Mayur Vihar Phase II – Exploring East Delhi's Deep Underbelly

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Your guide to Trans-Yamuna’s elite address.

[By Julia Dutta; an advertising professional, she owns the blog Xebecbooks; picture by Ravindra Nath Munshi]

If you are in a tearing hurry to reach Indirapuram, via Noida Mor, be warned. You can not arrive at Indirapuram without a massive traffic jam. Why? Because at the next traffic signal from Noida Mor, the traffic is going to Mayur Vihar Phase II.

Home to those who could not afford the more elite addresses in South Delhi, trans-Yamuna was perhaps the only way out to have a roof over one’s head in the early 70’s. Thus, grew an enormous number of buildings, most carelessly made and poorly designed, called Mayur Vihar Phase II. This stands on the other side of DDA’s Sanjay Jheel, which was reduced to a lake, by dumping soil and building straight without a foundation or a plinth in most cases.

DDA must prove the true meaning of their abbreviated name and there are no prizes for guessing that - Delhi’s Dumb Association, of course. (It is actually Delhi Development Authority) The buildings in Pocket A have water seepage problems, which reach ceiling level. But all is not unwell. There are those sturdy ones like Pocket B as well. In fact, there are six pockets in Mayur Vihar Phase II, A – F.

The best is Pocket E where the cost of a 3-bedroom flat is well over a crore now. Reason? Don’t you know? The highly publicized Commonwealth Games are just around the corner. If you are thinking of investment, this is where you should be. Buy for 1 crore and see it double in just two years.

Alas, you are not an investor. You are merely a shopper. Then, here it goes - Mayur Vihar has three large Shopping Centres, one in Pocket A, B and C. In fact there is one in Pocket E as well. But no one visits there. The one on Pocket B, is right on the road as you enter Mayur Vihar Phase II or leave from there. Watch out for Mischief Cyber Café, HDFC Bank, Sweets & Spices, and Bikaner Sweets. Subhiksha too. Also notice hoards and more hoards of property dealers. Beware. Many may pinch your pockets though.

Do not miss Virmani Hospital, where I believe more patients die than see the light of day. Mayur Vihar Phase II is ironically full of hospitals and pharmacies. Wonder why? Is it the habit of the doctors to keep patients forever sick or is it the practice of the people living there, not to give up on terrible cases of quacks. Unfortunately, if you fall sick in MV II, you had better consider yourself dead. There is an absolute dearth of good reliable doctors there.

Let that be as it may, the DDA Shopping Complex is active till late hours of the night, with the Wine & Beer shop and men with just too many beers in their belly. For that “leg” with one peg, one has to take a drive to Pocket A market. There, the tandoor runs hot -burping out one after another tandoori chicken. Enjoy.

If you have had the time to arrive early, then do visit the Ganesh Temple, which is where all the South Indian communities go to. The temple rubs its shoulders with the Ram Mandir next door but no big following there. Ganesh temple is also the hubbub of much commercial activity outside the temple. Please buy your Leo Coffee straight from Chennai at the vendor sitting right outside the temple with a spread of South Indian favorites. Do not miss the pure sweets and mixture made at the temple complex itself, during Deepavali. The finest basen laddoos, babughosha and mixture are available here - made in pure desi ghee.

Not a problem for our Bengali babu too. He does not have to travel all the way to Chitto Park during his famous Durga Pujo. The famous Kali Mandir in Pocket F has its own Durga, Kali and Saraswati pujo, complete with jatra and Bengali food spread to buy. Do not ever miss the egg, chicken, mutton rolls. They are just like what you can gorge upon at Gariahat in Kolkata.

But the prize of Mayur Vihar Phase II is the Sanjay Jheel. Built by DDA with a promise to make the visitor have the boating experience of the Delhi Fort, it is still waiting for the public to pour in. And while that is taking time, the hoodlums are having the time of their lives. Go there at dusk to walk in the vast jungle of eucalyptus trees around it, if you want your mangalsutra snatched.

Or if you want to ask a tree cutter to transport that huge eucalyptus tree he has just cut down to your house. I must warn you he might refuse because he is under the connivance of the Delhi Forest Division to cut the tree while the world sleeps. It means that the huge jungle of eucalyptus trees planted around the Jheel is not only depleting the soil but also filling the pockets of those who freely cut and sell. Don’t blame them. They are merely cashing on a crop that is after all a cash crop.

On the other side of Mayur Vihar Phase II, please welcome, Trilokpuri, the site where the Sikh massacre took place following India Gandhi’s assassination in 1984. But you are not supposed to tarry too long there. After all, those are the pariahs of Delhi, while you who lives in Mayur Vihar Phase II, is the elite in trans-Jamuna area. Never mind, if Mayur Vihar Phase I and Patparganj who are near you are also claiming the same status.

Fast Facts

Bus Routes from Mayur Vihar II to Connaught Place via ITO – 349 from Pocket C Bus stand.
Bus Routes from Mayur Vihar II to Delhi Gate – 348.
Bus Routes from Mayur Vihar II to South Ex – 543.
Many chartered busses connect you to Nehru Place, Bikhaji Cama Place and Connaught Place. There is also a regular flow of RTVs to Shastri Park Metro Station.

Sorry, but you are a Delhi Walla. You always travel by car and give back to the city what you take from it - lot of fume. And foul words.

[This article was written for The Delhi Walla]

Sightseeing - Footloose in Delhi

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Organized city walks that enrich the flavor of the capital.

[Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Many organizations and individuals have been conducting city walks in Delhi. Led by qualified guides, these tours are professional in their execution. The present structure of their itineraries has been laid out after years of experience. Tourists, students, and corporate groups are a few of the beneficiaries.

Tree Walk

Pradip Krishen's book Trees of Delhi may be priced at Rs 795 but taking a tree walk with him is absolutely free. Doctors, artists, accountants, furniture designers, and many others have ended up wiser about the city's green life after walking the tree talk with Delhi's most learned Tree Walla. One Sunday morning, 120 people turned up - in the rain! But Krishen prefers smaller batches for these leafy excursions to ridges and parks.
Contact treesofdelhi@gmail.com

Street Walk with Street Children

Guided by former street children, this walk takes you around New Delhi Railway Station. Organized by the Salaam Baalak Trust, it helps you in discovering the inner life of Delhi’s street kids. Knowing how they survive is crucial in understanding the underbelly of this difficult city. Click here for a detailed story on this walk.
Charge Walkers are welcome to donate what they like, but Rs 200 is good Contact Javed (981-097-5284)

Habitat Walk

Since 1995, Habitat World has conducted over 2,000 walks. Led by historians, musicologists, environmentalists, and architects, groups of 25-30 people get to explore the city's history, architecture and culture on each walk. Some of the places included in these walks are Humayun's tomb, Sultanpur Bird Sanctuary, Hauz Khas, the Nehru Planetarium, and Rashtrapati Bhawan.
Charge Rs 50 Ph 4366-3080/3090

Bazaar Walk

Chandni Chowk, the moonlit bazaar, used to be the commercial heart of the Mughal capital. Today it is a pale shadow of its glorious past. However, the Delhi experience would be incomplete without a detour in its streets and eateries. The Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage conducts weekly walks (on Saturdays) in this historic district. The bazaar also houses holy (and historically important) shrines of almost all the major religions followed in India.
Charge Rs 30 Ph 2464-1304

INTACH Walk

In collaboration with the Delhi government, INTACH started heritage walks in 2005 to popularize historical destinations like Mehrauli Archaeological Park and Chandni Chowk. The walks are led by experts, usually with an MA in Art History or Heritage Management. Apart from regular walks, customized excursions are organised.
Charge Rs 30 Ph 2464-1304

Wildlife Walk

The Asola Bhatti Sanctuary is on the Southern Ridge, where the Aravalli Hills taper off. It is a great place to unwind if you happen to be in south Delhi. The Conservation Education Center conducts daily hikes here. You would walk through green patches of Anogeissus, Balanite, and Riparian belt. The sanctuary is rich in wildlife. Nilgai and blackbucks are the usual sights.
Charge Rs 50 Ph 2604-2010

Walk the Book

Walking in chaotic Old Delhi could assault the senses. If someone could lift the curtain from the clutter, point out the stunning carvings on rundown mansions, and explain contemporary settings in historical quarters, the experience is uplifting. Co-authored by two English ladies, Old Delhi – 10 Easy Walks is an ideal companion for solitary excursions. With maps and practical hints, this guidebook takes you to landmarks like Jama Masjid as well as lesser-known places like Chitli Qabar bazaar.
By Gaynor Barton, Laurraine Malone Price Rs 195 (Rupa & Co)

City Secrets - Holy Booze at Bhairon Mandir

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A temple addicted to whiskey.

[Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

This temple prohibits devotees from giving prasad to beggars. After all, the pooja thalis here look tempting with their Royal Challenge bottles. The deity, though, is perhaps soft on Johnnie Walker.

Clinging to the stone-red ramparts of Purana Qila, Bhairon Mandir is an alcohol-friendly shrine. The temple accepts liquor as prasad. A signboard that warns not to give it to beggars outside is mostly ignored. The drunken urchins freely run around with half-empty bottles.

"Devotees bring their own bottles, sometimes even cartons," says beer-bellied Pandit Ram Prasad. The tradition is to offer some of the whiskey (or beer, vodka, rum…) to the deity. The rest is given to the priest or taken home.

Since Bhairon Baba, a demon killed by Durga but absolved of all sins during his dying moments, attracts the biggest crowd on Sundays, the sweeper claims to collect more than thousand bottles the morning after. An offering of meat is also acceptable. According to a priest, it is not unusual to proffer live chickens as well.

This tipsy tradition is traced to Baba's fondness for alcohol. But an old Mataji, a temple fixture, recalls the time when the surrounding area was a jungle. Picnickers would come from Delhi, in tonga, to picnic here. Since the area was thick with trees, they would chop wood and light bonfires to rustle up elaborate meals. Booze would inevitably be part of the hamper. Considering that the temple priests were never far away, they were often invited to share in the feast. This custom perhaps evolved into the present-day ritual.

"The truth is that meethi roti is prasad enough," Mataji asserts. But that, as it happens, is not enough for others.

Where Near Pragati Maidan Parking (Opposite Gate No. 2)

Obituary – Searching for Qurratulain Hyder in a City Graveyard

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How to mourn the death of an author you never read.



[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi; Ms. Hyder's photographer could not be traced.]

The hill was alive with the sound of the grave digger's shovel. I was looking for a grave. In the next hill perhaps? It was dug yesterday. For Qurratulain Hyder. She was an Urdu writer who died on August 21, following a prolonged lung ailment, in a hospital in NOIDA, a Delhi suburb. I have never read Ms. Hyder. Yet I came here in Jamia Nagar’s Muslim graveyard to express my sadness at her passing away.

With me was a cutting from today's Times of India. Folded between the pages of an Alice Munro hardbound which I was carrying, it was a 15*9 mm column on Page 2.

Urdu Novelist Hyder Dead.

An old bearded man in a green kaftan was digging a grave. Could he direct me to where a woman was buried yesterday? An author whose body must have come from NOIDA - I explained to him. Her hair was short; I added hopefully. The man's empty eyes stared back. I moved my gaze to the surrounding hillocks.

Would Ms. Hyder be somewhere there?

Wanting to feel a fellow writer's camaraderie for her, I walked down the hill, stumbled over discarded graves, overgrown grass, hidden hollows, small boulders, and walked up another hill. Two boys were flying kites. Goats scampered around the tombs – no tombstones; merely partially-raised mud platforms.

Reaching the top, I sat under a neem tree, and took out the newspaper cutting from the Alice Munro.

When this great figure of Urdu literature took her last breath, she had no friend or relative with her in the hospital. Her neighbors in Sector 21, where she had been living alone since many years, had no inkling of having close proximity to such a celebrated writer. Hyder had never married.

I re-folded the cutting and kept it back inside. A laborer was climbing down a hill facing me. She was clueless about any author's burial but talked of flowers on a new grave. That was it. I ran up, past a rich man's grave (cemented; shaded by roof; with few lines inscribed in English), and found her – under a fresh mound. Marigold flowers lay at one end. On the other was a bouquet with the note - "From the students and faculty of Indraprastha University."

I kneeled down and took out the newspaper cutting again:

Called "Aainie Aapa" by friends and admirers (where are they?), Hyder's most famous work is Aag Ka Darya, a magnum opus which explores India's history from the fourth century BC to the subcontinent's partition.

Like many contemporaries, Hyder too crossed the border during partition. But the feminist and democrat in her felt uncomfortable in Pakistan. She returned to India in the 1950s, and went on to work in the Illustrated Weekly of India.

For a moment, I looked up, up at the sky. A crow was flying high.

Despite being reserved and even moody, Hyder was not an intellectual snob. "She didn't appear at all as the high-priestess of Urdu fiction," Urdu journalist Mehmood Ayubi recalls.

Taking a handful of mud from Hyder's grave, I clutched it in my hands as it escaped. The newspaper cutting, lying on the ground, blew away with the breeze. I could not feel sentimental, as I had hoped.

My thoughts went to my reading life. How fortunate to feel at home with England's Jane Austen, America's Maya Angelou, and Canada's Margaret Atwood. These are places I have never visited; cultures I have never encountered. Yet, they are so familiar. But how did I fail to read this author who belonged to the land I was born in? Ms. Hyder was, like me, from Uttar Pradesh. We probably ate the same arhar daal, smelled the same heeng and ate the same rotis. Both of us were of the same mitti. Now she is dead and I haven't read her yet. I should be in mourning. It's my loss.

The Grave Digger



Not Alone



I Will Never Have a Tomb



Poor People's Tomb?



Rich Man's Tomb



In Memory of Ms. Hyder

Gay Delhi - Scene & Sensibility

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An expose on gay life in the city.

[The author, a well-known fashion designer, does not wish to disclose his identity; picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

About four years ago, the opportunity to quit London and move to Delhi in the interests of my work presented itself. I was quite unknown t o the various quirky charms of this city. As any sensible person would do, I went around asking people what they thought of the matter. Only in my case, they were people who knew I was then a gay lad of 22, so there had to be some special considerations.

Nobody said it was bad. They all said it was different from the gay scene I had known in the capital of the Old World since my pre-pubescent days. I didn’t quite understand but was sure I would have a lot of fun in Delhi – a city of more than 10 million, practically ruled by men (unsafe for women, female foeticide) - as a young well-off entrepreneur. That was all set to change.

Here’s what I found out about the gay scene in Delhi. I should have known the people I asked were being awfully English when saying ‘different’ for ‘drastically damnable’.

There isn’t a gay scene in Delhi.

There are millions of gay people here but if you did a survey, you would think it was a curiously homogeneously heterosexual city. There are some rather strange straight people in Delhi who pretend to be gay on some days of the week, particularly when the wife is not being too obliging.

There isn’t a gay scene in Delhi because you can’t tell anyone you’re gay – even though that in itself does not constitute a crime, not even under the bizarre load of bull euphemistically called the legal system. If you tell your neighbours, they’d probably never speak to you again. If you tell your workmates, they’d think you’re the assault-in-the-office-loo type. If you tell social services, - but I ramble now, what social services?

It takes acceptance or complete indifference on society’s behalf for a sort of an organized ‘scene’ to build up in a city or country. You could be gay or straight or a cattle-fancier, but when it doesn’t matter to anyone but yourself – that’s when people would be okay partying in clubs tagged ‘gay’. Or doing whatever – why are you bothered? The intelligentsia blames their Victorian laws but before damning the late Empress, do take a look at what the story’s like in England now. Conclusion: it’s India at work here, not the Victorians.

I don’t deny there are a few organizations in India which claim to do social work for the homo cause. More often than not though, these are like political parties with one person at the helm of affairs, the affair usually being all about his own great charm to impress the media every now and then.

It’s true there are gay people everywhere in the world, just as there are straight people. A friend of mine says it just doesn’t work out if you admit as much anywhere between Istanbul and Bangkok. I’ve empirically observed this to be true. You may have had bed breaking sex with a man in Delhi, but three minutes after ejaculation, he would deny knowing you. Or worse, he could kill you for being an immoral person too rich for the good of his nation. This I will try and explain to myself in view of the fact that 77% of the Indian populace lives on just about 21 rupees a day (£1 = 80 rupees, roughly).

As for the other 23%, they have other things to look after – wives and kids more often than not. I’m not saying it doesn’t go on elsewhere, but is it just Indian culture that requires every man to be married and add his bit to the zillions, or could it possibly be that they’re all lazy sods who need free cooking and laundry for a lifetime in exchange for a few liquid ounces of semen? If only their wives would wake up and smell the sheets. Parents in India are prone to suffer heart attacks the moment their son says he doesn’t want to get married, but that, I think, is due to the corrupting influence of Indian customs and soap operas, which leave every woman above the age of 40 with a burning desire to burn a daughter-in-law.

One might think it would at least make a nice place for anonymous sex then – you know, instant ‘sex and the city’ kicks. Well, you can have more, and better, in Kabul. The trouble here is, they all want you to take them out to the Hyatt, where they then proceed to drink Kingfisher beer out of a bottle, ask for onion rings with garram marsalla to eat, and then pass out in your bed. Next morning, they politely borrow a neck tie, without asking you, to wear to their call centre in the suburbs.

It isn’t like this is not a ‘modern’ country. Delhi and Bombay are progressive cities, after all. Could gay bars be all that difficult to run? Well, Bombay faring only slightly better, I can say of Delhi that the gay bars here should immediately close down. They do more damage to the non-existent scene than one could imagine.

Maybe it’s that 21 rupees thing again, but half the numbers of the urban unemployed/underemployed male seem to have realized there is a niche market for their bodies here, irrespective of sexual orientation, served on a nightly basis. You’d only ever find rent boys in the gay bars. I believe the term ‘escort’ is far too dignified to be applied to the version available in India. Again, there are seedy bars everywhere, but where’s the good one here?

However, drag queens seem to have no problems getting about in gay Delhi. There is even greater social acceptance for them as opposed to a man who ‘pretends to be a man all day long then has sex with a man, you know!’.

The long running eunuch tradition in the country, especially in these Mogul parts, could be the explanation for this. Some people do think all gay men are actually eunuchs. (Bless those!). Delhi Police cops usually don’t harass you cruising in a park if you happen to be effeminate; your hips sashaying from Diplomatic Enclave to the West End. For some reason, you simply have more chances of being laid if you agree to exist that way. Maybe you’re a lesser threat to insecure straight people in such a case.

Enough of social science. It was true I had a lot of fun, for about three days. They are all, after all, looking for anything on two legs with a flat available for two hours, or 3 minutes, as the case may be.

But I wanted a relationship, feelings, silly me. Six months into one such thing, his wife telephoned. But I still wanted to fall in love with the right sort of person. I went back to my leather club in Kings Cross and found him.

I can safely declare Delhi as a hellhole for anyone who happens to be gay and looking for the finer things in life. I’m glad I have the choice to go back, and that I’ve lived to tell the tale.

Delhi Belly – Creating Seoul in the Soul

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An authentic Korean eatery in a stinky bazaar alley.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

As soon as I plopped a pickled fiery-red cabbage into my unsuspecting mouth, the ground beneath the taste buds started shuddering. My eyes burned with million mutinies. The cabbage in Kimchi Jigae (Rs 150), the Korean stew I ordered, had fermented to the right degree but its spiciness was jolting. I quickly hurled in cucumber slices, one of the six banchan, small side dishes if you please, that included eggplant and spinach.



It was my fault. The pony-tailed hippie who was supervising Dokebi Nara - this little known Korean eatery deep inside a Paharganj bylane - did warn that "spices can be moderated if so desired." But I had foolishly requested to make it hot.



Mr. Hippie, now calmly staring at me, shook his head and said that Korean spices are different than the Indian ones. I nodded in surrender and asked for a Kingfisher. Once the burning sensation subsided, I concentrated on the stew. Jigae could also have pork or seafood but mine had vegetables. Alternating a spoonful with a mouthful of fine sticky rice that came as accompaniment I gradually began to enjoy the Kimchi's piquant flavour. Other adornments like the stew's pungent fish sauce, its hot pepper, crisp scallions, familiar garlicky flavor, and of course the cool monsoon breeze, together conspired to create a Seoul in the soul.

As the tangy savour started establishing its comfort zone, I looked around and marveled if Delhiwallas could imagine a truly authentic Korea inside a stinky bazaar alley. Dokebi Nara (I have been here before) is a hidden treasure in this city of only a couple of Korean eateries, which are for the most part high-end.



Korean pop played in Sony speakers and Korean paperbacks lay mildewed on a shelf. The tiny terrace, lit with Chinese paper lamps, was packed with Korean backpackers (the laminated menu was in English, not Korean!). I was like a foreign intruder. But the stew agreed well making me feel at home.

A little later I requested Mr. Hippie for Fired Cuttlefish (Rs 200) that comes in a spicy sauce and is served with rice. Looking aghast, he pointed to my plate and said, "I will if you say so but this is enough for one person." I bowed and assured him I needed more.

Where First Floor, Navrang Guest House, Paharganj Main Bazaar; another very popular outlet is in Mcleodganj, Himachal Pradesh

Travel - From India Gate to Gateway of India

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The Delhi walli visits the rival city Mumbai and is impressed.

[Text by Manika Dhama; picture by Dharmesh]

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we have landed at the Chhtrapati Shivaji Airport in Mumbai. Outside temperature 28 degrees Celsius.” The announcement brought a smile on my face on a recent afternoon. I was in Mumbai and it was raining.

My first trip to the city had been in 2005. That time I played the tourist and dutifully went to see the museums, the gardens, the beach and the film-star homes (from a distance). I quite liked it then, especially for the (albeit stinky) beach that doesn’t exist in Delhi.

However, this time around I wasn’t too keen on being a tourist. Friends in Delhi had given me a list of ‘must-visit’ places, especially since I wasn’t traveling with mother. I didn’t visit even half of those, but during my 4 nights 3 days there, I managed to pack in enough experiences to have a Mumbai-hangover.

Firstly, my host-cum-friend in the city gave me a lowdown on the Mumbai-life. He told me about the most significant survival kit in the city - the umbrella. It made sense, considering the whole time I was there it hardly stopped raining.

Another important thing to work on was my reflexes. On a fine Mumbai morning I dared to wear an off-white dress (foolish Delhi-ite me). I was barely out of my friend’s apartment building in Andheri, when a car sped by splashing water all over. Thanks to my reflexes, I managed to step back just in time to avoid the splash. Of course it took only a second to realise that I had stepped into a puddle. I cursed nobody in particular. A man walked by laughing and my friend said “Welcome to Mumbai”.



Rocky Night

During my first ‘night-out’ in the city, I followed my host and his friends to ‘Hard Rock Café’ (or HRC for convenience) in Lower Parel. This being the only ‘HRC’ in India, I decided not to miss any details. My eyes scanned the memorabilia on the walls - autographed guitars, concert costumes, and exciting posters. I found ‘The Kiss’, ‘The Rolling Stones’, ‘Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ and others. I was a little surprised to see children (aged approximately 8) hanging around the place with their folks. These parents had to be rock aficionados to be initiating their kids into it so early on. Of course, now sitting miles away from the place, the one image of HRC that I can’t get out of my head is the Britney Spears poster (a big one at that) on the ‘Women in Rock’ wall.

Train to Bandra

Several drinks, starters and yummy desserts later it was only 11.30 pm and I agreed to travel in the local train to get to Bandra where the ‘party’ was to continue at a friend’s apartment. My host reminded me that earlier in the day I had vehemently refused to have anything to do with the ‘local’. But now I was a tad bit excited. I caught myself thinking of our dear Delhi Metro and whether I would ever take it at 11.30 pm. (I didn’t think so, even with 3 male ‘escorts’ as I had then.) I was asked to be careful with my purse (which if stolen would have made the thief richer by a digital camera, an iPod, around Rs 4000, a return ticket to Delhi and other precious items like Vaseline). Clearly I was clutching the bag a little too tightly.

Reassurance came in the form of “hey, it’s not that bad!” The train journey was short but enough for me to tell all and sundry that I have ‘been’ on the Mumbai local.

Mumbai Auto Anytime

On most days of the year, I am not a heels person (or woman, if you will). But this was Mumbai so what the heck. There I was, in my second best heels, walking through puddles at 2 am on a road in Bandra (with can-always-count-on male-friends of course). And just like that we were standing by the roadside wishin’ and hopin’ for an auto-rickshaw. And sure enough, it came!

That’s the thing about Mumbai. You get in an auto, you travel for what seems like ages, you get out to pay the man and the meter reads something like 36 bucks. I don’t know if Mumbaikars appreciate it enough. But when you’ve had auto-wallas in Delhi make you pay as if you went to the moon, you cannot but love these non-CNG, black and yellow three-wheel rides in Mumbai.

Doing Sarojini in Mumbai

Very often I would ask Mumbai-returned friends where they got the fancy shoes/clothes/belts they were wearing, and the answer was always the same...Lokhandwala Market. It was definitely on my to-do list before I got to Mumbai. But when we were actually walking through the area, I couldn’t excite myself enough to even look at the things on display. I’m sure they were nice but who was I kidding. I can hardly get myself to visit the Sarojini and Lajpat Nagars of Delhi. So I passed up Lokhandwala with the usual shopping tip to self - I don’t REALLY need anything.

The other thing I ignored was ‘Mall-viewing’. I realised that I never associate Mumbai with malls. So while waiting for friends outside a certain Phoenix Mills (supposedly a very ‘happening’ mall) I didn’t have it in me to ‘check it out’. Gurgaon, NOIDA and dear Delhi are doing enough for the all-important Mall-cause. Mumbai should be left alone. I doubt if it even has the space.

Hawa Hawaii

Forget malls, but if you’re looking for Hawaii in Mumbai, you can head to the ‘Hawaiian Shack’ in (what I think was) Pali Hill. It had come highly recommended, so being an obedient friend I decided to try it out.

There was the waitress in a sarong, waiters in bright floral shirts and fishing nets on the wall. It was a shack all right. You could’ve picked that place up, put it on a beach in Hawaii and no one would’ve noticed (except the Chelsea vs Manchester United match on TV could’ve been a giveaway). I had a real good time there. I also learnt that they apparently drive people out by 1:15 am. I didn’t stay long enough to give them that pleasure though. Again the ubiquitous Mumbai auto came to the rescue and took me on my last night-ride in the city.

See You Mumbai

Couple of hours before my flight back to Delhi, I was sitting in a decent restaurant (‘Salt & Pepper’ in Andheri West) eating Palak Khichdi for lunch. “It’s like home-food” is what my non-vegetarian friend said. Others had been raving about it in Delhi. I loved it. It was light, healthy, satisfying and very green!

The flight was delayed so I reached the airport comfortably and had enough time to admire the clean and nice departure lounge at the Mumbai airport (better than Delhi, if I may dare to say so).

Few hours later we were at the Indira Gandhi airport in Delhi. “Outside temperature 35 degrees Celsius”.

Photo Essay – Marching with the Holy Water

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A peek into the world of Kaanwariyas.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Appearing annually during the rainy month of Shrawan, and invoking the hippie-God Shiva with the constant cry of Bam Bam Bhole, they are called Kaanwariyas or Shiva Bhakts. Dressed in saffron-colored t-shirts and knickers, these men – young, old and even children - walk all the way from Haridwar, sometimes from the higher reaches of the Himalayas, carrying the holy Ganges water to their homes.

The precious pots hang on the two ends of a wooden rod that is supported on their shoulders. Topped with fluorescent-green and red-colored paper canopies, the rods are usually decorated with plastic flowers, plastic snakes, along with framed portraits of Shiva and his wife Parvati.

The pilgrims do not journey alone; neither are they left to their own devices. They walk in groups consisting of a single extended family or even an entire neighborhood. Most villages and towns falling on the way make arrangements for their bathing water, food, and bedding. In Delhi, the state government provided water tankers in different route stops.

Unfortunately, kaanwariyas are tolerated but not loved. Cocooned Delhiwallas, while driving to work in their teenie-weenie Marutis and Indicas, often consider the pilgrims a nuisance – goondas who dance and disrupt the busy highways. Indignant newspapers have published features on how young men have spoiled the piousness of the tradition by their vulgarity and aggressiveness. This year some kanwariyas burnt a bus in the city’s outskirts following a fatal traffic accident.

However, kaanwariyas I interacted with were unfailingly courteous. True, they all danced to devotional songs which were very conveniently tuned to Hindi film chartbusters; they expressed devotion to Shiva, proclaimed their sincerity in the pilgrimage, and pointedly regretted about those “false kaanwariyas” who create ruckus during the march.

Walking a distance of more than 200 kms, many had sores on their swollen and usually bandaged feet. Some limped while other had faces writhing in pain as they walked. But it was rare for them to be tempted by a bus or car.

Once home, each kaanwariya would perform Jal-Abhishek. They would offer the Ganges water to Shiv Lingam in the nearest temple hoping that the God would make their wishes come true. Only then the journey would end.

Two is Company



Snakes are Alert



Let's Love Bhole



Ready for the Click



Tired Limbs



It's Not All Fun



But It's Some Fun



Miles to Go Before We Sleep

City Essentials - Street Walk with Street Children

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Discovering the inner world of Delhi’s pavement kids.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Talking the Walk



21-year-old Javed, a former street kid who arrived alone and penniless in the city some fourteen years ago, led us, in excellent English, into the inner life of New Delhi railway station region. Brainchild of a British volunteer, the walk is organized daily by Salaam Baalak Trust, a NGO established by film-maker Mira Nair.

For two hours we were guided into a Dickension world we never knew existed: a secret attic above a railway bookstall, a Contact Point where 'new kids' are brought every morning, and a teacher called 'Mummy'.

Starting from the station, we first walked to the 'Luxury Platform'. Kids sneak here to feast on 'luxuries' like chicken and cutlets, much-coveted leftovers of Shatabdi Express trains. Javed pointed to a popular sleeping space on Platform No. 9 roof – "safe since fat cops can't get through the grills". He recalled a friend who slipped down that slope and died after getting caught in electric wires.

Railway Memories



Looking down at the 'bathroom' where water was jetting out from a railway washing line, Javed mused about the weekends: films at Sheila Theater , and getting high on Tipp-ex. "Our life is like stagnant water and sometimes we want ourselves free of pain," he explained. As rag pickers and sweepers, most children earn around Rs 60 daily. Hunted by Railway Police, they give protection money to a juice-walla. "You can't survive in the station without connections and friendships," Javed disclosed.

We then sauntered down into an alley in Pottery Market, popular for its "cheap non-veg food." At the end of a neighboring cul-de-sac, lined with rundown havelis, was a Shelter Home for young children. Our interference was welcomed in a busy classroom. Kids, pencils in their mouths, smiled back at our smiles.

Street Smiles



Finally, in another Shelter at Paharganj, where a multi-colored Hrithik Roshan was disbursing dreams on a gigantic wall painting, pimpled teenagers buzzed around in different groups. Being trained to become "responsible members of the society," they would have to leave the Home on turning eighteen. This final destination of their street life was also the endpoint of our tour and we emerged out - humbled.

Responsible Citizens



Duration 2 hours Charges Rs 200 donation is recommended Contact 9810975284 (Javed)

City Secrets – Islamic Volleyball at Hazrat Nizamuddin

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Playing the game with a halaal touch.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Besides its Sufi shrine, Thursday qawwalis, and Karim restaurant, Hazrat Nizamuddin has another attraction – Islamic Volleyball. Each evening young Muslim men collect in an open courtyard called Urs Mahal to play this American game. Many of these players have long wiry black beard; some are clean shaven with chocolate looks; all have strong arms, powerful fists, quick feet, and deep voices.

Their sports attire is most unusual. Most are dressed in shalwar-kurtas; few prefer lungis; and only one man, Raahat, likes to show off his Salman Khanisque body in blue-colored jeans and body-hugging T-shirt. No one is ever in shorts or even bare-chested.

As the match starts, the skullcap-wearing audience starts trickling in through the ancient stone doorway. Unknown tombs, littered here and there, are the coveted seats. Kid-missionaries from the nearby headquarters of Tableeghi Jamaat, an Islamic organization that preaches austerity, are the noiseless fans who remain standing during the course of the evening. Paan-chewing non-Jamaati men, sitting on the stairs, are the noisy ones who cheer or hoot their teams passionately with every point scored or lost. An armless beggar, a daily fixture with a yellow-teethy smile, has a permanent corner with excellent view. Though there are no women, the neighborhood windows hints of them.

During the game, the brick walls of the surrounding houses echo with the cries, shouts and exhortations of the players. Their spirits frothing out with youthful vigor, the players hit the ball, run around, trip and fall, curse each other, laugh frequently, and sometimes even answer their mobile phone calls - without interrupting the game!

Once the sky goes dark, and the battle is lost and won, the courtyard empties out. The silence returns and the Sikh guard locks the gate. Till tomorrow.

It's Coming!



It's Exciting



Will He, Won't He



Backseat Audience



Hit It!



Break from Allah



High Tension Moment



No Arm, Will Watch



Look There!



The Coolest Guy



Other Distractions




Where Urs Mahal, Near Ghalib’s Mazaar, Hazrat Nizamuddin Timing 6 pm to 7 pm

City Landmarks - A. Godin & Co.

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Chronicling the city’s legendary piano shop.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

The high ceiling of this charming piano shop seems overwhelmed with the weight of history. Situated at the desolate end of the Regal Cinema building, A. Godin & Co. was established in Quetta in 1900. The founder Celiano Godin, a 25-year-old who played both piano and violin, later opened branches in Bombay, Calcutta, Mussoorie, and Delhi.

Opened originally at Kashmiri Gate in 1940, the Delhi store rapidly earned its prestige. By the time Lord Mountbatten arrived seven years later to cut a bleeding India into pieces, Goldin & Co was reputed enough to be chosen as the official tuner for his pianos. But the partition came with its complications – the British left and Quetta had to be abandoned. The piano trade was no longer lucrative and other stores were shut down leaving the one at Delhi alone to carry on with the legacy. In 1960, Austin Godin, the founder's son, finally bowed to the market demand and opened the doors to selling Indian instruments like sitar and tabla, apart from pianos.

Today the windows are decked with hanging sitars, harmoniums lie arranged on tables and guitars adorn the wall but it's the pianos – Grand and Upright – that makes the atmosphere. Magnificently sprawled over half the showroom, their regal splendor, teakwood dignity and old-world charm suffuses the shop with a kind of elegance that is rare in this mall-crazed city. Rarer still are the talented artists employed to assist the buyers. Sajal Mallick, a piano repairer who inherited the art from his father, effortlessly renders Rabindra Sangeet in a Grand. Visually impaired Ishrat Ali, an employee for the last 30 years, plays a perfect Rag Bhopali in a sitar of your picking.

The company imports around 50 pianos each year from Stuttgart in Germany; the sitars and guitars are Kolkata-made. With the Grand and Upright ranging around Rs 1 lakh and Rs 50, 000 respectively, pianos are also leased out to institutions and private homes (from Rs 1500 – Rs 5000). Grand Hyatt's Grand is rented from here. Elton John once bought an Schiedmayer here; Ravi Shankar and Brian Silas too have shopped here for sitars. Perhaps it's your turn now.

Where 1, Regal Building, Parliament Street Timing 11 am to 7 pm (Sunday closed) Ph 23362809

Related Reading Blind Man Playing Sitar in a Piano Shop

Photo Essay - Blind Man Playing Sitar in a Piano Shop

Snapshot moments captured in one of Delhi's more charming landmarks.

[Pictures and text by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Mr. Ishrat Ali is an employee of Godin & Co., the capital’s legendary piano shop at Connaught Place, for the last thirty years. He cannot see; neither can he remember his age. He is not from Delhi; neither does he play piano. His expertise, instead, is in the sitar. (The piano shop also sells sitars, guitars, tablas, dholaks and harmoniums) He learned the art from his late father, a sitar player from Lucknow.

Try spending some time in the shop if you happen to walk by the Regal Cinema building. Mr. Ali can often be seen, and heard, playing Raag Pahari within the quiet of its run down charm. But be warned – he can be very eccentric.

To Play or Not to Play



Where Are the Customers?



To Play or Not to Play



To Play



Piano Vs Sitar



Watching Him Play



The Concert Audience



The Sound of Raag Pahari



The Show is Over



Waiting for a Customer, Once Again



Where 1, Regal Building, Parliament Street Timing 11 am to 7 pm (Sunday closed) Ph 23362809

Related Reading City Landmarks – A. Godin & Co.