It's all true. On the long road to the Taj Mahal, there are at least 750,000 cows... lying leisurely in the medians, on the sides of the roads, in the road, on the grass, in the heartbreaking miles of dirt and mud that make up what would be sidewalks, or houses, or beds elsewhere... and they walk down the middle of the road, against traffic even, while cars whizz by unbearably quickly, dodging children, street dogs, motorcycles, tuk tuks (that green & yellow 3-wheeler behind the cow up there) and yes, cows... they're like dogs, tied to trees, walking down the road on thin pieces of rope, led by small children. Cows...
Women in beautiful, bright saris and wraps adorn the cacophonous streets.. 
and the backs of motorcycles. Shoulders must be covered, but not midriffs. Yesterday, a man wanted money for us to take a picture of a monkey which he led around on a thin rope.I won't settle in here before I leave in the next few days. How could I? So much sound, smell, color... floating like dust on the rumor that Delhi is a city full of djinns, forever protecting it from permanent ruin...
I want to believe in something today. But the djinns don't belong to me, though I wish I'd found a lamp to rub at Dilly Haat.
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Oh to be a revered cow in India. No expectations, just beloved and allowed to roam free, blocking streets at will, holding up traffic if moved to nap or settle in to people-watch in beautiful downtown anywhere. There, it could be considered a compliment to be referred to as a cow. Here, not so much.
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