On the first Valentine’s Day of this millennium, I landed in Delhi after more than a decade away. My eyes brimmed with tears. It may well have been due to the overwhelming emotion at having returned home after so many years. Or it may have been the pollutants that seemed to choke the air. Even after all these years, I remember vividly how, as we drove from the airport late at night, my first glimpses of the city took my breath away: majestic monuments, old and new, veiled by wisps of fog, glimmering in the scattered rays of the streetlights, Delhi seemed ethereal, a magical realm that had almost fictional overtones. I would have believed I had been transported to Never Never Land… if only my eyes didn’t sting so badly. But that’s Delhi: bringing you to earth with a sting. Not a city for idle dreamers.
As the days passed, I adapted. No, that’s the wrong word. I grew, I developed new skills. I could soon out-bargain any autorickshaw-wallah in the early mornings. I learnt to enjoy driving on roads like dodgem cars in carnivals. I learnt to differentiate between different types of honks – the ‘hello’ versus the ‘get out of my way’. I became adept at using my elbows to push off unwanted groping hands. I learnt to manoeuvre my way through queues (or crowds that loosely masqueraded as queues – the concept of queues in Delhi is very different from the concept of queues in, say, London). I worked out – the hard way – that when people here invite you for dinner at eight, they mean eleven – and you should eat something before going because dinner is what they serve at one in the morning, when you’ve had your fifth glass of cheap red wine/whisky and umpteenth paneer tikka (and that you’d better like chicken and paneer if you want to survive here). I learnt that, in this power-driven city, who you knew, where you lived, and even which floor of the building you lived in, was very important, and I learnt to give the right answers. Most of all, I learnt how to out-complain everyone else, everyday, about how terrible Delhi was.
And indeed, everyone I knew seemed to complain about Delhi: how rude and rough people were, how difficult life was, how there was no system. Everyone – whether young professionals, civil servants, businessmen and women, drivers, domestics – seemed to see Delhi as a temporary evil they needed to bear with for their work/career/children’s education, before they would eventually retire to an idyllic life back home in Kolkata/Shillong/Bhopal/Pallakad. Even for those who had lived in Delhi for over thirty years and had bought houses here, home was elsewhere, Delhi was where you worked. I didn’t know anyone who thought of Delhi as home.
Then, over the years, Delhi slowly changed. After CNG became mandatory for public transport, pollution dropped significantly (I don’t know the stats, but I don’t need to – I could feel the difference). The month I arrived, the first ‘ Barista’ opened in Delhi. Today, they’re cafes round every corner. The roads widened, flyovers, like the massive one near AIIMS, changed the city. The Delhi-Gurgaon expressway cut down driving times to Gurgaon dramatically. Earlier, for ‘different’ food, you headed to five star hotel restaurants. Today quality stand-alone restaurants sprout everywhere, providing every type of food, well almost. The metro arrived. It ruined the look of Connaught Place of course but suddenly West Delhi was only a 20 minute ride away instead of an hour and a half of traffic jams.
And Delhi mellowed. Or was it me? Now I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
In no particular order, here’s what I love about Delhi:
<!1. The winter. The cool crisp air, the city splashed a brilliant riot of colours as flowers of all hues bloom in every corner.
<!2. The greenery. Where else would you find a capital city this green? One of my greatest pleasures in life is to sit on my balcony soaking in the sun on a winter’s day, and just watch the birds and squirrels and insects at play in the tiny park opposite my house – and I live in the centre of the city. Even this tiny park is a veritable treasure-house of plants – and it’s a microcosm of Delhi. It’s not just in the Okhla Bird Sanctuary or the Ridge or Lodhi Gardens, flora and fauna abound everywhere. I read somewhere that it’s due to Delhi’s location, it has plants from three different ecosystems from semi-arid to swamp. The sheer variety makes it a nature-lover’s paradise – and still doesn’t take away from the city’s buzz.
<!3. The monuments and ruins. Humayun’s tomb by moonlight. Purana Qila and the Red Fort. I can almost imagine Sher Shah Suri, or Humayun hurrying down the steps of his library. Tughlaqabad Fort and the ruins around Hauz Khas. Indraprastha, on the banks of the Yamuna. Actually, ruins, remains of tombs and buildings, of various ages, everywhere you look. India Gate and Rashtraprati Bhawan looming. Completely unselfconsciously, Delhi breathes history. A walk or drive around Delhi is a travel through time, and one never knows what one might discover in some hidden corner. The city is much more than a set of historical monuments. It’s just that they define the essence of the city: a city that has always, unapologetically, symbolised power, and abundant raw, naked, ambition – and still does.
<!4. Sunday brunch at Sagar, and Swagath’s garlic chilli butter crab. Sagar in Defence Colony has got to be one of Delhi’s greatest success stories. For a warm welcome, cheap and delicious dosas and idlis, I maintain there’s no better place in South India – I mean South Delhi! It’s always busy, but somehow the waiters are never rude. Come Sunday, it’s Sagar I head to. Its non-vegetarian sister, Swagath, is considerably more up-market, but its signature garlic chilli butter crab is really worth dying for.
<!5. Ice cream at India Gate on a summer evening: The wonderful part about summer evenings in Delhi is the contrast to the hot hot days. And the sight of all those ice cream vans – Kwality, Mother Dairy, Vadilal – lined up all the way from India Gate to Raisina Hill, lights aglow, is so pretty, so alluring…and yet so Delhi! And after a long walk down Rajpath, an ice-cream stick is just what you want.
<!6. Nirula’s Hot Chocolate Fudge: As a child, no visit to Delhi was complete without a trip to Nirula’s. The world may have changed since then, but not Nirula’s hot chocolate fudge. Easily the world’s best. An instant mood enhancer on a blue day. It’s what you opt for when deadlines overwhelm you, when office politics gets a bit too much – or when you just want to share a happy moment with your family.
<!7. The bookshops: Another ‘must-do’ on our childhood visits to Delhi was to visit the Midland Books booth in front of the Indian Oil Bhawan in Janpath. The tiny booth seemed to pack in a variety of interesting books, all at discounted prices. I still go to Midlands to get a book cheaper than elsewhere. Rifling through second hand books in Daryaganj or the middle circle in Connaught Place, or browsing in Bahri’s at Khan Market or the Bookshop in Jorbagh, or discovering something riveting at Fact and Fiction, this city is a booklover’s heaven. Flipkart’s great, but it can’t compare. It was a tragic day when the Bookworm in B-block, Connaught Place had to shut down. Even Delhi bookshops are not immune to the dangers of globalisation and retail chains.
<!8.Lodhi Gardens: It is said of the Shalimar Gardens, ‘if ever there was a paradise on earth, it is here, it is here.’ I think most Delhiites would recognise an echo of that in Lodhi Gardens. Its tombs, its trees, its power-pumped patrons – certainly no other garden on earth can be as interesting.
<!9. The British Council: Art, literature or science, it has the most imaginative, interesting events.
1 10. Burra Kabab and Raan at Karim’s, Butter chicken at Moti mahal: I remember reading somewhere that to make a restaurant distinct and unique, it needs a past, a history. That certainly is true for Karim’s, especially the original Karim’s near Jama Masjid – apparently it is run by descendants of the royal chefs of the Mughal emperor, using the same recipes. Whether or not that’s true, the food at Karim’s is beyond compare. Moti Mahal’s history starts a little later, around Independence – but its proximity to Delhi University and the loyalty of the then-students who have since become very important people ensures it has the rich and famous among its patrons. And with reason: its butter chicken is the best.
<! 11.Janpath, Sarojini Nagar Market, and around: Blouses, beads, silver trinkets, semi-precious stone jewellery: you can get whatever you want, at the price that you like, in these markets – provided you have ‘an eye’ and can bargain (a very important Delhi survival skill). I know of people who have picked up stunning designer seconds at dirt cheap prices, and you really wouldn’t know the difference. Shopping in these markets is a bit like going on a treasure hunt, you just never know what you’ll come home with. In summer though, I prefer the Cottage Emporium. Even if I don’t buy anything, I love just walking around, looking at the stunning handicrafts, always feeling humbled and awed by the skill of our craftsmen, stunned by the beauty of these handcrafted products from across the country. The State Emporia at Baba Kharag Singh Marg elicit similar emotions.
<! 12. Dilli Haat: Talking of handicrafts, how can we possibly leave out Dilli Haat? Always colourful, always fun, whether it’s buying Gujarati cushion covers or Naga necklaces, having momos or Kashmiri kahwa chai. The idea behind Dilli Haat was to allow craftsmen to benefit directly, and change their lives. In the process, its transformed Delhi too.
<! 13. The tea shop at the Oxford Bookstore: A tea connoisseur’s delight. It serves the largest variety of teas in town that I know of, and brewed to perfection.
<! 14. The people! This list could go on… but finally – I love Delhi because of its people. Yes, I know many of them are rude and arrogant and drop names and could even shoot you if they’re drunk. But there are so many many others who have shown warmth and hospitality unmatched anywhere else. My favourite memory is of a rickshawallah I had to interview for an article on drug addicts in the city. Here was a poor, dirty, scary looking man. I took a deep breath, gathered up my courage, and began asking him questions about his life in my faltering Hindi (I had then only recently arrived in Delhi). Although half stoned, he looked at me half amused, half amazed, offered me tea (which I politely but hastily refused), and insisted on speaking to me in his faltering English. Then we both laughed – two outsiders, so different we could almost be from two separate universes, bound for a moment by this great city. And we both implicitly knew – Delhi means hope and opportunity.
