Merry Christmas - Organ Music, Cathedral Church of Redemption

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Listing to pipe organ in the Sunday service.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

It is just another Sunday morning in the Cathedral Church of Redemption. The deacon reaches the sermon's end. The 12 choir members, up there in the organ loft, quickly open their spiraled hymnbooks. Organist Mrs. Samuel, her back to the altar and eyes on the sheets, presses the keys. The music begins. The singing voices are fragile, but the teakwood organ's sound is as steady and dignified as the stones of this 75-year-old cathedral.

Mahatma Gandhi has been here. One of the only two Delhi churches (the other is St James Church in Kashmiri Gate) to have a pipe organ, this one was custom-made in 1931 by UK-based William Hill & Sons. "Everyone follows the organ. Singers could flounder but it never does." said Francis, a church member.

The organ indeed is soul stirring. Each time Mrs. Samuel strike keys on the three-manual console, the instrument's resonant sound, the comforting hymns and the soothing voices gather together to create a magical moment that makes everyone, Christian or not, believe in the glory of God.

If you wish to hear the mighty instrument unaccompanied come early. That’s when the organist often plays baroque works by Pachelbel or Domenico Zipoli as preludes to the service.

Where Cathedral Church of Redemption, North Avenue Timing 8am to 9:30am, Sundays

Soul stirring



Music in Colours



Mrs. Samuel's magic



Sunday saris

Sightseeing - On a High in Jama Masjid

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Watching 21st century Delhi from a 17th century minaret.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]



Pigeons at Jama Masjid fly high. They soar up from the enormous courtyard and settle on the imposing dome. But I went higher. Thanks to the more-than-100-feet-tall southern minaret (closest to Gate No. 1). Beware, the steps are steep and stairs dark but it's beautiful at the top. A panoramic 360-degree view there exposes Delhi in all its splendour and ugliness. Red Fort ramparts, a little distance away, shimmer through a mist of factory fumes while ugly buildings fill up the remaining canvass. But immediate scenes are more striking. The serenity of the masjid courtyard, on one side. The teeming commerce of Urdu Bazaar, on the other. More contrasts. Red sandstone versus concrete shacks. 17th century versus 21st century. And the best part: I'm so high while pigeons are so low.

Tickets Rs 10 (Indians), Rs 50 (foreigners)

Hello, koi hai?



Feeling Dizzy



If we too had wings...



Same Tower, Older Times

[By Charles John Griffiths, an excerpt from A Narrative of the siege of Delhi]

It is 1857. The British are facing the largest uprising they would ever encounter in India. Delhi has been seized by East India Company's own Indian troops. The tragic Mughal Emperor Bahardur Shah Zafar is helpless in Red Fort. His Delhi wallas are battered and starving. Many are dying. It is in such a setting that Griffiths, a young lieutenant, clambers atop the Jama Masjid tower to oversee the smouldering ruins of this strife-scarred city.

The tower scene



We ascended one of the minarets, about 120 feet high, obtaining a garnd view of the imperial city and the surrounding country. To the south extended the ruins of Ferozabad, or ancient Delhi; to the east lay the River Jumna, and to the west and north stretched a forest of trees and gardens, among which were seen the suburbs of the city, the now historic ridge in the far distance hiding the whole camp from our view. From our elevated position a just estimate could be formed of the great size of Delhi: the city lay spread out below with its vast area of streets, its palaces, mosques, and temples, all silent and deserted, in striking contrast to the din and turmoil of a few days back.

Instructions for tower visitors, as prescribed by Jama Masjid authorities

On the tower, smoking, consuming intoxicants, playing music, and defacing the walls are strictly prohibited.

Unaccompanied women (oh, not again) and children are not allowed to visit the tower.

An unaccompanied woman

Delhi for Children - Teddy Bears in Shining India

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Build-a-Bear Workshop for rich people's children.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

This is part of a special series for readers with children. Click here for National Rail Museum

Buying a teddy bear is nothing novel. Building one certainly is. US-based Build-a-Bear Workshop recently opened its first Delhi outlet at Shopper's Stop in Raja Garden. Here kids can customize a stuffed toy of their choice. That is you make your own bear – starting from choosing its size, colour and voice, to fattening it up and even dressing it in fancy clothes– all in 35 minutes.

Bread, not bear; Outside Raja Garden Mall



The showroom, which has pug marks painted on the floor, has 30 kinds of animals including leopard, cheetah and puppy. The size ranges from 14" to 16" and the price fluctuates from Rs. 395 to Rs. 1195. The 16" Snow Leopard is the priciest. There is a special selection for very small children (upto 3 years) where the cloth is velvety and no plastic is used anywhere (eyes are embroidered). Asthma-friendly bears (Rs. 895) are a thoughtful addition. They have no furs to catch the dust.

This or that?



Once you have made your picking, the shop assistant (sorry, I mean the Bear Builder) helps bring your pet to life by stuffing, stitching and fluffing the chosen one. A special sound machine gives you the godly power of deciding your baby's voice. Dog, cow or monkey (Rs. 99)? You can also give your own voice. The next step - stuffing - is painful when the back of the poor bear is rammed into a metallic nuzzle that quickly fills in 100 gm cotton. But all is made up as you tuck in a small satin-made heart before a short-duration stitching surgery heals the wound (chhho cute!).

Please, give us something



Now, the dress. Frock (Rs. 495) or bridal frock (Rs. 795)? Shoes (Rs. 295) or sandals (Rs. 250)? Goggles (Rs. 195) or baseball cap (Rs. 195)? All this grooming, of course, is optional. You may as well carry your bear in its birthday dress. However before leaving, don't forget to get its computerized janam-patri.

May you both live happily ever after.

Where Shoppers Stop, Eros Mall, Raja Garden Ph 32438692

Where's your teddy?

Page 3 Delhi – Pssss of the Town

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All the news that's not fit to print.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Sketch of an Artist



Quite plain-looking. On first glance she appears like a Political Science lecturer of some godforsaken university in some godforsaken moffussil town in eastern Uttar Pradesh. And she is. Dr. Nisha Jaiswal, from Gorakhpur, was in India Habitat Center to display her single hair brush paintings to Delhiwallas, most of whom would find it difficult to locate her hometown on map. But that doesn’t bother her. “I love Delhi. My happiest years were spent here,” the lecturer said in between accepting compliments from polite visitors.

Dr. Jaiswal who did her graduation from the capital's Janaki Devi College has been painting Ganeshas and peacocks (graphic pen for b&w portraits; coloured sketches with water colours) for last 25 years. She was first noticed more than 20 years ago when Bombay’s Femina magazine published a few of her portraits. That prompted Lucknow Doordarshan to interview her for a half-hour show. Since then Dr. Jaiswal has painted several more portraits with no one to encourage her but husband, son and four sisters. That’s OK with the lecturer who has always found inspiration in her “andar ki aastvikta” (the inner belief in God).

The soft-spoken artist also confessed that “I don’t know how to pose for photographs.” Neither is she net-savvy. Contact the lecturer through her son’s e-mail id: shreshthajaiswal@gmail.com

Rich People’s Wedding

Wedding season is over for now. December has been eclipsed by some unlucky planetary movements and city traffic will not be assaulted by baraats till the first week of January. I found it the right time to catch up with the city’s most hoity-toity wedding planner.

She was breathless about the “wedding of the year”. Held in the family of a Kanpur-based industrialist, it took place at a farmhouse in Bijwasan, near Gurgaon. The details were spectacular. A special Devdas set was designed by Bollywood’s priciest set designer Nitin Desai. The 5-star Hyatt Regency re-created all its speciality restaurants (Delhi Ka Aangan, La Piazza, TK's Oriental Grill, Café, Polo Lounge, Djinns) in the venue. Poh, the celebrity florist from Singapore, supervised the flower arrangement (tulips, orchids and real Swarovski crystals). “It was sooo very elegant,” swooned the wedding planner. Jaya Bachchan and Amar Singh were some of the rich and famous guests. Both stayed throughout the ceremony.

Book Buzz



The other day India Habitat Center hosted a panel discussion on Neither Night Nor Day, a collection of short stories by women writers from Pakistan. The event was well attended (the advance notice said that the discussion would be preceded by pineapple pastries and paneer pakoras). One of the prominent speakers was Rakhshanda Jalil, the anthology’s editor. Few days before she had confessed to me that “I can write whatever I want but speaking on stage is different.” It turned out she speaks as well as she writes: in a clear, concise, and engaging manner.

Ms. Jalil proved to be so well-versed in the art of handling questions that she was not perturbed even when a lady made an existential query on “what it takes to become a writer?” Nevertheless, her performance was carefully watched over by her Kashmiri mother and two school going daughters. (The husband, however, made his entry only after we started leaving) The most memoreable part of the evening was the opening sentence of one of the key speakers, journalist Javed Naqvi. Especially invited by Harper Collins India, the book's publisher, the good man proudly declared he has not bothered to read the book. Really, very Delhi.

City Trends - Tea Rooms in Delhi

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[High Tea at Cha Bar, Oxford Book Store, Connaught Place]

From New Delhi's Chai-bars to Old Delhi's Chai-khanas.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Most Delhi wallas are tea lovers but only within home. Outside, they talk like coffee connoisseurs. That may be changing. No longer is this humble drink confined to grimy dhabas and JNU addas, or locked behind the counters of 5-star hotel lounges. Chai is becoming cool. Tea bars are the new hotspots. The brewed beverage has started infusing into the milky layer of the Delhi social scene.

Whilst the tea ceremony is costly enough to be trendy it’s not too pricey to be unattainable. We in the know, of course, are at home with the technicalities of the tea menu. First-flush. Pekoe. Lapsang Souchong. Now more are joining the club.

I'm discovering all this in Cha Bar, Delhi's most happening tea lounge at Connaught Place's Statesman Tower. As part of the Oxford Bookstore, it attracts best-selling authors and booklovers. Salman Rushdie has been here. But not all drinkers come to read Jane Austen's tea party novels.

Tea bonding at Cha Bar, Oxford Book Store



A grey-haired corporate boss is flirting with his pretty secretary; a gang of girls is giggling over some nonsense and I'm trying to pay attention to the menu that lists drinks like Bollywood Mix Masala Cha and Truck drivers "100 meel ki" cha. Darjeeling Gold's Bordeaux-Burgundy prose ("exquisite flowery bouquet, musical flavor and distinctive mellow character") tempts me.

Taking advantage of the usually long wait, I settle down on a couch to watch city life outside the glass windows. In the evening rush hour, harried commuters are running after blue line buses that seem to slow down but never stop. I'm worried for these 9-to-6 people. The reverie is broken as the steward appears with a large brass kettle.

His sinewy arms effortlessly pour the pale-gold liquid, through a dainty strainer, into the fine cup. Eager but skeptical, I inhale. The aroma is gentle. I sip. Too mild. I sip again. A stronger sensation this time. A brisk flowery tang –elemental and elegant. The flavour is subtle but so steady that its aftertaste lingers. I sink deeper into the couch.

Only a few hours ago I was tea-timing in a very different ambiance. Paharganj's Main Bazaar, opposite New Delhi railway station, is a claustrophobic haven crowded with cows, cafes and western backpackers. Hebrew and German graffiti is as invasive as rickshaws and autos. But Everest Café, situated in a quite lane off the main street, is meditative with paper lamps. A Nepali-language newspaper with headlines of the royal family massacre is framed next to the bakery counter. The luscious lemon cake, behind the counter, has a taste of spring.

A nice selection of chai is here. I always opt for Ginger Honey tea. The honeyed sweetness is amiably balanced by ginger juliennes' piquant flavour and the effect is just right. But backpackers, the owner told me, usually demand nothing more than Masala Chai.

Masala Chai for two, Everest Cafe



I'm no fan of Masala Chai and did not feel its need at Premier's. Tucked in a tree-lined alley in sleepy Doctor Lane, next to Gole Market, Premier's is not a tea lounge but a high-end showroom selling its branded packaged tea where one is always welcome for tea-tasting. The staff assured me that they won't frown if guests come to taste with no intention of buying.

Spoilt for choices, Premier's



And so many flavours here! Cinnamon, Mint, Apple, Caramel, Banana, Mango, Chocolate, Fruit Punch, Rose, Caramel, Cherry and more. All these chais have Assam Tea, from the first-flush harvest (that yields the most flavourful leaves), as their base.

Jane Austen's tea companion, Premier's



I sit down on the cane sofa, beside a samovar. Staring wide-eyed at the giant tea caddies, as a Japanese-speaking attendant serves Jasmine in a moderately large glass bowl. He insisted on iced tea but I wanted it warm. Though the chai's heady fragrance is soothing, its faint fruity sweetness playful, I continue to feel lethargic. It is eventually the zesty Neelgiri that lifts me from my afternoon languor.

While the Craft House at the nearby Metropolitan Hotel oozes the same character as that of Premier's, here it's not only about the tea. The bar-counter with its cookie tray, and the wooden shelves with their Orange Pekoe and Organic Makabari share the showroom space with spices and silk, perfumes and pashmina. It helps that the place employs two knowledgeable attendants. Try visiting during noon when their work-shift timing clash. As the lady from Imphal prepares the chai, the other explains the art of tea-tasting. ("Don't swallow it all instantly; slosh it loudly around the mouth.")

Tea Hostesses in action, Craft House



Amidst 25 varieties of whole-leaf teas sourced from Darjeeling and Assam, I express a curiosity for Ayurveda Chai – 100% organic green tea with added herbs. But first a self-assessment form to discover my body type, à la Ayurveda. After ticking on confessions like having a slight figure and fickle-minded individuality, I'm declared a Vata. The consequent chai, called Tridosh, exudes a rich bouquet, a subtle flavour and a hint of gooseberry. This is nothing to what comes next. The second-flush Makabari, prepared with 4-minute timing set by a sand clock, is peachy, full-bodied, and rich with a gentle floral aroma. I adore it.

My next stop is Passion – My Cup of Tea. This slickly designed chai bar, smelling of cardamom and crowded with good looking people, is at the fashionable Basant Lok market in south Delhi. The teas are just fine, the samosa dreadful, and the desserts more copious than satisfying.

Now, a confession. Fine teas are all very well, but when I'm in mood for something desi, I simply catch a metro to the ancient quarters of Ballimaran in old Delhi. There the Firdaus Mithai Shop, situated close to Mughal-era poet Mirza Ghalib's haveli, has been brewing honest, milky, robust, and refreshing chai for sixty long years. A sip here completes my chai excursion from New Delhi chairbars to old Delhi chaikhanas.

Where's the chai, Firdaus Mithai Shop



Where

Premier’s 16/7 Doctor’s Lane, Gol Market (011-23349204)

Craft House, Metropolitan Hotel Nikko, Banglasahib Road (011-42500200)

Cha Bar, Oxford Bookstore, Statesman House, 148 Barakhamba Road (011-23766084)

Everest Bakery Café, G. No. 4591, Dal Mandi, Main Bazar, Paharganj

Passion, 60 Basant Lok, Vasant Vihar

City Secret – The New Jumbo Point

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A new watering hole for plane watchers.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

I’m standing in the middle of the railway track. The Rewari Passenger will not be coming for another half hour. But I can listen to a distant roar. It’s a shrill sound gradually picking up speed. Hear, hear. It is approaching fast. It is getting thicker. It is close. Closer. It is right here. Above me. Grrrrrrrrr. Above us. Grrrrrrrrr. We look up. Me. Villagers. MBA students (from a local management institute). The kulfi walla. The chaat walla. We all see a giant steel ship floating up in the air. Magnificent scene. Wah wah.

All quiet now. The airplane has disappeared into the darkening sky. So has the roar. Where is it going? Manama? Geneva? Sydney? No time to ponder. Another roar. A new build-up. That same crashing noise. The stunning sight. The ear-numbing climax. And then the unquiet quiet. And then the rumbling again…another plane.

This is Delhi’s new Jumbo Point. The original at National Highway 8, near Mahipalpur, is now the stuff of things past. Blame the traffic police. It discourages people (and cars) from gathering there. Before, Delhi wallas used to drive there to witness the landing of airplanes in the Indira Gandhi international airport whose runway is just across the highway. It is said that the planes come so close there that you could touch them with your arms. (Well, almost.)

The old Jumbo Point has other memories, too. As a booze adda for boys and giggle joint for girls, many love affairs started and ended there. Film journalist Anupama Chopra in her biography of Shah Rukh Khan, King of Bollywood, revealed Jumbo Point nights of the film star when he was just another school kid in Delhi:

One night they (Shah Rukh and friends) ran away from their respective homes, each one saying he was spending the night at another person’s house. For a few hours they watched planes land from a spot near the Delhi airport called Jumbo Point. The police found them playing hockey on the road and detained them until dawn. This was the extent of their teen spirit.

Time flies as fast as, well, you know...Shah Rukh Khan is now a Bombay walla and the old Jumbo Point has been emptied of its spirit. Nothing stirs there, except the roar of planes followed by short intervals of silence.

Don’t lose heart. The new Jumbo Point, at Dwarka, may have remote access (it has a railway track rather than a highway) but it offers better views. In the old, you could only watch the landing of planes. Here, you face two runways. On one, planes take off. On another, planes land. Sometimes both happen together. Double roar. Double thrill. Double climax.

Plan a trip in the morning when the extra-giant US cargo plane is taking off. As it twist to a dangerous angle, the spine-tickling thrill you experience would be priceless. Just the stuff memories are made of.

Best Time Around 9 am, 6-7 pm Where Bagdolla Village Nearest Metro Station Sector 8, Dwarka

We are waiting



Can you see?



Look there (!)



Now, snacks

"Delhi's Muslim Culture is Dying" - Interview with Sadia Dehlvi

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The irrepressible Delhi walli talks on Muslims, Sufis, Khushwant, Rumi and Delhi.

[Interview and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Ms. Sadia Dehlvi is an eminent Delhi walli. An author (she recently finished a book on the Sufis of Delhi) and journalist, she is also known as a socialite. Whatever be the truth, Ms. Dehlvi lives life to the fullest. If not eating chicken patties in India India Center, Ms. Dehlvi is either strolling alone in some abandoned sufi shrine or reading a book in Lodhi Garden or conducting a high-brow walk in Red Fort or hosting a qawwali session in her living room. If still untraceable, she is probably busy hugging her bosom buddy Khushwant Singh in his Sujan Singh Park apartment. The Delhi Walla managed to catch her in Jama Masjid for an exclusive interview.

Welcome to The Delhi Walla, Ms. Dehlvi. Do you love Delhi because what it is or because you just happen to hail from here?

I love Delhi because my soul belongs here. My family has lived here for centuries. The name Dehlvi literally means 'someone from Delhi' and it is a heritage I take great pride in. It is with the mitti of Delhi that I wish my mortal remains to mingle with. For it was on this mitti that my beloved Sufis like Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya walked upon.

Your ancestral mansion at Sardar Patel Marg is now the property of Bahujan Samaj Party (BSP), the country's most powerful Dalit political party.

I was born at my ancestral home at Sardar Patel Marg in Delhi's Diplomatic Enclave. Earlier my family used to live in the walled city. My maternal side of the family lived near poet Ghalib's house in Ballimaran and my father's family lived in Pathak Havash Khan near Novelty Cinema. I love the old city and have always enjoyed the ethos and heritage of what was Shahjehanabad. On the other hand, our home in Sardar Patel Marg was like a centre of film and culture as my father and grandfather were editor and publishers of the film and literary Urdu journal Shama Magazine.

Throughout my childhood I saw actors, writers and poets coming in and out of the house and my grandfather loved hosting receptions for them. Meena Kumari, Nargis , Nimmi, Dilip Kumar, Ismat Apa, Sardar Jaffery, Qurratulain Hyder and others from that generation were particularly close to the family. I feel extremely blessed to be exposed to such wonderful artistes. Growing up listening to them was an enriching experience.

A few years ago we sold out ancestral house to BSP leader Mayawati. What used to be Shama Ghar is now BSP House.

Does that fill you with sadness?

We were one of the few Muslims to live in New Delhi during the 50s and the house had acquired the stature of an institution. It no longer belong to us. I see this landmark Muslim house in a VIP area changing hands with BSP as somewhat symbolic of the state of the current Indian polity. Muslims have slipped down and the Dalits have moved upwards, both economically and socially. Clearly, they have had a dynamic leadership that has helped them whereas Muslims have been let down by the secular leadership they believed in.

Life & Times

Mother and Son



Author Khushwant Singh has dedicated an entire chapter to you in his book Women and Men in My Life. What about the women and men in your life?

I have had a wonderfully exciting life despite all the pain and betrayals. Most of my friends are writers, filmmakers, poets and academicians and their company keeps me intellectually alive. I have known some of the country's best minds, be it men or women. Talking of Khushwant Singh, he is a very special friend and I really love him. But if you really want to know about the men and women in my life, you will have to wait for my autobiography which I have begun to write. I can't share my secrets with you for free and you will have to buy the book.

Certainly. Let's talk something more personal. You once married a Pakistani man but now you are back and live alone with your son. Tell me if this city is difficult for a single mother?

I have never thought of myself as a single mother. I have always been my own person and never relied on anyone emotionally and financially. A child essentially belongs to the mother and isn't it always them, whether married or unmarried, who always end up doing all the upbringing. Besides, I feel nurturing a child is the most creative and rewarding process in the world. I love it.

With Khushwant Singh



S for Sufism

You have just finished writing a book on Sufis of Delhi. Does the city have enough Sufi shrines to warrant a book?

Delhi, the refuge of faith and equity
Is the garden of paradise; may its prosperity be long lived
If Mecca happens to learn about this garden
It may circumambulate around Hindustan
Delhi has become the world's cupola of Islam
Bewitched by it are the cupolas of the seven skies

That is verse by Amir Khusrau where he explained how he felt for Delhi, a city that has historically had a close relationship with Sufis and Sufism. While the emperors of Delhi were writing the political destiny of India, the Sufi masters and scholars in the city were engrossed in keeping the flame of spiritual enlightenment burning in their khanqahs. In the 13th century a large number of Sufis migrated from Central Asia and made Delhi their home. Historians of the medieval age have written brilliant poetic accounts about the Sufis of Delhi. There are hundreds of Sufi dargahs here. In my book, I have concentrated on the more popular ones and those that I bond with.

This is the new age. Sufism is being sexed It is getting secular. Is it OK?

Sufism and particularly Sufi poetry is becoming increasingly popular in the Western world where traditional Sufism exists alongside something that I consider neo-Sufism. That is Sufism without the application of the essential principles of Islamic faith. For instance, Rumi is the best selling mystical poet in the West but most of his verses in those anthologies are usually devoid of the Mevlana's Islamic discourse. So we have Mohammed Jalaluddin Rumi being presented merely as Rumi, a mystic without the Mohammed and without the Islam. But please remember that Rumi's master, Shamsuddin Tabrez, did not negate Rumi's knowledge of Islamic law but inspired his disciple to move beyond the laws and discover the spiritual horizons.

Unfortunately, modern day packaging of the New Age spirituality has created a Vedanta without Hinduism, a Zen without Buddhism and now we have a Sufism without Islam. Much of the literature that the West reads about Islamic mystical poets diminishes their Islamic roots. This has fanned the wrong notion that Sufism has nothing to do with Islam. The Sufis were rooted in Islamic sciences and adhering to basic Islamic laws remains the first step in taking the Sufi path.

The Muslim Question

Do you wear burqa?

Not really but I do wear an abaya when I go to Mecca and Medina for my pilgrimage. Sometimes I also wear it to the Nizamuddin dargah. It covers your body and I find it an extremely convenient garment to wear for prayers. You can wear the cloak over anything and then I don't have to worry about my clothes, especially dupatta that keeps slipping off.

How do you think the city treat its Muslims?

Life for the Indian Muslims is not easy due to many multilayered problems. It is hard for Muslims to rent places in most parts of the city. Their language, culture and cuisine is on the verge of death. It is almost extinct. I’m actively involved in preserving the rich heritage. But it's difficult. Delhi has been taken over by the boisterous and aggressive Punjabi migrants and that quintessential Delhi culture is now on the verge of extinction. You hardly ever come across a true Dilliwala in this new Delhi anymore. Those endangered species are now confined to the old city.

You once lived in Karachi. How similar is it to Delhi?

Yes, I had a Pakistani husband. We lived in Islamabad, Lahore and finally in Karachi. I have many memories of my Pakistan days. But Delhi and Karachi have little in common. Delhi could actually be compared to Lahore. Both cities have a similar feel in many ways--history, climate and culture.

Again, Karachi may not look like Delhi but some of its people are true Delhiwallas. There is a reason. During the partition, many migrants from Delhi and UP settled in Karachi. So you see a lot of Dilli culture there. The best cooks in the city boast of their Dilli heritage. But similarities stop there.

Other than sharing emotions and a similar culture, living in India and Pakistan is very different. I always felt somewhat oppressed in Pakistan and never really found the space to exist freely as one does in India. Pakistan is about conformity and I have always been a non-conformist. I'm used to a diverse culture. When landing in Delhi from Pakistan, I used to feel comforted at the sight of seeing turbaned Sikhs at the airport. Thank God, my grandparents chose to remain in Delhi.

Since you are a Muslim, I feel you are the right person to be asked this question. Why are historic and otherwise stunningly beautiful Muslim localities like Jama Masjid and Nizamuddin Basti so unkempt?

I really don't know why Muslim areas in the city are so filthy and neglected. Is it because they are poor? I wish they would clean and maintain the areas around the dargahs, specially Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, Chiragh Dilli and Bakhtiar Kaki in Mehrauli. These shrines are of such historical and spiritual relevance. People from all over the world come to seek blessings there. They must wonder why we Indians can't look after them.

The Delhi Walli



Delhi is smoggy, overcrowded and difficult. Your refuges in the city?

My refuge is my home at Nizamuddin East and given half a chance I would not move from here. In winters, I love going with a book to the Lodhi Garden or to the Humayun's tomb. Another beloved hangout place is the India International Centre.

Things you dislike about Delhi?

Speeding kids in fancy cars. Honking drivers. Road rage. Malls. Excessive display of wealth, especially at weddings. Hoardings. Garbage dumps. Peeing on roadsides. Clothes drying out on house fronts. Dal Makhani and Paneer Tikka. Obese men hanging out on colony streets in banyans. Auto wallas refusing to go in the direction you need to go. Pollution. Crime. Corrupt politicians. The list can go on and on…

I understand you also conduct heritage walks in the city.

Yes, I have been taking groups of foreigners around the old city, the Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya Dargah complex, Mehrauli and Humayuns tomb complex. One can never be tired of the wondrous monuments and stories that Delhi has to offer. It's my city and I am in love with it.

Thanks for Talking to The Delhi Walla, Ms. Dehlvi.

Dilli ke na they kuche auraq e musavvir they
Jo shakl nazar aayi tasveer nazar aayi

[Delhi's bylanes were like paintings,
Whichever way you looked, it was a beautiful visual.]

Delhi Events + Delhi Classifieds

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STRIKINGLY BEAUTIFUL. Embassy official new to Delhi. European. In early 40s. Have lived in Capetown and NYC. Warm, cultured. Reads Economist. Jazz enthusiast. Seeks a like-minded older man for sharing quality time. ba.dona@yahoo.com

PAYING GUEST ACCOMADATION, NIZAMUDDIN EAST. Exotic park-facing apartment of a Delhi author, books, music, conversations, evening soirées, Mughlai cuisine, central location, tranquil street near Humayun's Tomb, homely comforts. Weekly/daily basis. Rs. 2000/day. 098110 88079; sufiapa@gmail.com.

Culture – Anita Desai in Town

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The venerable novelist visits her old city.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi. The pictures cannot be reproduced anywhere without his permission.]

The other evening a tiny slice of Delhi’s reading people gathered in the garden auditorium of Triveni Kala Sangam at Tansen Marg. Anita Desai was in town to discuss her work with fellow novelist Rana Dasgupta. The event, organized by Random House India, unrolled in the usual pleasant manner. Mr. Dasgupta’s queries were intelligent; Ms. Desai’s responses were thoughtful; and there was applause at the end.

No doubt it was a special occasion. A rare public sighting of Ms. Desai. With her gentle voice, tender features, and silver-white hair, she seemed to belong to a time and place very different from ours.

Born 70 years ago in Mussoorie, Anita Mazumdar Desai grew up speaking neither English nor Hindi as her first language. It was German. Her mother was from Germany and her father was a Bengali businessman. Later, Ms. Desai went on to establish a deep bond with Delhi. It was here that she spent her college years getting a degree in English Literature from Miranda House. It was here that she chose to set up a house in the initial years of her marriage. It was here that her novelist daughter, Kiran, was born. She now spends her time in US.

During her conversations at Triveni, Ms. Desai remarked that though she “feels about India as an Indian,” she thinks about it “as an outsider.”

That’s why it wouldn’t have surprised anyone if Ms. Desai had written elegant novels on upper class rituals. She only had to take the cue from her Jewish neighbour in old Delhi-Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, an author of exotic Anglo-Indian romances like Heat and Dust. But, Ms. Desai did it differently. Among her fine works, the one which The Delhi Walla strongly recommends is In Custody, a novel about an Urdu poet in his declining years.

It is one of those books that have delved deep into the soul of Delhi and brought alive the manners of its people quite evocatively. Sample this excerpt:

Nur eating was not at all a dignified or impressive sight: he plunged his hands into the food, lowered his face into it, lifted handfuls to his mouth from where it dropped or leaked on to his lap…but suddenly lifting his head, with grains of rice and drops of gravy sticking to various portions of it, Nur called across to him, “How do you like our Jama Masjid cooking, my friend?”

How did the lady do her research? Did she dine with people having such eating habits? Perhaps she must have had numerous walks in the old quarters when she was a Delhi walli. The details could have come out of those excursions. Try this:

If it had not been for the colour and the noise, Chandni Chowk might have been a bazaar encountered in a nightmare…The heat and the crowds pressed down from above and all sides…in the sari lane, lurid Japanese nylon saris were covered with octopi and spiders of flower patterns and nets of gold and silver embroidery flashed from doorways like gaudy but shimmering prostitutes propositioning the passers-by…

Honest impressions of a writer who could not find any romance even in the fabled Chandni Chowk. Delhi is that kind of unsettling place. Quiet people like Ms. Desai would always be troubled by its bustle.

At another place in the novel, Ms. Desai writes about “poison-green and red sherbets in bottles topped with lemons and carrot juice in damp, oozing earthen jars.” Here lies some comfort. The first impression (“poison-green”) made by the author is scary but she stays long to come across other details too. Details which were more endearing: lemons, carrot juice, and damp, oozing earthen jars.

Delhi too is like this. To an outsider, the city can be repulsive during the first encounter but it grows enchanting if you allow some time to mature. The capital then gradually unravels to show glimpses of beauty to those who are seeking for it. Ms. Desai has experienced that. Shaayad.

In Thrall



I Have Lived Through Many Books



Facing an Autograph Seeker



Two Novelists on Stage



Attentive Audience



May I Leave?

Weekend Getaway - Pragpur, Himachal Pradesh

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Taking a break in the Himalayan foothills.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi who visited Pragpur in September, 2007]

Once a year this sleepy hamlet in the Kangra Valley comes alive-violently. Men here like to flatten each other like pancakes. Best known as India 's first 'heritage village' (stone-cobbled streets, gabled roofs, and fruit-heavy trees), not many visit the Pragpur annual wrestling tournament in September. I did.

My night train from Delhi was delayed. By then it was all uproar at the Judge's Court Hotel where I was booked. The tournament was to start in two hours, and the Himachal Pradesh governor-the chief guest-had still not arrived. The proprietor of the hotel was anxious. His wife was busy issuing instructions to the steward. The cops were preparing for the guard-of-honor.

Amidst the hum-and-stir, somebody remembered to escort me to my room. Its Edwardian ambiance reminded me of British-era PWD inspection houses. The old furniture exuded dignity. Chandeliers glittered with tempting secrets. A teakwood almirah was packed with books. I could only manage to flip through Madame Bovary. The kushti was starting at two.

When I reached the village outskirts, most eyes were set on the akhara or mud pit where the langoti-clad star Babbu was playfully slapping his thighs. Turban-clad dholak-wallas were beating the hell out of their drums. Country people from near and far had gathered around the pit. All were men. Their women showed more interest in golgappas, a Ferris wheel and churiwallas.

In Babbu's show, there was no thrill but much fun. After quickly flattening his dismal rival, Babbu pranced around jubilantly. Everyone cheered for him when he jumped into the spectators' section to collect appreciation money. Meanwhile, two new wrestlers took over the akhara. One looked ferocious in his twirling, oiled moustache. Both had tiny langotis tied round their loins that just managed to cover the essentials, most of the time.

I was soon mobbed by a few wrestlers. They had spotted my camera and were asking for 'photo'. These young men hailed from various towns in Himachal as well as villages in Punjab and Haryana. They seemed too soft-spoken and gentle to harm an ant. But those torsos were chiseled to brave the kushtis.

Wrestling has its rules. You have to get your rival fall flat on his back to be the victor. The move is called Patki. To do that, you have to twist his body, pick him up and flung him away, bend his legs, topple him upside down, shove his head, ram into his knees, or lay on him till he is exhausted. That's hard work. By the end of the day, all 116 pehelwans had muddy chests. Many were marked with blisters.

The grappling went on for about four hours. The final match was the most thrilling. Rahmat Ali vs Johnny Pehalwaan. It was,apparently, the clash of titans. Everyone fell silent. The Ferris wheel stopped. The dholak wallas paused.

Johnny leaped for Ali's legs. Ali fell down. Johnny propelled his knee on Ali's back. Ali flinched. The crowd roared. The announcer pleaded for the "true sprit of Kushti". Johnny loosened his grasp. A two-minute break followed.

Fanta was served to Ali. Action resumed. Even the women were interested now. The finalists ritually rubbed mud on each other's chest. Ali then struck hard on Johnny's shoulder. Johnny swayed, slipped, and fell on his back. Patki. Ali won. A few hands tapped sympathetically on Johnny's shoulders. Ali grinned. It had been a great day. But now stars were twinkling. Exhausted, I strolled back to the comforts of Judge's Court. And Madame Bovary.

Mr.Governor is Coming



Hit Me



Push, Shove, and Patak



I'm He Man



Watching the Climax



Have a Break



Before Kushti



After Kushti



Final Fight



Back to Reading



Altitude 565 meter from sea level Nearest Railway Station Una The Judge's Court (01970) 245035, 245335