There's a saying in India: "One man makes a call and another man pays for it." No one knows where the wires run. Yesterday morning, we took a wild ride through the alleys in Old Delhi teeming with commerce and life. The alleys are so narrow that only a rat, a dog and a rickshaw will fit. Our rickshaw driver knows which snaps to shoot. "Get Camera ready!" he shouts. He's about ten or eleven. Lynne is looking for hand-made stationery. I'm looking for excitement. This morning's Delhi headlines scream another story about a woman who was brutally gutted in these same alleys yesterday. The murder wasn't discovered until someone in a distant city became suspicious about a metal trunk. It was starting to stink. The trunk was sent from this same neighborhood in Old Delhi. It was sent by "B" and addressed to "self". We don't see the Delhi paper until this morning.
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