To call Old Delhi dense or hectic would be a gross understatement. In most of New Delhi I, like most women and foreigners, find myself at the center of a lot of attention (read: staring). But in Old Delhi the chaos simply consumes you, and I find I can roam around relatively undetected. Perhaps it’s because they’re so used to wide-eyed tourists, but I think it’s more the grind these people find themselves in everyday. Cycle-rickshaws pulling an entire family of six; heavy blocks of ice being carted through congested alleyways; and thousands of kachories being fried in gallons of oil by the hour – with barely any room to stand still. The chaos, while intoxicating, felt more digestible in black and white.