Tees Hazari Metro Station Near Sadar Bazaar.
Indian historians believe, the word "Delhi", comes from the word "dehleez"or "dehali", meaning "a gateway", or better, "threshold". It's literally a gateway to the Gangetic Plains of India. And to every person who visits, they cannot but feel the sense of "new" that the city has to offer. Let's see how so.
When I visited Rajasthan, way back in 2006, that was the first time I had been to Delhi, with my parents, by flight, which landed late at night. We spent the next day touring the city, and by late evening, I was away for Agra, and that was it, the first time we stumbled across each other. I, however, would not call this my first tryst with Delhi, because, it wasn't! It would still take me years to understand, what travel actually could mean. Travel could mean discovery, of new places, cultures, and self. It could lead to adventures, moments of tranquility, maybe even epiphanies. I think I have had these as I was growing up, and travelling, quite extensively, to be honest.
It was the winter of 2017, when I first visited the city as an adult. I was there with a group of friends, with a play, that we were to perform at the Shakespeare Society of India convention, that would take place at St. Stephen's College. I took some rides around Delhi back then, we were garrisoned at this Kali Bari Dharmshala at Tees Hazari, just overlooking Sadar Bazaar. It was my first experience of the chilly, North Indian winter. Not a bleak winter, though. Lively people, walking through history, going about there day, maybe after having a hot plate of Chhole-Bhature,or Chhole-Kulche and a glass of Garam Chai. It was this time when I was enthralled by the Delhi Metro and its spiraling network, and when I first got down at Vishwavidyalaya Metro Station, I was dumbstruck by the size of it, the grandeur it presented, the campuses nearby, the sports stadiums. Felt otherworldly. The trip was not exactly short, but as it was built around the play, there was not that big a scope of touring the city. My short visits to Chandni Chowk, India Gate, were short, and hurried. My evening stroll at the Sarojini Nagar Market was fruitful. Souvenirs are something, Bengalis know too well. I had some kebabs from near the Jama Masjid, but I could not savour them.
That evening, as I boarded the train on my way back home, the lust to return to Delhi was strong, and overpowering. It was so overpowering, that I visited the city, the very next year, during the summer, as soon as my Masters were completed. This time, I was not with a group, it was my first long distance solo trip, and I had time to revisit history, the rich, long, and complicated history of Delhi. I had memories of a wonderful sunset at Chawri Bazaar, that I needed to see again. I visited all that I could. Eat all I could. But I remember, travelling to Pitampura, Netaji Subhash Place, to be precise. There were some malls there, and I sat at the steps of one of the malls, and sipped on my cool, refreshing, virgin mojito. It was different than Old Delhi, but the sunset was equally mesmerizing. And the typical evening breeze that the city sweeps you off with. I can never describe this breeze to a person, who has never felt it sweep across their faces. Perhaps, that makes me a lazy writer. So be it.
I remember going to the Qutab Complex. After getting down at the station, I decided to take a walk to the complex. The sky was overcast, and it was not too hot, given the scorching heat Delhi can subject you to. I walked following the Google Map, occasionally confirming the route from rickshaw-wallahs, and the thanda paani-waalas (this chilled water, thanda paani, for just ₹ 2, fascinates me, and I drink up more water than usual when I am in Delhi. What can I say, chilled water is everything for me!). And right before I was about to take the final turn towards the Qutab Complex, I noticed a wide gate to my left, with a board, claiming it to be Meherauli Archaeological Park. Some people will know, this park actually houses a chunk of the ancient city of Meherauli, one of the oldest inhabited locales of Delhi, a thousand years old. I just had to take a detour to explore this 200 acre wonder. Adjacent to the Qutab Complex, the park, and especially the bastion overlooking the historical Rose Garden of Meherauli presents a wonderful view of the Qutab Minar. Balban's Tomb. the tomb of Quli Khan, the Jamali Kamali Mosque, the Dilkusha, Rajon Ki Baoli, Gandhak Ki Baoli, the Madhi Masjid, Lal Kot, Bagichi Ki Masjid, Baba Qutbuddin Bakhtiar Kaki Dargah, and so many other ancient monuments, and ruins, spread out, undisturbed. I remember, taking a short hike up to British Officer Sir Thomas Metcalfe's Guest House, very near the Dilkusha. There were no tourists over there, except me. I gathered all the information I could from an aged security guard near Rajon Ki Baoli, as all the monuments were not indicated by pointers. I spent well over three hours at the Meherauli Complex, before I put my sights to Qutab, again. The emptiness and quiet of Meherauli, was unnerving, and to an extent, spooky. Qutab was, on the contrary, a proper tourist spot. I was an explorer, adventurer no longer, I was a Bangal ka tourist. I had been to the Qutab in 2006. I vaguely remembered the complex. At least, this time, I knew the history better. Iltutmish's grand tomb, the forlorn tomb of Alauddin Khalji, were contrasts in themselves. I realized then, there was more to history than books. It's as visual, as literary. The highlight was not Qutab, not by miles. It was the untroubled girdled park of Meherauli, that had shared its history with me, in confidence. Writing this feels like betrayal, but I trust the ancient and wise city of Meherauli will forgive me.
Quli Khan's Tomb (Left) Qutab Minar (Right) overlooking the Meherauli Rose Garden.
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One of the Roads inside the Meherauli Park. |
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Two Friends I Made at the Qutab Complex. |
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The Alai Darwaza at the Qutab Complex. |
The food of course is magnificent in Delhi. You are stupefied by the sheer quantity and quality of it.It can be chaat, it can be Chhole-Kulchhe, it can be Nalli Nihari, the food here, makes its way to your intestines through your soul. Perhaps, that is what it is all about: the soul. The Old Delhi Jalebiwala has rabri-jalebi that will allow you to transcend space-time. I remember having fruit stuffed kulfi from Kuremal Mohan Lal, a blink-an-you-miss-it kind of a shop on Sitaram Bazaar Road, that serves kulfi since 1906. I took a rickshaw ride along Hauz Qazi Road to reach Jama Masjid Gate 3. And it was the most illuminating ride of my life. I saw life, intimately, in another city, other than mine. It was lively, and lazy at the same time, busy and quiet at the same time. The rhythm of live that echoes through the homes that go back several hundreds of years, makes you grateful for this gift of life. The rolls at Khan Chacha, the Changezi Chicken at Al-Jawahar, all of them lip-smacking good.
The Delicious Kakori Kebab Roll at Khan Chacha's, Khan Market.
Tandoori Roti, Chicken Changezi and Seekh Kebab, at Al-Jawahar.
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Mango Stuffed Kulfi from Kuremal Mohan Lal. |
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Rabri-Jalebi from Old Delhi Jalebiwala. |
Then, there was Ghalib. His home at Ballimaran, now partially recovered and renovated, and made into a memorial of sorts. A part of the structure could not be renovated into this memorial, as now it is owned by a Tours and Travel company. Yes, inside the memorial however, you can hear the speakers playing Ghalib's gazals softly. It was all I had dreamed that it would be. There is a bust of Ghalib, and inside a glass display case, a journal, where he had penned his nazms, his couplets, his ghazals.
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Ballimaran, Mirza Ghalib's neighbourhood, near Chawri Bazaar. |
But, since then, for most of the times I have been there, it were the strolls that seemed most refreshing. Be it from India Gate to the Khan Market Metro station, or along the rows of Rohini, where a calm, suburban neighbourhood provides you with a sense of calm and peace like nowhere else.
It welcomes you. It gives you a chance at newer things, it accepts you. It does not have the time to judge. The bustle of Rajiv Chowk Metro, the callous pushes of Chandni Chowk Metro, the enticing concoction of fragrances from spices that make way to your senses from Khari Baoli, Asia's largest spice market. I guess, when you find something new and alluring, you feel the urgency to know all about it. You need to know the smallest of details, and maybe that is why I am drawn to this city so much. And its fun. I remember when I made my way into a shady kind of a bar, assuming it was a cheap place to grab a bite, behind the Kamala Nagar market. On my way out, I could see the police entering the building to conduct I raid, I suppose. My camera almost got confiscated because I unknowingly clicked photos of an old house near Sadar Bazaar, which allegedly belonged to a most wanted gangster. I remember my tuktuk almost getting upturned because of an ox near Okhla Industrial Centre. And of all of these are fond memories, now.
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People will say, Delhi is flawed. But, which city is not? Which person is not? In the end, I feel, it becomes an act of how accommodating you can be towards someone else, who wants to be a part of your life. I remember an elderly saying something like this to me, as she was knitting garlands at the Church of Mother Mary, Our Lady of Health Vailankanni, where Mother Mary is draped in a Kancheepuram saree, by Khan Market. Interesting, I had never seen anyone knit colourful garlands for Christ or Mary, before this. Nor have I seen people offer nariyal-laddu to the Mother.
But some things, carry over. Delhi has orange street lamps too. It has people, willing to stop and help; it has a long history of being built, destroyed, being built again. I have seen peace at Delhi, I have seen revolution in Delhi, I have seen day breaks there, and countless sunsets, now. I have felt homely peace, recklessly adventurous, and everything in the middle over there. I have conned at Sarojini Nagar market, I have been treated literally like a guest of honour when I went to have kebabs at Al-Jawahar. I have recognized the magnanimous presence of Humayun's tomb, I have felt the warm greetings at Nizamuddin. I have made friends with Ghalib at Ballimaran, I have shared a lonely afternoon among the geometric wonders of Jantar Mantar. I have made friends from different religions, communities. Met quite a large number of Bengalis there, who still choose to speak Bengali to clueless North Indian people.
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Humayan's Tomb. |
Maybe, it started with a curious attraction. But, with time, with me opening up to Delhi, and Delhi opening up to me, I have chosen it to be more than just the "other city" in my life. And I think, Delhi likes that. That's probably part of the magic, isn't it? Almost like love. A lot like love, rather.
Let's end with something that dost Ghalib has to offer:
- मिर्ज़ा ग़ालिब
"I asked my soul: What is Delhi?
She replied : The world is the body and Delhi its life"
- Mirza Ghalib
Translated by Khushwant Singh.
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Ghalib's Bust at Ballimaran. |
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