Amidst the noisy chatter and strange smell lingering in the air, there was a huge sense of relief ballooning inside of me when I tugged my luggage through the chaotic halls of New Delhi international airport. Nothing beats the knowing of home is near and I've learnt to focus on that one thought to drive myself forward. My knees are covered with bruises and my hands with cuts and abrasions. The skin around my knuckles have hardened and my fingertips are numb to all things soft and smooth except pain. My calf muscles are swollen and my right ankle injured with a near sprain. I couldn't walk without limbing as my Achilles' heel have been used tirelessly over the days. The insides of my nose is lined with dried blood and dirt while my dry flaky skin and clothes are covered with layers of grime. I staggered on towards the plane - Singapore Airlines. Like Ali Baba opening the doors to a mountain of riches, I saw bright lights beaming from the inside of the craft... Hope is near...

You're pardoned if you think this is an excerpt from 'Thousand Miles of a Refugee - The Journal'. I looked like one anyway. Burdened by a fever, cold and aching muscles, I only thought of home to keep myself sane. My New Delhi project was plagued with problems: missing orders, uncooperative crew, nasty clients and cumbersome show organisers. The weather didn't helped either. Day or night, cold wind blew and I could only shiver helplessly. Kat asked if I'm feeling fine. "Miserable," I replied in my coarse voice. She felt the same. My superwomen colleague actually admitted she can't take the harsh conditions too. Even at 1pm, it seemed that the sun didn't exist. The cold dry air led to pain with every breath I take and eventually, a nose bled. I took care to boast my immunity with potent absorbic acid pills every day but still, I succumbed to a fever and sore throat, all thanks to the horrible air pollution. Vapour streamed out of our mouths as we muttered in the shivering cold. It felt like 10 degree Celsius at any given time of the day. Any lower, I could easily make a snowman in the nearby park.

Seven days away from TV, personal phone calls and internet seemed like eternity. I was so busy that I didn't give The Mother and The Best Friend a call. Contrary to belief, things in India are not dirt cheap. In fact, even as the world's leading IT hub, telecommunications in India is fecking expensive and not readily accessible. Even its airport lounges (exclusive only to Gold status card members) charge a mountain for a 15-minute usage of wireless connection. There is almost no grading for hotels in New Delhi because there are only two types available - uber high-end hotels and uber budget guesthouses; there is no mid-class. The crew and I stayed at Batra Holiday Inn - 80km from the airport. (No use asking time needed to a certain destination in New Delhi because traffic is always unpredictable). Staff at the guesthouse is friendly and nice. Imagine the 21 of us demanding extra bedsheets, blankets and heaters at the same time. The staff still served us with a smile. They would wait for our return from work till late (think: 6 am) and quickly opened the doors for us as we sprinted from our cars to take cover from the freezing cold wind. Nice people. =)

Honestly I'm not sure what else one expects to find for food in India. I couldn't believe my ears when the crew complained that the food has a 'strong Indian smell'. Like dur... C'mon people you're blardy hell in India! These spoilt brats expect good Chinese food in any part of the world, even in India. Bastards... but I found them a decent Chinese restaurant anyway - Berco's. It serves Indianised Chinese cuisine and agreed to deliver our meals to us at the exhibition hall. But personally I prefer to embrace the authentic Indian cuisine as it is.

My first authentic Indian meal came in a 2-piece plain naan and some spicy gravy with boiled chick peas. (Can't recall the Indian name for this) Hardly appetising huh? But I was already licking my fingers before I knew it. The naan (or bread as the Indian like to call it) was so soft and chewy, yet slightly crispy on the outside and probably 100 times less oily than roti prata. Top it off with a cuppa strawberry lassi and I became a happy girl, momentarily forgotten about my aching muscles from all that walking.

Kat and I didn't have suffice time to do any touristy stuff. Neither the mood to enjoy any good food in restaurants. Only on our last day in New Delhi, we decided to optimise our last 2 hours of free time with only one objective - Pashmina. We gathered our last ounce of energy and headed straight to Connaught Place, a shopping and commericial district. Chand is the store Kat has been buying Pashmina from for years and friendship comes with a good discount. Heh. Kat and I wasted no time and got the owner to show us 'all the good stuff'.

wool carpets

minute fraction of the many choices

choose choose choose!