There’s no easing into Delhi.
You leave the airport, and the city grabs you by the collar, yells something in Hindi, and throws you into traffic.
After a 12-hour flight from New York City, I landed at 11 a.m., buzzing with adrenaline. The thrill of arriving in a new country gave me just enough energy to pretend I knew what I was doing.
After catching an Uber Moto to the Old City, this was my first few hours in Old Delhi: three bananas, one phone, and a thousand honks.
Banana Man Arrives
The scene opens with a lone traveler—me—with two bananas in one hand and my phone in the other
There is no sidewalk.
I had just arrived in the Old City, and the hostel I booked was full. Uh-oh. So now I stood in the middle of a bustling street, surrounded by rickshaws, motorcycles, honking TukTuks, and a wall of people, scrolling through Google Maps and hoping the blue dot would tell me where to go next.
“From which country, Banana Man?” asked a scruffy man nearby, delicately peeling one of the bananas I’d given him—in part to share, in part to shut him up.
“USA,” I said.
Pause.
Let me explain something I would come to learn quickly: when it comes to street interactions in India, especially in tourist-heavy areas, one word in English is too many. If you speak, you’re fresh meat. Polite refusals don’t help. “No thank you” just invites a new question. Anything to keep the conversation going, because the end goal is usually the same: sell you a TukTuk ride, lead you to a “tourist office,” or some other scheme that gets them a commission—or your money.
By the end of my stay in Delhi, I had learned that the most effective response to someone approaching you on the street is no response at all. If you pretend you didn’t hear them, they usually move on. Usually.
The Sidewalk That Wasn’t
I started walking north, following the biggest street I could find on the map. It seemed to intersect a road that went deeper into the old city toward the star on my google maps— Hindustani Hostel, which I was assured would have a bed for me.
The dog lying in the gutter moved its head as I passed—long brown eyes, matted fur, ribs showing.
HONK! HONK!
I stepped right, and a TukTuk veered past, just inches from my hip.
HONK HONK! HONK!
I edged further toward the parked motorcycles lining the road, leaving barely a foot between me and the stream of metal and fumes to my left.
An Indian man approached from the right.
“Hello, my friend! Where are you from?”
I glanced down at my phone, trying to verify the direction.
“USA,” I said, not looking at him.
“Okayyy, New York, Colorado, California?”
“Californ—”
HONK!! HONK! HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!
The motorcycle in front of me was trapped behind two TukTuks battling for the slim lane. I was trapped behind him. No one could move, but clearly everyone could honk.
“Come this way, I know a good place for you,” the man offered.
“No, thank you,” I muttered, eyes toward the congestion ahead, and a firm grip on my phone.
HONK!! HONK! HOOOOOOOOOOOONK! HONK!! HONK! HONK!! The chorus resumed. Finally, the way cleared and I moved on.
The Gauntlet Continues
I looked ahead. Another man was already adjusting his trajectory to intercept mine.
HONK! HONK! HONK!
A TukTuk behind me needed to pass. Again.
I stepped aside, wedged between a parked scooter and a puddle of mysterious brown liquid. The air buzzed with the acrid perfume of diesel, sweat, and frying dough. My phone said 500 meters to go. The GPS kept losing my position like it, too, and was overwhelmed.
HONK! HONK! HONK!
Another TukTuk brushed past my knees. The driver yelled something indecipherable and grinned.
“Excuse me, sir! My friend! Where are you from?”
A new man had materialized beside me, flashing perfect teeth.
“USA,” I muttered, barely audible.
“Ahhh! America! First time in India?”
I said nothing. Silence. Don’t engage.
“I know a good place—very close, very good!”
HONK! HONK! HOOOOOONK!
A bicycle loaded with crates of vegetables wobbled past. I stepped sideways, nearly bumping into a cow.
“Sir, just five minutes! Very cheap!”
I turned and made the mistake of meeting his eyes.
“Only little walk!”
“No, thank you,” I said again, more firmly.
HONK! HONK! HONK!
He hesitated, then peeled off.
Just Keep Walking
I was locked into Delhi’s rhythm now. Step right—TukTuk. Step left—garabage. Look down—pothole. Look up—man selling something. Always selling.
A skinny dog slid past me. Eyes tracking. The kind of look that said: you don’t know anything yet.
A TukTuk pulls alongside me.
“Hello, sir! You need TukTuk?”
HONK! HONK! The TukTuks behind him rebel at his efforts.
No eye contact. Keep walking.
“Hello? Hello??”
HONK! HONK! HOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!
Silence.
And then—finally—he moves on. I kept walking, just another ripple in Delhi’s endless tide.
Two bananas gone. One phone at 22%.
Three hundred meters to go.
HONK.
Final Thoughts
Delhi is not a place that gently introduces itself. It arrives all at once—sound, heat, chaos, and human intensity packed into every inch of space. It is less a city than a current—you don’t stroll through it, you get pulled into its flow. At least on that first day, I found the only way to stay upright was to keep moving.Because the moment you pause, Delhi notices.
And then it honks.
Or sells you something.
Or both.