Police and Thief

Ok. I thought i'm not going to blog anything more bout the trip. But i changed my mind. Ha.

The bizarre incident at Main Bazaar (Paharganj in New Delhi) left me sleepless for the night.

We had a train to catch at 6:30am in the morning and would need to be at the train station by 5:30am. Thus, we tucked ourselves into bed early. At 10 plus, WanZ seemed sound asleep.

“Boomp! Boomp!” First, the noise was loud and disparate.

A second later, it came loud. Incessant. Relentless. Chaotic.

Sounded like a shootout to me. Felt like crossfire between the police and the bandits.

I panicked. “Did you hear that?” I asked WanZ. But apparently, she was in lala land already.

“Are we safe? Should I wake her up? Am I being paranoid? Is it my overactive imagination?”

By chance, I was reading Helen Fielding’s Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination. (Helen Fielding’s the author of the very neurotic Bridget Jones’ Diary, which I found to be completely hilarious.) And by chance, the book is about the protagonist, Olivia Jones, having an overactive imagination and almost dead from a terrorist bomb blast on a ship and went on an espionage mission to track down the terrorists.

Then the crossfire died down. Came in gentle bouts thereafter. One. Two. Then ceased.

I didn’t want to find out more. “Nothing bad is happening. We’ll be all right. Our door’s locked. The table’s right at the door, blocking the path of potential intruders.” I repeated the assuring phrases over and over again in my mind.

Reminded me of our Laos trip when my overactive imagination played such a huge joke on me. But the group of men, about six to eight of them, hitchhiking our vehicle without bringing any stuff, alighting the same spot as us, staring at us while we were waiting to be served dinner at the guesthouse at 8 or 9 at night and looking at our backpacks warranted our radars to be up and working. (That little town in Laos had no street lights, no police. Only hills and plantations.)

That night, in the wee hours, the dogs barked. Dogs bark when they see strangers, right? I was waiting for the men --hostile-looking, bearded ruffians -- to run up the stairs leading to our room, kicked our door open and loot our stuff. I was in my super-alert-commando mode, checking for possible sounds of foot-steps that would be super amplified by the bamboo-stilted floor.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. It was the longest night of my life.

Nothing happened. Thank God.

And now, I’ve another long night at hand. No bandits hopefully. Tried to lull myself to sleep.

Failed.

Brrrrrr….The shockingly cold Delhi air didn’t help too. The chill turned us into natural gymnasts, all rolled up.

Tossed and turned. Cold. Tossed and turned. 12 midnight. Then it was 1a.m. Then 3 a.m. Then 4 plus.

Finally time to wake up. So glad the night was over.

Guess what the loud noises turned out to be?

Fireworks. Hahaha. I did have an overactive imagination. Silly me! What was i thinking?!

Oh, but the area where we lived wasn’t that safe after all. Apparently, it was one of the three sites where bombings took place late last year.