Old Delhi

As I wander through Old Delhi, an old lullaby floats into my head:

Halfway down the stairs there's a stair where I sit.
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
It's not at the bottom and it's not at the top,
and this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway down the stairs isn't up and isn't down,
it isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head,
it isn't really anywhere, it's somewhere else instead.

I find myself at a dead-end in an empty lane, and a man appears out of nowhere to say:
"You are lost. Here isn't anywhere."