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When you go to India, do yourself a favor and get lost. Truely - lose the map, take the wrong turn, wander into that narrow alley. That's how the magic happens.

I had planned to have a typical tourist day in Darjeeling - ride the Himalayan Toy Train up the mountain, take in the views, snap some photos. But when I went to buy my ticket, the train was sold out - for today and tomorrow. So much for that plan.

Plan B? I didn't have one. So, I let the streets lead me, and, eventually, I found myself in an area I had no business being in. It was amazing.

Darjeeling is known to caters to its tourists, as it ought to. It's a lovely mountain town with picturesque views and an agreeable climate. All the travel agents recommend it. Every internet list calls it a must-see attraction. Even your Indian friends insist you can't miss Darjeeling. The attractions include: the Himalayan toy train, Mall Street, the Glenary, Keventer's among others. It's a vacationer's dream!

But the real charm? That's in the detours. The unplanned events. The places not on TripAdvisor.

Let me tell you about the street I stumbled on to. First of all, there wasn't a tourist on it, except for yours truly, and I was all over it. 

The first thing I noticed was the unmistakable sizzle of street food. And not the usual fare. No, this was the extended menu. I saw more meat on that street than I’ve seen in the whole of India - pork ribs stacked on a grill, pulled pork shredded right there, and some kind of red meat that looked suspiciously like beef (but was probably mutton, let’s be honest). I even spotted fried chicken - golden, crispy, and of course, greasy.

And speaking of chicken, there was a young man selling live ones right off the street. I have to assume they were for food. The chickens seemed well aware of their fate. Each time the man reached into the bag to grab one for a customer, it began squawking and flapping its wings in protest, like it knew exactly what was coming.

There were, of course, numerous stands selling veg dishes. That's what they call it here - veg, not vegetarian. And a large part of the population is veg - probably over half of the folks I've asked. It seems to be a way of life here. 

The spice vendors laid their goods out on blankets on the street - bags of powders and seeds - reds, yellows, oranges, greens -things I’d never seen before and couldn't begin to name. There were no labels or fancy jars, just scoops and a scale.

A crowd of young men had formed around the knife table. Although knife doesn't quite describe what this vendor was selling - these were nothing short of daggers - the kind that could be used to start a revolution. It was mayhem; guys were caressing the blades, slicing the air, swashbuckling like the three musketeers. I passed quickly to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.

I kept on making my way through the crowded street, passing stall after stall. The air was thick with odors - spices, incense, perfumes, food.

Eventually, I came across a poor soul sitting on the ground with a small purse in front of him. He wasn’t seated by choice; he had no legs, and from what I could see, he had no hands either - just stumps where limbs used to be. 

He wasn't actively begging - no words or gestures. He just stared at the ground, despairingly. I think the fight had gone out of him.

People were dropping coins in his purse. And still, he didn't look up. How could you pass him in good conscience.? The Lord would want you to help. 

I reached into my pocket, pulled out some rupees, and placed it in his purse - not enough really. I can't imagine what that fellow has been through. It's humbling. 

I'm glad the train was sold out.

I would have missed all this.

Maybe India isn't about the landmarks or the train rides. Maybe it's the little moments - the unexpected ones. The streets you have no business on.

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