Daily Delhi: Stories of Hope and Despair
In Old Delhi, every step, every glance, every word brings about a new place, a new story, and a new piece in the infinite puzzle of History…
Winter days are most pleasant to explore the city’s forgotten alleys… At the early hours of the day, when the timid sunlight pierces through the dusty windows and the chai is brewing on the stove, the charm of the old lady unravels.
This series of articles, aims at reconstructing and deconstructing the relationship between Delhi, its people, and its heritage.
Haveli Hassle:
This Sunday fate has brought me to explore the area around Delhi Gate at the southern end of the city. Delhi Gate was once one of the fourteen doorways from which the walled city of Shahjahanabad* could be entered. Today, only four gates and a few strips of walls still survive…
Holding my travel companion for the day: Delhi: A Thousand Years of Building*, I am all set to navigate through Old Delhi’s giant maze.
Following the map I land up in a lane adjacent to the main bazaar street. A decadent brick wall prevents any curious soul to peek inside the plot where should stand the ruins of a grand haveli*. Could I be mistaken? Just as I start doubting my sense of orientation a voice from behind resounds:
"Excuse me, excuse me!”
I turn around. An old man in his sixties or seventies is closing on me.
“What are you looking for? Your map is wrong." Asserts the man distrustfully. I explain what has brought me to this narrow lane but the old fellow insists:
"No, no. Your map is wrong. Whatever you have in your book doesn't exist anymore."
I am confused almost disappointed that my quest has to come to a premature end. As if reading my thoughts the man sighs:
“Come up, let me show you.”
He leads me to the entrance of his own house a few meters away. We climb a narrow flight of stairs until we reach the rooftop. I take out my guide and we compare the picture of the haveli with the sight before us: of the beautifully carved archways nothing remains; only a pile of rubble and dust…
I am not surprised; stories of demolitions and fatal decay are but too common in the old city. The authorities are careless and the inhabitants unaware and most often too poor to restore their crumbling treasures.
The man invites me to sit on a mat he takes out for the occasion. His name is Anil Kumar. He was born in this very house in 1940 and has lived here ever since…
“As kids we used to play around the Lahori and Kabuli Gates. Both these gates are no more. They were cleared to make roads in the sixties…” He reminisces
“Do you remember anything about 1947?”
“Partition is hard to forget my friend,” he chuckles, “many of our neighbors and our friends left. The haveli that you were looking for belonged to family members of the last Mughal Emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar and was sold to my grandfather. The property title is still not sorted today, which is why nothing is built.”
In 1947 many Delhiwallas* left their properties hastily selling anything they could. The mansions left behind were either taken up by new migrants in the city (mainly from the Punjab) or were bought by affluent Hindus. Over time, havelis were to be dismantled into shop and workshop units or simply destroyed because deemed too old or beyond repair…
We sit speechless for a while, contemplating the ravages of Time. I notice a flock of pigeons flying gracefully while whistles echo from the neighboring rooftops. “Kabootar baaz flying their pigeons?” I inquire.
The old fellow nods, grinning. He then points at flying colorful objects in the distance:
“It look like the kite runners are also at work.”
Old habits die hard I thought, and when it comes to Old Delhi, thankfully so. Pigeon training and kite flying are both practices as old as the city itself and are but a few reminders of its glorious past.
Above: The haveli as shown in Lucy Peck’s book.
Below: The empty ground behind Anil and I, is what remains from the Haveli (nothing in short).
Mr. Kumar’s granddaughter comes up carrying a tray of chai and biscuits. Her grandfather kisses her on the cheek and does not let her go until she reciprocates. We pause, exchanging broad smiles. A new question pops in mind.
“Many have left Old Delhi in recent years to live in new residential areas. What made you stay?
“Listen beta*, I am old and I have health problems. Here I feel safe, I know everyone and the hospital is right around the corner. I have spent my whole life here. How can I live anywhere else?”
I quietly stare at him then, look away. Amidst the apparent chaos of old Delhi some of its residents still find peace and live in a way that retains the charm of
Shahjahanabad in its heydays…
Dada ji* stands up and heads to the staircase urging me to follow him. After a last lingering look at the city’s skyline, I oblige. Downstairs the family is gathered, grating carrots: Gajar Halva* is in the making. It does not take long before my mouth starts water and my stomach gurgling. Despite the family’s attempt at keeping me over for lunch, it is time for me to go.
“If you are not sharing lunch with us, let us at least share a SELFIE!” Mr. Kumar still manages to have the last word.
A selfie with dada ji.
Glossary:
Shahjahanabad was the name originally given to Old Delhi before the erection of New Delhi by the British. The Mughal emperor Shah Jahan built it in the 17th century as the capital of the Mughal Empire hence shifting the power from Agra.
Delhi: A Thousand Years of Building, Lucy Peck, (2005, Roli Books)
A Haveli is a traditional courtyard house found in the India Sub-Continent
Delhiwallas: an inhabitant of Old Delhi
Kabootar : Pigeon, Baaz : Trainer, Owner.
Beta: son
Gajar Halva: A sweet made of carrots, prepared mainly in winters.
Dada: Grandfather, ji: a mark of respect in the Hindi/Urdu