Oh Delhi, how I despise thee.

And so the one place in India I've wanted to escape wouldn't let me out of her clutches. Delhi. Le Capital. The city of circles and numbered streets and blocks that no local Delhi-ite, rickshaw driver or good looking tourist like me will EVER be able to navigate. Sure, Mumbai's streets are renamed every thirty-four days and so noone actually knows what streets are called here either. However, every good Maharastran taxi driver will gladly take you to your nearest landmark. Bombay's finest men speed towards Regal Cinema for me. (NOTE: Having the local cinema as your nearest landmark is handy as everyone knows it and therefore can find your house. Also handy as it means I can sporadically decide to indulge in a 3-hour-long Hindi love-fest blockbuster anytime I please.) Delhi has no such Regal Cinema to guide a taxi driver's efforts. Instead they spend hours circling one-way streets. Lucky they are all wankers who refuse to turn on the meter and instead charge an exhorbitant flat fare. After they drive around for 90mins trying to find your hotel they generally regret not having earnt four times as much by having put it on the meter. Success! Although I cannot navigate your streets Delhi, this Bombay girl has at least won the battle of the taxi driver.

Mumbai 1 : Delhi 0

Delhi has order. Queues. Arrows painted on the ground directing traffic in one half of the train carriage door and other arrows directing traffic out of the other half. And Delhi-ites unquestioningly followed these absurd arrows. They lined up and waited patiently. Delhi-ites, join me and the masses at Churchgate station in Bombay and see how you fare lining up and waiting your turn. I've tried it. It doesn't work. And it's boring. Get a life Delhi-ites. Get some urgency. Get some Bombay spunk. Spend a week riding the trains with me in my beloved Bombay and I will have you rushing the crowds on the platform like a pro. I will have you so lost and tangled in a sea of passengers coming in and out and on and up and down from the train that you will feel as though you are caught in a rip in the salty ocean. But at least you will have some character.

Mumbai 2 : Delhi 0

5 foot trenches sporadically placed by the sides of dark road create an inconvenient and potentially fatal obstacle course for those visiting Delhi. Yes, the Commonwealth Games are coming. Let us build up! Up! Up! Let us build faster and taller. And let us do an incredibly shoddy job of creating barriers around the 5 foot holes we've started to dig and then gotten bored and moved on elsewhere. Walking home from Connaught Place we had to move to the footpath (how very un-Bombay of us) as the roads were exploding with Delhi traffic. Angry rickshaw drivers were driving erratically due to them being as frustrated as me about the one-way streets. Stepping onto the footpath we stepped into darkness. Walking along, my little sister stepped around a car (yes, a car parked over the footpath) and fell straight into a 1.5m trench. We used our brute strength (that we had accumulated from all the nutritious Bombay food we have been eating) to haul her out of the near-invisible pit of doom. Hobbling home in her blood-soaked thongs after just surviving a near-fatal experience she remarked that upon coming to India she had expected to die in an horrific car accident or get bed bugs. But she didn't expect to fall down a hole taller than her on one of Delhi's busiest roads. And so, although having only a few scratches from the ordeal, we will still remember the outer circle of Connaught Place as the death trap. Delhi has, however, earned herself half a point for the two young men who waltzed up to us all leaning into the hole trying to get Shannon out. They looked at us in a puzzled way. They looked at each other as if trying to ascertain if the other had been able to establish why four tourists were playing in holes in the dark Delhi night. Then one of the men turned to us and in broken English (and with appropriately fabulous hand gestures) directed us to 'go round!' the car. Oh derr. So Delhi, your two young sons (who must have originally been from Bombay to be that fantastic) gave us no help whatsoever but did amuse us immensely. Well done to you.

Mumbai 3 : Delhi 0.5

Veda you could be just what Delhi needs to catch up to Mumbai's glory. Veda, a restaurant I didn't expect to find in India was exquisite. It was a warm, extravagant restaurant covered in wallpaper, velvet and leather chairs. The food was to die for. But I barely noticed the best tasting menu I have ever eaten due to being so blown away by the intricate interior design that made this an incredible place to dine. Chandeliers, candles, mirrors, over-sized thrones, a DJ pumping out a repetoire that would be found on a 'Chillout Sessions' compilation album. Oh yes. Please close the restaurant immediately so that I can move in here and live in velvety-red bliss forever. Keep the bar open though. A few more of your delightfully delicious cocktails would not go astray. And I lied about not noticing the food. This vegetarian-food-vaccuum was blown away. Gourmet, cosmopolitan Indian food. Who knew it was possible? And yet I am still salivating at the thought of the tandoori roasted, stuffed potatoes. Or the prawns baked in deliciousness for me to dive into. Veda, the most delightful restaurant in the world, you complete me. And you are in Delhi. Now, it would seem that Delhi, instead of Mumbai should deserve a point for holding claim to Veda. However no. It seems that Delhi is in fact holding Veda back. Veda would be twice the restaurant she is if she was able to flourish in a town like Bombay. Delhi, for your selfishness in keeping Veda all to yourself, I am deducting one point from you.

Mumbai 3 : Delhi - 0.5

And Delhi. How dare you try to use my love of Islam and her mosques to try and win me over?? An incredible place of worship where over 25,000 Muslims can gather to praise Allah - I could not have been more excited to see it. The mosque was simple and elegant. It had an understated extravagance. The arches and scalloped entrances were enchanting. And again, a religion that is so foreign to me, had me totally enthralled. Islam is more accessible to me in my little Christian bubble than Hinduism as it is focussed around one God. And although I am not a Muslim, I could appreciate the demonstration of love that motivated the Islamic community to construct, maintain and visit the mosque to worship and focus their lives around their God. Truly beautiful. Truly amazing. However Delhi, my adoration of this mosque did not quite get you another point on the board. What? Did you forget what you made us do in that mosque? Yes, you welcomed us warmly. You invited us in. And then you made us wear bright coloured, polka-dotted art-smock styled moo-moos. Homer Simpson style. In a place of such beauty, how could you make us look so hideous? And my questions aren't even motivated by a selfish desire to look attractive. My questions are motivated by a desire to not make every other pilgrim vomit at the sight of flourescent, circus-tent-shaped blobs of hideousness? Mumbai would never have done this to us. Bonus points to Mumbai for making us feel hot.

Mumbai 7 : Delhi - 0.5

And just when I wanted to run from Delhi and arrive safely in Bombay's predictably chaotic, yet welcoming arms.. I couldn't. Delhi was not willing to let go of me. Who could blame her really? Delhi's cool-factor increased seven-fold having a trending Bombay-ite like me roaming her streets. But I escaped. I made it through the construction madness to the airport. I made it through the non-sensical security checks. (Note: Brett Louise, stop trying to take matches on board. They cost rs 1/- for a pack of 50. A new pack at the other end won't bankrupt you and save you being felt up by the over-friendly security staff.) Yes. It seemed as though I had survived the Delhi experience to make it home to Bombay. But Delhi had one last trick up her sleeve. Fog. Fog like you've never seen. Fog like someone blew up a cotton-wool factory and it landed all over the capital city. Fog that made me feel like I was in a blizzard. (Note: It was freezing in Delhi. After Bombay's balmy 33 degree average, Delhi's 15 degrees had us all shivering. Cardigans came out. Long sleeve tops and leggings went on under our Salwars. Scarves were no longer a fashion accessory/sweat collector but a necessity to ensure ears didn't get frostbite.) And Delhi's cotton-wool, blizzard like fog meant that no planes could take off, no cars could drive on the road and it caused everyone to go insanely loopy. Flight cancelled. No chance to get home. Delhi, that was a low-move. SMOG trumps FOG any day of the week. Bombay, I'm sorry. You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. I promise to never complain about your sweet, sweet air that is slowly poisoning my lungs. At least it is not holding me hostage for days in an airport.

Mumbai 57 : Delhi - 0.5

Long live my smoggy, predictably chaotic, energetic, beautiful, colourful Bombay. This girl has had her allegiances tested. And my loyalty has remained intact. Delhi, you didn't even put up a good fight. Scorecard might as well read Mumbai 2,003,009,433: Delhi 0. Bombay is home.

All is well.