Delhi delights

Long heard is the battle between the residents of Delhi, Dilli, and those in the other metros or larger cities. Today I am expressing my feelings about the city where I grew up and has a very fond place in my heart.

About a couple of weeks ago it was the 275th birthday of Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last of the Mughal emperors’ in a 300 year rule. He lamented about the destruction the Britishers were causing to his beloved city, “Dilli”

“Na tha shahr-e-dehli ye tha chaman kaho kis tarah ka tha yaa’n aman; Jo khitab tha wo mita diya, faqat ab to ujda dayar hai”, . This translates as “Delhi was never just a city, it was a garden of harmony; they have erased all signs of that, now only a ruined waste remains”

For me, Delhi is not a place, its a perception, a cognizance, a feeling, really the word that comes to mind is the Hindi word “ehsaas” and the words above are only an indicative meaning because there is no word in english that truly represents the emotion that is described by word “ehsaas”.

The soul of Delhi is its people, who belong to a plethora of cultures, regions, states, religions that come together here, forming a mini India. A place where the word “Madrasi” means a South Indian and not just any one from the city of Madras, now called Chennai. A Madrasi is synonymous with “Idli sambar”, dark skin, the exclamation “aiyayyo” and many more. But its all in jest just as we have many Bengali indicative mannerisms, the sardarji jokes. Despite the largeness of the city and the dense population, I feel a sense of belongingness when I am in Delhi. The Delhi that I lived in from 1970 through till 2003 is the Delhi I carry in my heart and mind.

The warm winter sun, the fog and haze in the air, sitting in the sun with your back getting the warmth, shelling and eating peanuts, the vegetable vendor calling out the fresh vegetables he has to sell, the haggling for a few more springs of free coriander leaves and green chillies, the small chatter, exchanging neighbourhood gossip with them.

The neighbour who will take me with her to the Gurudwara for a prayer just because she knows that the day’s “langar” (food cooked in a communal kitchen in a Gurudwara for anyone and everyone to eat) will have my favorite food. The corner “papadwala” (the pappadom if you will) gives me a bit of extra chutney because he has seen me lick my fingers), the wooden giant wheel that is rolled in by the vendor and who gives us an extra spin as we are his regular customers. We used to play in our respective lanes called “gali” and we played hop-skotch, elastic – a highly competitive and motor skill intensive game girls would indulge in, hide and seek or simply plainly running around. If you fall someone will take us in and dress the wound , give us a hug and send us back.

There is the neighbourhood taxi stand invariable run by a group of sardarjis. They are of all ages and live in the taxi stand and have charpoys for their comfort. An old sadarji from the taxi stand next to my home was called by my father to go to his chambers at the Supreme Court and beofre long he would be there in the morning waiting for my father in the morning and then getting him back in the evening. As my fathers progressive condition worsened, this lovely gentleman used to carry his files, his bag from home to the chambers and the chambers to home holding my father with one hand. After he became bedridden sardarji used to often ask about him and came home once or twice to see him. When we ere leaving Delhi for good this gentleman stood in one corner as my father looked at him with a corner of his eye, a tear slipped down.

Once I had an accident and was thrown out of the auto and because of a swollen and injured ankle could not get up. A group of young boys and the auto driver (who was also injured and bleeding), picked me up and made me sit on the footpath. From there the owner of the omnipresent Aggarwal Sweets round the corner got his stool and gave me a Limca and stood by me after he called my husband and informed him about my accident and the place where he should come to. My husband offered to pay for the cold drink but he was offended.

The 1984 riots in Delhi, the first time I knew fear for my own life. After about 2 weeks, I was on a DTC bus going to my college Miranda House, Delhi University, a there was me and another girl with me, both going for an exam. The bus driver was a sardaiji and a mob came for the bus as we neared Delhi University, we had not yet reached there. The driver turned back and told us to get off before the mob reached the bus and we jumped out and ran. He saved our lives that day and I still wonder what happened to that driver, for we saw him being pulled out and being dragged away.

Of course there are the bad elements and in a life time in Delhi it would not be surprising if one has not seen a stabbing or a someone being shot. That is the decay of Delhi and some of its people, who think they rule the city. But the people of Delhi are by and large fun loving, boisterous, love to dress up, are always well dressed. Of course there are those who swear by brands and the cost but there is also a huge population, the likes of me, who still make a style statement with Khadi kurtas, jootis from Janpath, a red bindi the size of a rupee coin, and long hair plaited and tied with a Gujarati or a Panjabi “paraandi”. Jewellery can be from fine and intricate from Tribhovandas Zaveri or the chunky silver and stone danglers from Dilli Haat or the vendors who sit outside the state emporia at the Baba Kharak Singh Marg. Many are the days when me and my friends with our respective boyfriends were in Janpath, sipping tea of roadside vendors, at the JNU canteen gobbling egg and parantha, or sitting under the wisdom tree having Lamba’s bread roll and tea.

The food is mouth watering and the street food is heavenly and cheap in Delhi. I have some some favorite places where one can’t go wrong with the taste of the food one wants. The small counter set the by Gol-Gappa wala, next to the famous Roopak Stores in Karol Bagh and next to it, the jeera pani stall. Crowds assemble around the vendor with plates made of leaves in our hands and stretched to receive the wondrous wheat or semolina balls filled with chick peas, boiled potato, masala and further embellished with a sweet chutney and a watery sauce made of mint and coriander leaves. A large one in your mouth and the flavours do their magic ……. every time, I close my eyes in pleasure.

The pakoras (fritters), chole bhature (a chick pea curry with a salty fried dough) and kulfi from Roshan di Hatti, as you enter the Ajmal Khan Road are not to be missed. again they serve the pakoras and chole bhature with a spicy green chutney and a red sweet chutney. For Kulcha and Matar it has to be Nathu’s at the Bengali Market.

The Nirula’s, now closed, deserves a mention for being the first to get a semblance of western food to the general public at a reasonable price for the youngsters. It became famous for its ice creams, specially their Sundaes, the salad counter (for Rs. 35/- ,it was eat all you can and imagine a group of college kids entering with pangs of hunger! They also served pizzas and burgers, the ones we grew up on.

Each locality has its own dhaba, from where mothers would buy food for the family if she didn’t feel like cooking and many days have I asked my mum in the morning “amma, are you cooking today”? hoping against hope that she says no. It was my duty to go and get the tandoori rotis, a daal and a vegetable. The best part was sitting near the sardarji uncle as he made the rotis while his wife filled my boxes that I carried from home with the food she had prepared. She would hand off a piece of pickle for me to munch on.

Then there is the Biriyani of old Delhi, the Karim’s of Old Delhi, the Paranthas from the Paranthe wali gali, deep fried and sinful but melting on ones mouth and delicious. It makes one keep going back again and again, despite the distance and the crowds.

Where else can you go to a store and say “Bhaiya, (brother) please give me 4 slices of bread and bhaiya would take four slices, wrap it in a newspaper and give it. Even butter can be had in “quarter of a pack or half of a pack”. The rest goes back to the refrigerator. You can still call up the medical store and ask for a tablet of Crocin (paracetamol) and one of the boys will actually get it home for you. Money would be paid when you buy the next time some other medicine in bulk.

Summers are hot and winters are cold; summers are about a short spring, when there is hope in the air, and when the fragrance ls heavenly, the last of wintery foggy smell blending into the summery, hot smell. Holi, rings in the summer, flowers bloom everywhere and the “round-abouts” in Lutyen’s Delhi, glowing with flowers, the India Gate fragrant with the new grass, the ice cream trolleys full orange bars and choco bars and Cassatta slices.

The real summer is when the Rooh Afza glasses are offered every where you go and there are many variations of it – Rooh Afza in cold milk and Rooh afza in butter milk. The usual one id the rose flavour but then there is green khus flavour which is, eh….just about okay. A festival in a near by Gurudwara meant “Kachi lassi” being given out to one and every one. Then starts the dust storms and if one is out during these storms then its dust in your nostrils, hair and nails and everywhere else. Thats when in Gol Market one shop serves, ice-cream set inside a ripe mango …… heaven….ly. Thats time when school closes, the courts close and we all head out to our states and hometowns for a 2 month holiday.

School opens in July and thats when the monsoon reaches Delhi, its about 2 months of a drizzle now and a drizzle then but invariable the Minto Bridge is water logged and the newspaper will boast a photograph of a bus in the underbridge with water almost till the top of the bus. It also means that there will be the “butta wala” roasting corn on the cob by the roadside and hand it to you with some salt and lemon rubbed on it. The “jamun” sold by the handful on a piece of newspaper. Then we move into the season for Dussehra and Diwali when all the fun loving folks of come out, to get gifts and sweets and dresses for themselves so that on the day of the festival they flitter and flutter sharing notes of what they bought and got, what they will wear.

Delhi is not just about food and its people, its also about the various monuments, the Red Fort where the sound and light show is a delight for anyone with love for history and with a little bit of imagination one is transported into that era and get lost there. The Qutub Minar, the Suraj Kund, the Pruana Qila, housing a lovely zoo inside its huge grounds, the Pragati Maidan, …………….the old merging with the new.

I have known the Connaught Place since the times there was two way traffic flow around the circle. Its majestic pillars, its up-market stores, the first store for youngsters “Giggles” (it has stood the test of time and the likes of Archies stores and is still there, proudly claiming its place and stature. As young adults we went there for cards for our lovers and the small this and that for our friends.

There is much more to and of Delhi but let it be told another day, in another blog but till then as Mir Taqi Mir said in Urdu “Dilli ke na thay kooche auraaq-e-musavvar thay, Jo shakl nazar aayi tasveer nazar aayi”. ……These are not the streets of Delhi but the canvas of an artist, every sight/face I see is like a painting.