Once upon a moonlit bazaar

That man is doing what a bullock cart does,” exclaimed my 11-year-old daughter, pointing to a scrawny old man pulling a cartload of goods in the crowded and noisy Chandni Chowk area.

Foreign tourists gawked, some clicked pictures and others wandered along, urchins trailing, taking in the sights and sounds of Old Delhi.

Chandni Chowk is what Delhi or India is all about. Not the wide and tree-lined roads or the paved footpaths or the bungalows with huge lawns in front — that is Lutyens' Delhi.

It is a short drive to Old Delhi, or the Walled City, from New Delhi — but the difference between them couldn't be starker. En route is the Turkman Gate, made infamous by the forced eviction of slum-dwellers here during the Emergency in April 1976.

And before you know it, you are right in the middle of the cacophonous reality that is Chandni Chowk — the moonlit square or market designed by Mughal emperor Shah Jahan's daughter Jahan Ara. The imperial procession used to pass through its main road.

Even on a Sunday morning, the area is throbbing with life. Several old buildings with their grand facades and elegant grills have survived the passage of time. The Red Fort and the Jama Masjid, both built in the 1650s by Shah Jahan, are major tourist attractions. Luxury coaches and vans disgorge foreign tourists by the dozens at these two places, as also several chauffer-driven limousines bearing the names of luxury hotels in Delhi.

Cycle-rickshaws, with just enough space to seat two, ferry the tourists through the many narrow lanes here. The area is a veritable maze that has featured in numerous Hindi movies and is certain to do so for a long time to come.

There are families bathing on the footpath; elsewhere a man hammers away at used tyres to separate the rubber from the steel rim; a fruit-seller near the Jama Masjid does brisk business selling singaras (water chestnuts).

Cars, autorickshaws, vans, coaches, utility vehicles, pushcarts… you name it, all of them are jostling for space with pedestrians and hawkers. Passing vehicles honk furiously; but no one seems to notice, leave alone care. Life and vehicles move at a pace that is dictated by the slowest of the pedestrians. We walk on gingerly, trying to avoid the cesspools of human/ animal excreta and, at the same time, soaking in the atmosphere while looking for objects to photograph.

The Sis Ganj Gurudwara is filled with Sunday morning worshippers. The Jain temple nearby is quiet, with its share of the faithful.

As we enter one of the gallis (narrow alleys), I look up and notice a web of cables — electricity, satellite television, telephone and what have you! For a second, the thought crosses my mind — what if a fire breaks out? But then, when the residents themselves seem unmindful about any such disaster-in-the-making, I brush aside such fearful thoughts and march on.

Tourist guides wax eloquent on the variety of food on offer in Chandni Chowk. We ask a toothless old man at a small provision store for directions to Parathewale Gali — literally a street that sells parathas at the many outlets present there — and are directed with a wave of the hand and some words in Hindi, made more incomprehensible, to a South Indian, by the toothless hissing.

We walk along, admiring the old buildings with heavy wooden doors, delicately carved grills and door frames. And, before long, we find ourselves at Pundit Kanhaiyalal Durga Prashad Dixit's paratha shop: “36, Gali Parathe Wali, Delhi – 6”. “Established 1875: best and famous”, is inscribed proudly on a glass pane.

The place is dingy, and the tables uncomfortable. A few are occupied. We can see the plates being washed and are in half a mind — should we try it out or give it the miss? Then, mustering courage, we enter, find a table and order our parathas .

The menu lists 26 varieties, including a kishmish paratha . I settle for a more sober paneer paratha , which is served hot with sweet chutney and a vegetable side-dish. The shop displays photographs of celebrities, including politicians and film actors, who have eaten there.

In the 1980s, many of the paratha shops closed down, but they are back in business today. The business has been handed down from generation to generation, and nearly all of them are believed to be branches of the same family.

Finishing our parathas , we head back to the sanitised environs of New Delhi, for an afternoon break, before heading out to yet another tourist destination.

After ten days in Delhi, it was back to Chennai, hot and as dusty and noisy as Chandni Chowk.

COMMENT NOW