"Dilli mein Bujhe Gee Jeet Kee Pyaas" - Pepsi billboard advert(Part 3 of India, Solo on a shoestring)

Pulling into to ‘Dilli’ was a homecoming of sorts. It was a return to the comfort zone of familiarity. I felt a wav of joy overcome me as I marched out of eth bus station and confidently cut an auto driver to size about the rate he was demanding to take me to Bara Khamba road where a friend, Ashish was expecting me. The mad rush of Delhi, and swarms of people were overwhelming but the most striking feature was the relatively clean air. In the days to follow I would zip up and down Delhi in autos but never did I get the dirty feeling that used to get while moving around in Lahore. We seriously need to bring in the buses and auto’s which run on gas at large metropolises in Pakistan.

Ashish did way too much for me. He put me up in the nice Hotel Marina located bang at Indira chowk. I was strategically placed to go anywhere in Delhi and being at Connought Place made getting around a lot easier. Ashish was great person who I got introduced through a teacher of mine when I went to Amritsar in October 2004. His mother was Kashmiri and his father hailed from DG Khan. He was most interested when I told him about DG khan and the tribal belt, which I had visited in February 2004. He also showed me the luxurious side of Delhi by taking Khurrum, Faiza and myself out to dinner at the Pan-Asian in Marriot. Delhi was a true homecoming of sorts for a few reasons and one significant reason was Ashish and his huge heart.

Later that night I was delighted to meet up with an old friend of mine, Ankush, from my days in Moscow. He had gotten married since we last met and brought his wife-Shiva along to pick me up from the Marina. They took me to their house showing me the various sights and sounds of South Delhi, which was largely settled after partition by migrants from Pakistan. I went over to Ankush’s where we caught up on old times and I was taken to dinner to a rather upscale place in some posh market area of South extension. Ankush and Shiva didn’t have to but they went out of their way to make me feel welcome in Delhi. And all this while I was thinking over and over again how Delhi was a homecoming and how people like Ashish, Shiva and Ankush made it worthwhile being there. Over the course of the next few days I kept on running into more and more amazing people.

I went back to the Marina to chill and indulge myself that night after roughing it out for the past week.

The weather was beautiful with cold northern winds in the first five days of my trip but it all ended in heat, more heat and some more heat, not that it deterred me or Khurram and Faiza. Our enthusiasm knew no bounds and despite being up for half the night we would still swear to be up at nine the next morning. I kept my end of the bargain up on the first day but as soon as I figured the fake-enthusiasts out I started going to the Dharmarajans to tie up with them by 11 and eventually by 12. Despite getting late starts we would still make the best of it and see quite a bit.

The best part about going from the Marina in CP all the way close to the Qutub Minar where the Dharmarajans had their wonderful place was the South Indian breakfast. We feasted ourselves on the Iddli, Sambar, Dossa, the chutnee’s and the gravies every single day. And there were the Dharmarajan Grandparents ofcourse. They were so sweet and caring and took precise care of our tastes. Delhi ‘eating’ was so out of this world and the Dharmarajan’s accounted for half of it. People in Lahore tend to think that they know all about eating and food but they don’t come close to Delhi. Delhi is an institution when it comes feeding!

So Khurrum, Faiza and I would grad an Auto from the Dharmarajan’s and we would like to think we were veteran travelers of India after our escapades in Rajasthan and UP so we took great pleasure in driving the hard bargain. I think that Khurum took an exceptional liking to haggling with every shopkeeper that Faiza decided to make apurchase from. I think shopping for the ‘Hussein-Mushtaq’ couple meant that Faiza got to do the choosing and Khurrum got to do all the haggling.

Delhi is a jumble of memories and what follows is not necessarily in the order that it happened. For instance what follows immediately is an account of my third or fourth day in Delhi........

The second day I spent in Delhi was a Sunday and it was the Pakistan India final. It was not the most festive of days, especially when the Indian batting order collapsed. I think as long a Dravid was around there was hope but once he departed, the moods kind of plummeted. It was interesting to note how the general mood on the street was affected so badly. Delhi emitted an aura of sadness. I was watching the game at Ankush’s and left halfway in the Indian batting to fetch my camera from the Marina. On the way back I started chatting up the auto driver about the cricket game.

“Jab sey Bajpayee jee gayey hain, kuch bhee sahee nahin ho raha india mein”

“But Vajpayee jee was ousted from office in an election. The Congress won its way into power fair and square. (I never thought I would see the day when a Pakistani would be rooting for the Congress!)

“Magar Vajpayee jee ki kiya baat thee. Jab sey Kangres ayee hai, tab sey kuch bhee nahin ho raha. Koi cheej nahin chalti. Sab kuch mehanga ho gaya hai. Sab kuch kharaab para hai”

“Magar akhir Indians ney Manmohan jee ko vote diya tau voh power mein aye?”

“Magar BJP kee aur baat thee. India bohat mahan tha tab… Jab see Manmohan aya hai…us ko tau baat nahin karna aati! Humein uss kee awaz nahin aati!!”

I think it was going to be futile holing political discussion with the die-hard BJP supporter

“Kiya baat thee vajpayee jee kee…kiya baat theee…”

I thought the auto was going to melt with in the heat and the added pressure of nostalgia for the BJP days.

After making it back to Ankush’s in East Kailash, Shiva got worked up about going out and showing me Delhi. Oh cool I thought, Delhi exploring time!

After an hour of driving I found myself staring at tall steel and glass structures, and shopping malls and more shopping malls and a couple more shopping malls. I asked Shiva where we were, and she proudly replied Gurgaon! An hour later Shiva was shooting daggers at a shopkeeper for quoting a price of around ten thousand rupees for a shirt. The Indian upper and middle classes are definitely in full swing at Gurgaon.

Later on I took Ankush and Shiva to the Turquoise Cottage where Khurrum and Faiza were meeting up with another friend of theirs called Swamia. It was brilliant seeing them again and we immediately started swapping stories and adventures of Agra and Jaipur. Apparently Khurrum was now the self-declared kind of bargain shopping. After Khurrum and Faiza finished eating and Swamia left, Ankush offered to take us for a drive to New Delhi or otherwise referred to as Lutyens Delhi. We piled into Ankuhs’s swanky Chevrolet and zoomed down Aurobindo Marg towards New Delhi.

India gate looked imposing at night and the 'Raj Path' was impressive. Actually the 'Raj Path' was ‘Massive’. Its only after gazing at the structure that one gets a fair idea of how huge India is. Another word that comes to mind is ‘Regal’. After the walk to Raj Path Ankush complained about hunger and took a decision on taking his esteemed guests to ‘The Oberoi’.

“What’s that?”

My ignorant self asked him.

“Just wait and see….”

The Oberoi is class, more class and some more class. It has got to be the classiest hotel in Delhi. Khurrum described it aptly to Ankush.

“Well, if the idea was to impress us then let me say that you have succeeded”

Ankush beamed. I think there was a bottle of wine on the list for close to a hundred thousand rupees. Well then….it is THE Oberoi after all. I got dropped off at the Marina on the way home and snuggled in bed shortly after that.

The next day I discovered that Khurrum was a sucker for ruins. We went to check out Tughlaqabad at the farthest outpost of Delhi. The ruins of Mohammed Tughlaq’s city were quite enchanting and excavation work was still underway. The underground market was almost haunting and it was bizarre experience to be walking around the ruins, which were the way they were because of the curse of Nizam-ud-din Aulia. We then ended up in one of Delhi’s famed public transport environmentally friendly buses. This was Khurrum’s fantastic idea, which resulted in us coming very close to suffering sunstroke. It had to be close to forty degrees on that day and the ride lasted for a good hour and half. We got off at a Delhi metro station with a McDonald’s outside when the ride refused to end even after more than an hour of traveling. I was immediately reminded of Yuko and ‘Macudonarudo’…better resist the big temptation. It didn’t seem right to be having McDonald’s in Delhi, with so much wonderful local cuisine to go around so I gorged myself on the chilled water, which was for FREE while the couple indulged themselves.

We then hopped on to a cycle rickshaw, which was to take us to the Red fort in Shahjahanabad, right in the heart of Old Delhi. The fort was well maintained and was nice. I didn’t enjoy the fort as much as I should have because of two reasons. One was the heat and the second was my swanky digital camera crapping out on me. It just started misbehaving and then just died on me. Hence I could take no more photographs of the Indian Odyssey, which was a real bummer. The café in the red fort was also very serene. It was done up very nicely and we had aloo paratha with yogurt. After letting the sun climb a little lower in the sky, we made our way out of the red fort and while passing through the bazaar I noticed some guy getting violently slapped by another man. I think it was a couple of shopkeepers fighting over some tourist related issue. The commercialism in India gets to be overbearing at times.

The cycle rickshaws we hired next were to take us to pay our respects at Gandhi Jee’s Samadh (Samadh-where he was cremated). I started making faces at Khurrum and Faiza as my driver overtook them. A while later they overtook me and looked real smug about it, which was not acceptable. I think the afternoon sun beating down on my head had something to do with it. I told the river to park to the side and let me in the drivers seat. As soon as I settled in I started peddling like there was no tomorrow. I peddled and peddled but they still beat me to it by ten seconds! If that Sardar Jee hadn’t opened the door to his vehicle then I wouldn’t have braked. Hmmm. I demanded that the driver pay me the agreed fare, since I peddled four fifths of the way. He was highly amused and offered to pay but I decided the joke had gone far enough.

Gandhi’s Samadh was tranquil place where a flame is always kept burning. There was music blaring from speakers, which I am sure, was there to add to the ambience but the serenity of the place was being diluted. However it was an experience to walk around the compound of the man who moved hundreds of millions of people. The three of us took a quiet walk around the compound soaking in the aura of the place.

Khurrum then suggested that since we had done Tughlaqabad in the earlier part of the day, now it was time to do Sher Shah Suri’s Purana Qila. We caught an Auto and stopped right in front of his Mosque, which only gave glimpses of its past grandeur. We climbed to the top of it to try and see where the entrance to the Old fort may be. We walked around here and there but failed to find it. The sun was setting now and the cell phone had registered calls from Ankush, Ashish and Swamia who I had met last night at the TC.

Ankush gave me some long awaited news. An old friend of mine had landed in Delhi. It was Amr and he was already a legend in Delhi. A total basket case, Amr defied the law of gravity. Ever since we had been in India bumming around, he had traveled from Bombay all the way to Chandigarh and into Delhi. He pulled this feat off in the time span of no more than 24 hours. Lunacy knows no bounds and since my days in Moscow Amr had only grown more and more into it. It was great seeing that genuine smile and getting a feel for his open heartedness after so long. To my pleasure Amr had carried on from exactly where he let off in Moscow. He knew how to get people in every bar in Delhi and he also knew how to make the booze flow like water.

I can’t remember which evening this is but after a blistering hot day I insisted that we visit Humayun’s tomb. Khurrum was going on and on about snooping around for more ruins but Faiza and I prevailed. By then I had my geographic bearings put right so I guided the Auto driver to the tomb just off Lodhi road. Quite pleased with myself we barged into Humayun’s tomb on a free day and for once we didn’t have to lie to get tickets at local rates. I think that Humayun as an emperor was the most inept and possibly represented the pits of Mughal rule in India but he certainly has the best tomb out of all the Mughal. The structure is classical Mughal and is the obvious precursor to the Taj. I looked hard at the tomb and I could have sworn that I could envision the Taj in it. The red sandstone structure uses marble sparingly and embodies simplicity and subtlety. It is not an overpoweringly grand structure but is spectacular nonetheless. It was the first Mughal emperor’s tomb to be built in India and my take on it is that it is the first significant transportation of Central Asian and Persian architecture into India.

Later that evening we went to this place called Dilli Haat to take advantage of the free entry for Pakistani’s offer. A guy stopped us at the gate but Khurrum loudly proclaimed his nationality and barged right in. On the inside it was a quiet place with loads of handicrafts for sale. We decided to make a beeline for the food parlor. Each state had a stall dedicated to its cuisine in Dilli Haat and it was a lip-smacking proposition to be trying out some exotic cuisine. As I weaved my way through the various handicraft stalls from all over India I noticed a few youngsters bargaining with a salesman. They seemed very Pakistani to me. Something about their demeanor gave them off as Lahoris and something about the females’ demeanor gave them off as Grammarians…

“Rizwan!”

I thought I heard my name behind me but I shrugged it off.

“Oh my gosh, what are you doing here!”

I flipped around to see a friend of mine from college, Amina Ijaz’s pleasantly surprised face beam at me. It was wonderful seeing a familiar face at that point. We immediately squatted on a bench and started swapping stories of the match; the lucky girl had actually been here. She had had taste of crowd trouble, which was not at all well appreciated. Then we caught up on stories form here and there and I yakked on about my ‘travails’. She said she was expecting a couple of friends to arrive in a day or two so we should get together to do something fun. I acquiesced and we exchanged numbers to catch up later. Her little sister butted in the middle of our conversation.

"Hey amina, what time you want to move from here!"

"Acha naa, hang on let me get Rizwan’s phone number and then we will go”

“Oh, so you know this guy?”

“Of course I do! It’s Rizwan, from college!”

“Oh…I thought you were chatting up some random Indian guy”

That was an interesting observation that the little brat made but what I wanted to know was whether that was an insult or not? And if it was, whom was it directed towards? I actually got to know Amina better in India than I ever did at college. She is a nice girl and we had some good times over the next few days in Delhi. The Delhi experience actually received a boost because of her and her friends, Sana and Saira. They became more popularly known in Delhi as “Devi’s”, courtesy Amr, which was actually very nice of him, especially since they were repeatedly referring to him as their “Suga’ Daddy”.

“We lost at Lahore last year but still the Indian fans did the bhangra at the Mall in Lahore till midnight after the final, and we couldn’t even do the cheers openly in the stadium!” she wailed.

“So which cheers were these, Pakistan Zindabad and the likes?”

“Well those too but there was this particular cheer where one person would stand up and yell ‘Nara-e-Sui’ and everyone else would yell in chorus ‘Oieeee’”.

After we parted, Khurrum/ Faiza and I also decided to call it a night. I got into in Auto and asked to be taken to the Marina. By this time I was an expert on how to get from Aurobindo Marg to CP.

Amr had alighted upon Delhi and that very evening Ankush and Shiva invited me and my friends i.e. Khurrum and Faiza along with the Devi’s to dinner. Shiva had arranged for a wonderful home cooked vegetarian meal preceded by a few swipes at Ankush’ prized bar. Khurrum, Amr and I went about doing justice to that immediately. As soon as the mood upgraded itself to a higher level Amr went back to his old ways and started making preposterous suggestions i.e. taking a trip to Bombay and back by road in 48 hours. To make matters worse, Khurrum was actually tempted but rationality prevailed and Faiza brought an abrupt ending to such connivance.

After dinner and a rather silly debate between Ankush and Khurrum about whose country was better, Amr decided for all of us that the way to go was Lizard’s Lounge where he had a rather special relationship with the owner. So we made our way over to south Delhi’s most happening nightclub on that specific evening and crashed the Lizards Lounge at 11 in the night. Amr took over the bar and turned the taps on and made stuff flow like water. At 3 am and an eternity of fun and dancing later Amr and I went to drop the Devi’s off. We found out the day after, that the girls’ coming home that late was not on with Amina’s guardians and they immediately imposed a curfew. Amr and I duly returned to Lizards Lounge to discover that Ankush, Shiva, Khurrum and Faiza had also pushed off by then. We stuck around watching Delhi’ Assamese community party on, which had taken over the lounge by then, for another hour or so when we pushed off as well. Amr took me to his place and I crashed there.

The next morning I checked out of the Marina and moved in with Amr, which was right next door to the Dharmarajan’s. This meant that scrumptious south Indian breakfasts were just around the corner.

Over the next coupe of days we hung out with Swamia who was a very nice friendly girl. She took us to Fab India where we spent an afternoon dressing up and purchased loads of kurta’s. Swamia was this really cool girl who Khurrum knew from his past visit to India couple of years back. She had actually bothered staying in touch and invited the three of us to dinner at her house on the IIT campus where her dad was faculty. We went over in the evening for dinner and Swamia’s Dad treated us to some vintage Gujarat wine. There was a bit of sediment at the end of the bottle which I choked on but apart from that I am now officially a fan of the Riviera brand. After a few glasses Swamia’s dad wanted to know whether I had started my autobiography to his daughter or not. I replied in the negative and it was decided that we would eat now.

Earlier in the day Khurrum, Faiza and I started our day from CP and after exchanging valuable dollars we made a move to New Delhi’s prime shopping street, the Janpath. It was there where my favorite eating-place was located, the fantastic Sarvana Bhavan. I recommend this place for anyone who is a sucker for south Indian food and I am absolutely nuts about it. I would have every meal that was possible at the Sarvana Bhavan and we were gorging ourselves out of palm leaves that the restaurant serves its food in, when Amina turned up from nowhere. After lunch we went to loiter about Janpath and Khurrum got downright serious about bargaining since Faiza had already gotten serious about shopping. Meanwhile, Amina and I amused ourselves by chatting up on all the girls who I found ‘hot’ and ‘attractive’ and why I found them so.

The next day was my last day in Delhi and I tied up with the Devi’s about going Sari shopping in Karol Bagh. Amina had forgiven me for my behavior a day earlier and mouths dropped open at the limits I was capable of crossing as the story was repeated to Saira and Sana. I bought 2 while Sana and Amina who weren’t supposed to buy any bought more than me. Women. Quite pleased with the deal I was getting I looked at the receipt but I thought something was amiss. Every night I heard stories about Khurrum’s legendary bargaining skills and here I was getting a good deal and not really bargaining. I decided to pick a fight with the salesperson and demanded that he sell me a 1200-rupee sari for 300. I thought a proposition as preposterous as this should bring the house down. It did. The sales people started laughing at me and the ladies began to pretend they didn’t know me. I politely took leave, paid for the Sari’s and walked out of the store. We stuffed ourselves in an auto and made our way to south Delhi and finally ate at Haldi Ram’s where we also bumped into Khurrum and Faiza. It seemed like all the things on our list that were left were being done on the last day.

The most significant and symbolic thing to do on the last day was to visit Hazrat Nizam-ud-din’s Dargah. It was located close to Humayun’s tomb but Ankush didn’t know the way so I was very pleased to be giving him directions on how to get to the Dargah from east of Kailash. I now considered myself a Delhi veteran. The Dargah was less crowded than Ajmer Sharif and the conmen weren’t crowding the place, which was a relief. It was Eid Milad and a substandard qawwali was in progress so I took the time to walk around and paid my respects to Hazrat Amir Khusrau Dehlvi. We had been sitting there for almost an hour when Sana pointed to Hazrat Nizam-ud-din’s tomb and raised a question.

“Who is buried there?”

Khurrum turned to face her and asked her whether she was serious about not knowing where we were after all we had been going on and on about Hazrat Nizam-ud-din for several days now. Amina and Saira piped in that even they didn’t know who he was so Khurrum took it upon himself to educate the Devi’s about the significance of Hazart Nizam, the Sufi saint who would stand up to Kings and was subservient to absolutely no one.

Later in the evening I packed at Amr’s house and got my gear ready to go. We started our final evening off by chilling at possibly the most up scaled lounge in Delhi called, Shalom, and courtesy Amr of course. After footing skyscraping bills we moved on to our favorite Lizards Lounge and then it was curfew time for the Devi’s. Goodbyes were said and Amina and I vowed to meet on the other side of the border. Being with the Devi’s was a load of fun and some really fond memories of Delhi are associated with them.

Amr and I went back to Lizards lounge where Vincy, Amr’s boss/friend had turned up along with a female friend of theirs. The three of them decided to take me to this other joint in south extension, which was shut by the time, we got there. “Never mind” Amr said and sped straight to another club called ‘Oxygen’. Vincy, the female, Amr and I entered the club and went straight to the bar. I was too bushed by that time to do anything so I just stood by the bar checking the crowd out. There was something out of the ordinary here but I just couldn’t place it. I placed it precisely as soon as an oversized old Scandinavian made his way over to me, smiling from ear to ear.

"Halo! "

"Hi" I reponded tersely.

"You aa aaving some fun?"

“Yeah, I am alright."

"You want to aave some fun wid me baad boy?" and he blew me a kiss.

Amr had led me to a gay haunt. I desperately shot looks around the club looking for escape routes instead I saw Amr, Vincy and their female friend doubling over in laughter. I jumped out of range of the Scandinavian who was still beckoning me to come on to the dance floor and get ‘Jiggy’ with him. So now I know what girls mean when they say they ran into some ‘sleazy’ guy.

It was close to four in the morning and Amr displayed no signs of moving from Oxygen anytime before 9 am but the only catch was, my bus would leave at 6 and I had to report at Ambedkar Terminal an hour before. In his characteristic ‘Amr’ fashion he procrastinated till the last possible minute and then drove like a maniac to his house where I grabbed my bag. We sped over next door to the Dharmarajan’s where Khurrum and Faiza had gone nuts trying to locate me and were about to leave for the terminal.

"And where the hell have you been?"

“I …I…”

“Okay.. okay, no sweat are you packed and ready to go?”

“Yeah I am all set.”

“Okay load up in the van and let’s get going… And before I forget ...thanks for not turning up at the movie!”

Oh crap, I just remembered that I was supposed to join khurrum and Faiza at Cineplex in Saket for Mumbai Express. I apologized and they said it was okay. Amr then took us to a roadside temple where we prayed for a safe return journey and we bid Farwell to the lunatic of Delhi.

Post Note

I slept most of the way on the bus waking up at the scheduled stops. As the bus sped through the Punjabi heartland I thought this should be on the cards next, maybe a soul searching sort of a trip in Gurdaspur district, Patiala, Ludhiana and Jullundhar.

I also thought of all that had happened and what would be the most poignant thing about the trip. Too many things came to mind and it was tough to single out one thing, which was vintage material. I guess it’s the people who I met. It was wonderful meeting my old friends, especially Amr the lunatic after several years but the kind of people who made this trip really worth it were the new ones. The Tonga drivers in Ajmer who cussed Pakistan out, Dilshaad Qureshi the encyclopedia, Sattar Bhai in Jaipur, the folks on the bus to Pushkar and Ajmer and the likes. I liked talking to these people and trying to sketch the face of India.

Put together complexes, contradictions, confusions, beauty, ugliness, banality and profundity... and then you have India. I look forward to going back some day and this time it has to be southward bound. The food is just…