EXTRACT: ….As I wandered around this burial chamber, the honking from the other side of the perimeter wall sounded distant and muted. Not a bad spot to be laid to rest I thought. Even the smog that drifted over the wall was hardly a cause for concern for these old souls who had long since given up the need to breathe. It was hard to imagine that less than a century and a half ago, it would have been desperation stakes around this plot of land.
I was not the only living person walking around the cemetery. Juxtaposed with the tombs from all manner of angles was a meandering spread of single level houses, most of which were pegged back to just inside the perimeter wall. Some of these stretches of houses ran parallel with each other, forming enclosed streets with blue painted accommodation on both sides. Along the middle of several of these streets were large tombs, against which some of the living residents of the cemetery now leant.
In the small courtyard of one of these houses sat Mrs. Christy, chopping chillies. She placed down her knife and stood up. ‘Welcome to India in 2000’ she said, reading out the wording of the decoration which hung across her door.
I returned the greeting and asked, ‘How many people live in the cemetery?’
‘There are twenty-eight families and we are all related. Also we are all Christians’.
I sat down on a chair outside the entrance to her house and she disappeared to make a cup of tea.
Curious children appeared in drifts and leant against the tomb just in front of my chair. One pointed up to the sets of Christmas lights that were strewn between some of the houses. ‘Happy Christmas in India’ he said.
Mrs. Christy emerged from the house carrying a china cup of strong looking Indian tea, cutting through this cordon of twenty onlookers, she handed the brew to me.
‘Are these all your children?’ I asked her.
She blushed. ’No, only these five’ she said, leaning over and touching each of her offspring on the head.
Mrs. Christy’s mother in law had now appeared from the house. ‘So you are British’ she stated.
‘Can you tell from my complexion?’
‘No, the few foreigners who visit our village are usually descendants of people buried here – they come to pay respect to their relatives. Some come each year.’ …..
For the full tale, see Explore Delhi – An Innings Amongst the Dead
Go to main website http://theancienthighway.com
