The appeal of the Delhi zoo is so strong that it cancels out my ire at one of the inequities most resented by long-term firangi residents. An Ambani or a Mittal can get into the city’s prime sites for the cost of a postage stamp. But if you have the wrong complexion, you’ll be expected to cough up the price of a whisky-n-soda in a 5-star hotel. On sightseeing trips, I go armed with documents to show I’m a registered resident. I even have a newly acquired Indian driving licence. At the ticket window, I assert myself in my best broken Hindi—such a mind-befuddling experience for the ticketwallahs that it usually works. At the zoo, though, I don’t bother about the admission charge showdown, I’m just happy to see those painted storks.
