We need a steamer

Last week we had a party and our new Nepalese housekeeper and her husband were going to cook the meal including momos - a type of dumpling originally from Nepal and Tibet. "Ma'am, to make momos for that many people we need a steamer." Last time they had to use the old colander-in-a-pan-that-almost-fits trick. Well, obviously this home-made contraption would not be near enough sufficient for the upcoming culinary challenge.
The driver was summoned and off we went, Om and I, on a hunt for the appropriate utensil. The car took us into the lesser explored part of town known as Old Gurgaon, on the other side of the road - Sector 15. 

On slightly shaky legs I stepped out of the comfort of the airconditioned car and followed Om down a road flanked with shops selling everything from the ever present small bags of crisps, attached to each other in seemingly endless rows, to plastic containers in all sizes, shapes and colours, cheap t-shirts with various messages, screw drivers, religious paraphernalia and baby shoes. Oh, don't forget the sweets!

The noise level was amazing and I instantly regretted having left my ear plugs behind. 

We soon realized the source of the level of decibel - there was some kind of festival going on. "There is one every Thursday, ma'am." How convenient that gods managed to have birthdays or whatever reason for celebration on Thursdays - makes it easier to remember. 
A never ending stream of marching bands and floats, either carried or pulled by some animals paraded down the narrow street making it almost impossible to pass. As always there were motorbikes trying to squeese past, their owners never dissuaded from anything really. A lot of them have installed a proper car horn to make themselves known as they slalom between rikshaws, pigs, pedestrians, pot holes, camels, lorries, cows, cars, and whatever else you find in the streets.

I desperately tried to keep up with my guide, or, as I soon started to think of him, my body guard. Being a person of short persuasion, that was not an easy task and I found myself being surprisingly relieved every time he reappeared in my view after having been lost for a few minutes.

Om and I actually found that the fastest way forward was in the middle of the street among brass instruments, drums and ... bag pipes?

The "musicians" very bravely blew in banged up pieces of metal, occasionally cooling them down with water from their bottles, undoubtedly each playing their own song of choice in multiple keys simultaneously, but that did not seem to bother anyone at all. I suspect most of them must have been rather hard of hearing already.

How these poor cows could stride down their path heads held high without flinching in all the racket is beyond me.

And, as we all know, brass instruments do not carry sound enough, so loudspeakers are a must. 

Om was happy, he was on a quest for the best steamer Sector 15 could produce. At one point he suddenly turned to me and smiled, profusely apologizing for his hair style of the day - "who has not had a bad hair day?" I told him, but that did not seem to be a concept for him.

We found a shop owner who proudly presented us with a very shiny three tier steamer for 850 rs, but I sensed the chef was not absolutely convinced, so there was no other choice but to tackle the pandemonium outside yet again. 

We pushed further down the lane. Before long we spotted a shop with kitchen utensils. I thought I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Om diving in past a very sourly looking owner, but I was not sure. Suddenly he was gone, vanished into thin air. I stopped for a moment at the entrance to said shop to contemplate my options while trying to protect my ears, taking pictures and staying out of the sun - I had my phone on me, or? Yes, I could feel it in my bag, pew! - so I could always call the driver, but would I be able to make myself heard? We had not made any turns, so the car would be at the end of the street. If that did not work, maybe the SOS-number the insurance company had provided in case of emergency? Hmmm. How could I explain that I was stuck between sousaphones and cows in a religious parade in Sector 15 to someone sitting in the peace and tranquility of Vevay, Switzerland? Best not. It could be a long time before whatever institution they'd put me in would release me again.
My temporary conundrum vanished as quickly as it had arisen when Om suddenly reappeared from the back of the shop through a cloud of dust raising an aluminium steamer over his head in triumph.

Now, there is a happy and content consumer. He very meticulously examined every square millimetre and had them exchange one of the knobs that was a little loose fitting. "Only 700 Rs, ma'am!" We'll take it.

Yet another mission succesfully accomplished in Incredible India

P.S. The party was a success and the momos definitely worth the adventure in Sector 15. A big thank you to Om, my hero, and to Durga of course.
Yeah, I forgot to take a picture of the momos!