes and mentions that there are two spirits that have guided me throughout my life.
According to him, there's a dog and a snake spirit that watch over me. Guiding me and nurturing me gently. Walking beside me as I progress through my journey. The dog representing loyalty, stability, and guardianship. The snake representing inner awakening, transformation, and some sort of primal energy.
I focus on him as he speaks. As he tells me these things.
He pauses for a moment, then tells me these two will walk with me forever.
It’s my last day in India.
I'm half-awake and stumbling through Paharganj market, dodging tuk tuks and side-eyes from fruit vendors who’ve seen a thousand versions of me before. I snap a few photos of the morning chaos.
Here in Delhi, the hustle isn’t in the streets. It is the street.
Tie a blindfold around my head, spin me in circles, and drop me in any back alley and I still wouldn’t be able to tell you if it’s 3 a.m. or 5 p.m.
Delhi doesn’t do time. It just breathes.
I find a woman working a corner shop, stringing beads together. We talk for a bit before I make a purchase. She suggests I duck down a side alley where there’s good tea and better spice. I oblige her.
I follow the trail she suggested and end up walking down a narrow street with smells I’ve never met before. Heady, ancient, and illicit aromas. Tea leaves piled high in woven baskets. Chili powder red like dried blood. Cardamom pods spilled all over the ground like ants. Everything is loud. The colors, the haggling, the human heat. It’s a kind of theater where everyone’s both actor and audience and no one ever breaks character.
A man calls out to me: “Fortune reading?”
Normally, I’m not a believer, but I get ten steps away, stop, then feel a strange impulse to turn around.
I turn back to him. “What can you do for 500 rupees?”
He thinks to himself for a moment. “Let’s talk.”
We climb a ladder to his little den. Not quite a second floor. Not quite a first. More like a crawlspace between two worlds. You have to crouch to fit inside. The height between the floor and ceiling is maybe 6 feet.
There’s nothing cozy about it. It’s not built for comfort. It’s built for revelation. Mirrors on each wall — not the kind that flatter, but the kind that watch you watching yourself. You're boxed in. It feels like a holding cell or a boxing ring, depending on whatever energy you walked in with.
He reads my palms. Talks about my Venus and Mars energy. He scans my eyes and mentions that there are two spirits that have guided me throughout my life.
According to him, there's a dog and a snake spirit that watch over me. Guiding me and nurturing me gently. Walking beside me as I progress through my journey. The dog representing loyalty, stability, and guardianship. The snake representing inner awakening, transformation, and some sort of primal energy.
I focus on him as he speaks. As he tells me these things.
He pauses for a moment, then tells me these two will walk with me forever.
