Day Four (Final Day) in Delhi: Seeing and Doing Bits and Bobs of the Capital Before Departure. Connaught Place, Janpath, Safdarjang's Tomb, Chandni Chowk, Red Fort, Chaat at Greater Kailash

CTuesday, February 4, 2025:

Delhi:

Day Four (Final Day) in Delhi: Seeing and Doing Bits and Bobs of the Capital Before Departure.

Connaught Place, Janpath, Safdarjang's Tomb, Chandni Chowk, Red Fort, Chaat at Greater Kailash

Our last day in Delhi (on this trip) would be as hectic as you can imagine as we tried to cover all the unaccomplished bits and bobs that were on our To-Do and To-See List. We awoke and after showering and getting dressed, we packed up our backpacks and kept them ready for pick-up, at the end of the day, when we would head straight off to the airport. But first, there was breakfast to be enjoyed.

Breakfast and Off to Connaught Place:

As Llew has awoken with a dodgy tummy and I wanted to look for a Benarasi-style silk table runner in off-white with gold tassels, we decided to have breakfast and make a beeline for Janpath which a shopper’s haven, reportedly. Last night, my friend Anita had mentioned that the Indian Cottage Emporium at Janpath would be the best place to find exceptional Indian handicrafts under one roof and with fixed, reasonable government prices.

Hence, after eating a hearty breakfast in our Fulbright Residence cafeteria (I had scrambled eggs today with buttered toast (and jam for Llew), plus cornflakes and hot milk, a plate of apples and hot coffee, we made a short visit to the Fulbright office to meet Neeraj whom I had missed yesterday. We had a lovely visit together as Anupam joined in too and after catching up for awhile, we set off.

Shopping at Janpath:

Janpath is very easy to reach from our residence as it is the second stop on the Violet Line which serves our metro stop (Mandi House). Once there, we found the India Cottage Emporium soon enough as Anita had mentioned that it was just opposite the Tibetan Market—which is simply a series of sidewalk shops selling items from Tibet.

However, our foray into the emporium did not glean results as they did not have what I was looking for. Instead we decided to take a look at the shops on Connaught Place which is one of Delhi’s best-known landmarks and another fine achievement of Lutyens-Baker as architects.

Exploring Connaught Place and Connaught Circus:

Everyone knows Connaught Place. It is a popular hangout but also houses many private companies such as airline offices and travel agencies. The place is also known as Connaught Circus as it is designed and constructed in the shape of concentric circles that are created through the use of open-air shopping arcades punctuated by Greek Doric columns in white. The closest we get to such a structure in Bombay is Horniman Circle.

As we were essentially looking for a pharmacy, we did google it and found one in a place about a ten minute walk away. Using Google maps, we found our way there at a place called Apollo Pharmacy from where we bought some Dolo which Llew took immediately. It is clear that Delhi’s notorious pollution had gotten to him and despite the fact that we wore masks throughout, his chest became affected by the poor air-quality, his nose was leaking and his chest felt congested. We hoped that the medication would make a difference.

At this point, we began to look for the state emporiums that seem to be clustered in this area. A young man came up to help us and told us to take a rickshaw to the place where we could find it. Miraculously, a rickshaw driver appeared and told us he would take us there for Rs. 10! Unbelievable! We ought to have smelled a rat at that point. He said he’d take us to a place called Dilli Haath—a series of handicraft shops. Of course, he hoped we would shop vigorously and he would receive a cut from our purchases. But in this place too, we could not find what we wanted. The same rickshaw driver was waiting outside to take us to the next handicrafts shop—called Indian handlooms. But we were done with shopping and told him to take us to Safdarjang’s Tomb instead. He agreed to take us for Rs. 50 which was also a steal. We got in and soon realized that he was bent on taking us to the Handloom Stop. Once there, when we did not get out of the rickshaw because we were not interested in looking any further, he make a U-turn, but then just five minutes later, he complained that his rickshaw was not working well and dropped us off at a corner! Clearly, these touts are only interested in attracting people into their vehicles who will shop hugely and give them a cut (for bringing customers to the stores). He did not want to drive too far away from the shopping circuit—and, therefore, deserted us!

Fortunately for us, we were able to call an Uber Rick that then took us to our next destination, Safdarjang’s Tomb and Mausoleum.

Visiting the Tomb of Safdarjang:

You cannot miss Safdarjang’s Tomb when you are cruising through the streets of Delhi. It is en route to the Lodi Colony on Aurobindo Ghosh Marg and I was intrigued by what I had seen of its entrance on at least three occasions that we passed by it. Getting off at the gate from our rickshaw, we made our way to the entrance to purchase a ticket to enter.

As in the case of all Mughal monuments, this one too is approached by a huge gate or Darwaza that frames the magnificence of the building concealed behind. It was built in 1754 and is considered the last ember on the dying flames of Mughal architecture in India.

So here’s a word about Safdarjang (from Wikipedia):

Safdarjung, Nawab of Awadh, was made prime minister (Vazir) of the Mughal Empire (Wazir ul-Mamlak-i-Hindustan) when Ahmed Shah Bahadur ascended the throne in 1748. As Vazir, he usurped all powers under his control as the king was only a puppet, a figurehead, who was into enjoying life with wine, opium, and women. But his control over the emperor's family was so cruel that the emperor called the Marathas to rid of their Vazir. The Marathas drove Safdarjung out of Delhi in 1753. He died soon after in 1754.

After his death, his son Nawab Shujaud Daula pleaded with the Mughal Emperor to permit him to erect a tomb for his father in Delhi. He then built the tomb, which was designed by an Abyssininan architect. It was built by Bilal Muhammad Khan, at the cost of three lacs of rupees. When you come to think of it, considering that he was so reviled in his lifetime, his son is fortunate that the Emperor permitted him to build the mausoleum at all.

It is a stunning monument and definitely worth seeing, especially if one is on a tour of Islamic architecture in India and wishes to trace its evolution. If one goes chronologically, then this monument would come last in the line as it is an 18th century monument, representative of the achievement of the Mughal empire when in its dying throes and just before the Battle of Plassey (1757) would end Mughal supremacy on the Indian sub-continent and make way for imperial British rule in India.

Just past the entrance gate, where we stopped to take pictures, we arrived at the picture postcard-perfect spot which is highly reminiscent of the Taj Mahal in Agra. The mausoleum is built entirely of red sandstone with slight marble inlay embellishments to define its contours, But its most striking aspect is its gigantic marble dome—truly the Mughals had mastered the art of creating domes that rivalled Brunelleschi’s dome in Florence, Italy, in terms of size and style. Unlike Humayun’s Tomb, which is older and larger, this has minarets at the four corners—in imitation of the Taj Mahal—but they are attached to the main building and not separated along the periphery of the plinth. There is something gloriously poetic about these Islamic mausoleums that bring out deep excitement in me. I was really thrilled to see this place as it has been at least fifty years since I had last seen it—I am certain I had seen it as a young teenager on a family trip to Delhi. This time round, I could completely appreciate its architectural details and its interior embellishments.

Safdarjang’s marble cenotaph lies right in the center of the structure. It is well decorated with carvings. The marble floor around it is decorated with pietra dura (such as one sees at the Taj)—so the Taj clearly inspired this decoration. We circumnavigated the cenotaph and looked up to find it rather stark in its lack of embellishment. The terrace, like all such Mughal monuments, has a low latticed wall. The place is exceedingly peaceful, unlike all the other monuments we had visited, because so few people come here. The Mughal gardens spread all around, in the Persian Char Bagh deign, featured well-manicured lawns that were a cool delight to the eye. But after taking the mandatory pictures, there was really not much to do and we made our way out towards the main entrance.

Off to Chandni Chowk to see the Red Fort:

By this time, it was well past 12 noon and we were beginning to be conscious of the paucity of time. We wanted to see Shah Jehan’s Red Fort as it is the only significant Mughal monument that we had not yet glimpsed on this trip. However, we would not have the time to go inside (this takes almost an entire morning and we have toured it a couple of times earlier). Hence, we decided to get an Uber auto to take us to Chandni Chowk so that we could take a few pictures of the imposing, towering red sandstone walls before moving on to the next item on our agenda.

The ride by rickshaw was long as the place was quite a distance from Safdarjang’s Tomb. Once we entered Chandni Chowk, our progress was also very slow as traffic made it very difficult to move ahead. But, eventually, we reached. Our driver let us off and we walked for about ten minutes around the corner of the main road, to get some pictures of the ramparts of this glorious Fort before we went out in search of the Jama Masjid Metro station (which we had passed) to get to the next stop on our agenda, Lunch at Great Kailash.

Can’t Leave Delhi Without Eating Chaat:

Of course, you cannot leave Delhi without eating the Northern Indian street-food known as Chaat. So off we went to Greater Kailash, one of the large colonies on the outskirts of the city, where my friend Sangeeta had suggested we eat chaat. For the uninitiated, Chaat is a very unique aspect of North Indian cuisine that is a cross between a snack and a meal. It is composed entirely of fried items that look like crackers, very thin noodles, etc. that are then eaten with mashed potato, chickpeas, mung bean sprouts, etc. and then heavily doused with a variety of sauces including runny yogurt, date sauce, chilli sauce, etc. The combination of sweet-sour-salty-umami flavors is what makes this so interesting and so delicious. No two chaat stalls serve exactly the same combo and no two plates of chaat ever taste the same. Everything lies in the proportion of sauce and spice to base crackers. It’s really hard to describe. A word of caution here: Novices find this rather difficult to digest—the stomachs of the uninitiated find it too much of a shock to deal with so much strangeness. This is, therefore, the most notorious cause of Delhi Belly and I have grown wary of eating it myself as I seem to have lost my immunity.

All that said, in Greater Kailash I, is a place called Prince Chaat which is known strictly by reputation alone. Every auto rickshaw driver knows this place. So, once we got off the metro at Greater Kailash (a very long journey that took more than 45 minutes from the Red Fort), we hopped into a rick whose driver took us there.

To my utter astonishment, this place is only a road-side joint. You cannot sit inside and eat your chaat in peace. You must stand on the road and partake of these treats at the corner of a busy traffic intersection. Not to be daunted by the location or setting, we ordered gol gappe (known as pani puri in Bombay)—4 of them to a plate. And believe me, it was as much as I could handle, They are large and could barely fit in my mouth! They were ice-cold and the pani (cumin water) used was kept frigidly cold. This did a number on my very sensitive teeth. I have to say that my struggle to eat these treats took the pleasure away completely. Next, we ordered Delhi’s famous Paapri Chaat—this is a combination of items and flavors as I have described above. It was just superb—no question, Prince’s reputation rests on these concoctions.

By this time, it was almost 4.00pm and as we wanted to be at the airport at 7.00 pm for our 9.00 pm flight to Bombay, we had to get a move-on. We called for an Uber Rick to take us back to Greater Kailash (known colloquially as GK) metro station from where we hopped into the Violet line (no changes necessary) and arrived at our destination—Mandi House. From there, it was just a ten minute walk to our residence. Without wasting any time, we used the facilities, checked out, handed the key over to the watchman and called for a Rick to get us to Shivaji Stadium. We were running half an hour behind schedule as we had hoped to leave our residence at 5.00 pm. It was actually 5.30 pm when we left.

Journey to the Airport:

From Shivaji Stadium, we easily found the Airport Express Line station entrance and bought our tickets (Rs. 50 per head) to get to T1 at the airport. The journey took about twenty minutes with a stop in-between (Daula Kuan). We hopped off at Aerocity from where we found the shuttle (Rs. 40 each ticket) to get us to the Terminal for our Indigo flight. We were there exactly on schedule at 7.00 pm—which means that it takes 90 minutes to get from the airport to the Fulbright Residence (something to keep in mind for future travel).

Of course, from this point it was smooth sailing—or so we thought. We checked in one bag (as we were carrying a bottle of wine), received our boarding passes and made our way to the gate—I looked for something to eat as the chaat was not filling enough and our meal on the aircraft would only be at 9.30pm. At leisure, I skirted around the Food Court and picked up Chicken Chalupas from Taco Bell with a mango milkshake for Llew and chocolate milkshake for me before I also picked up a Chocolate Truffle pastry from Theo Broma.

By the time I came back to the gate, I discovered that almost an hour had passed (service at the Food Court was that slow) and a gate change had been announced on Llew’s phone—not on the PA system. So, we had to move from Gate 8 to Gate 41! This involved taking an elevator and finding our way there and eventually eating our meal while waiting for boarding to be announced.

Both of us then carried our airplane meal (Chicken sandwiches) home with us as we were really full. The flight was short—we had blue masala tea on the flight—and eventually reached Bombay at 11. 30 pm. We took a rickshaw back home and reached at 12. 30 pm. It was well past 1.30 am before we actually went to bed after what had been a very long journey home indeed.

Conclusion:

We had a truly rollicking time in Delhi. My visits to this city are too few and far-between for my liking and I always forget how beautiful it is and how much I love it. On this visit, apart from being present at the birthday party for which we were invited, Llew and I made a thorough study of Islamic architecture from the 11the century (the Aibaks at the Qutb Minar) to the Lodis (12-13th century at Mehrauli and the Lodi Gardens) to the Great Mughals (Humayun—his tomb, Shah Jehan—his Red Fort and Jama Masjid—14-15th centuries) and finally to the last phase of this glorious reign (18th century—Safdarjang’s Tomb). It is truly fascinating how much the Mughals achieved in terms of architecture and garden landscape design and how many influences they incorporated into their monuments: Persian, Rajput, Florentine Renaissance, etc.

We also ate our way through the capital’s offerings by enjoying upscale, Michelin-quality restaurants such as Ego and Cho, charming French-style tea-rooms such as Laduree and Elma’s that reeked of Parisian elegance, renowned and historic kebab places such as Karim’s and modest street-side eateries such as Azam’s and Prince. In the process, we took in a grand gastronomic tour of food offerings and enjoyed every bit of them.

I do not know when we will have occasion to return to Delhi. But it is comforting to know that it is only a two hour flight away from Bombay and that the Fulbright Residence is always available for my use to offer quality accommodation in the very heart of the city. Delhi is endlessly fascinating and, no doubt, on another visit, there will be other places to see and other things to do. I very much look forward to that day.

Thanks for following me on these armchair-travels. I hope you have enjoyed living vicariously through my adventures as much as I enjoyed penning them for you.

Until next time…may the road rise up to greet you and make the wind be ever at your back.

H is for Horrendous: A Godawful Morning Gives way to a Rewarding Day in Delhi

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

New Delhi

H is for Horrendous: A Godawful Morning Gives way to a Rewarding Day in Delhi

     Namaste from New Delhi!

     As days go, this is the worst I have had in India so far! So be prepared for an account of untold disappointment and unforeseen stress. 

     So after having gone to bed at 4.30 am in the Fulbright Guest House in New Delhi where I landed an hour previously, I felt relatively sure that things would move along as planned, i.e. I would go to the Bank at Vasant Vihar, pay my visa fees, then head to the Embassy of Uzbekistan, hand in my passport and supporting documents and get my visa in the evening to allow me to head back to Bombay on the 9.30 pm flight this evening.

     Except that none of this happened. It occurred to me, when I awoke in the morning at 8.00 am after 4 hours’ sleep, that the reason the Fulbright Office staff were not here on the premises today was because it is a Bank Holiday—it happens to be Mahavir Jayanti! I had no clue—and it seems neither had it occurred to the Fulbright office staff.  Or maybe they did not know that while it was important for the Embassy to be open (which it is as they do not follow Indian holidays), they did not realize that my visa procedure involved going in actual person to a bank to make a transaction. 

     So when I called my Dad first thing in the morning to tell him that I had arrived safely in Delhi and that all was well with me, we realized in the course of our conversation that there would be no bank open for me to make visa fee payment in the specific account of the Embassy!

     I ended up calling Anupam, the Fulbright staffer who is in-charge of my travel, and he called his colleagues and they reached the same conclusion I had done—no banks would be open today so no payment could be made.  He called me a little later to suggest another course of action. Why don’t I go to the Embassy and explain to the Consular staff that I had the money (both in US and Indian currency) and could pay them in cash for the visa directly if they could make an exception in view of the bank holiday.

     And that was what I did. Because the Consulate would not open before 10.00 am, I headed to the Fulbright cafe where I had a complimentary breakfast: a masala omelette with two slices of toast and butter and a glass of lassi. It was a lovely breakfast and it fueled me well for the rest of the ordeal that I did not know would lie ahead.

     Just as I was finishing my breakfast, I found Olga, wife of the Director of the USIEF Program, Adam, playing with her dog Patrick on the lawns outside. It turns out that her apartment was in the Director’s residential wing, a few feet away, on the top floor. Sadly, I could not meet Adam as the two of them were leaving in about an hour for their Easter holidays in Sri Lanka. However, it was great to see Olga again as I had become quite friendly with her when we met at the Fulbright Conference in Cochin in February.       

In an Uber to the Embassy:

I called for an Uber that took me from the Fulbright Office gate near Connaught Place to Chanakyapuri’s diplomatic enclave to get to the Embassy. I have to pause her for a minute to tell you how thrilling it was to be in Delhi again and how excited I felt to be viewing this urban masterpiece of Edwin Lutyens and Herbert Baker, designers of this glorious city, all over again.  I had last been to Delhi in 2008, i.e. 11 years ago and one tends to forget how appealing it is. 

       Fortunately, in some minor ways the Gods of Good Fortune we’re smiling down on me—although in big ways, they were really taking the mickey! The weather was gorgeous: I had been dreading Delhi in the heat of a North Indian summer; but believe me, it was like spring in Connecticut: the air was crisp and devoid of humidity and so much better than Bombay has been in the last couple of weeks. As I coursed through the city in my cab, I passed by India Gate on Raj Path and swiveling my head around, I saw the magnificent domes of Rashtrapati Bhavan’s rose and gold sandstone edifice: such a symbol of imperial power that is now a symbol of post-colonial independence.  On beautiful broad boulevards and avenues we drove, past very clearly marked institutions—the National Archives, the Shastri Memorial Library, the Indian Railways Headquarters—they made me feel so proud of my Indian heritage. And, of course, when we passed the National Museum of India, I made a mental note, that time-permitting, I would saunter in there. 

     Along the way, we passed also those clusters of Lutyens bungalows—built as residential quarters for colonial officials—Two up, two down brick structures that are uniformly painted off-white with wide wraparound verandahs and Juliet balconies. Today, they are occupied by Indian ministers who live in secluded privacy behind tall off-white walls. Delhi is also lush and green—each boulevard is lined with established trees that form a shady canopy above and each radiating rotary is a fairy-tale garden with a shot of delightful color in the form of perennial Indian flowers. This is modern urban design at its best. 

     Also, since it was a holiday, the streets were emptied of all traffic and human habitation. They were nothing but a pleasure to drive through—I kept thinking that this must have been how Delhi looked seventy years ago when the British were leaving and the Indians were taking charge again. I felt truly exhilarated to see this city in this light when nothing but its brilliant architecture could be appreciated as my hungry eyes took in the urban eye candy. 

     So, by the time we reached the Embassy, I was filled with renewed excitement and I looked forward to a brilliant day ahead.

At the Uzbekistan Embassy:

    I could not be more mistaken. Dropped off at the Embassy gates, I made my way to the tiny window (no larger than a bank counter) to a virtually-hidden chowkidar who asked me the nature of my business. I told him I had come for a visa. He asked me which country I was from: I told him the USA. He asked to see my passport. I handed it over. He asked if I had my telex number. (This was sent to me from the US Embassy in Uzbekistan). I gave it to him. He asked me for my bank receipt for payment. I told him I did not have that as all banks were closed today. That’s when the trouble began...

     A conversation ensued between him and someone inside—all on the phone. Turns out they could not issue my visa unless payment was made. When I asked if they would accept cash, the chowkidar told me that someone would be coming out to talk to me. I am positive they did so only because I happened to have a US passport—the chowkidar kept referring to me in his conversations in Hindi with the folks inside as the “US citizen”. 

     About ten minutes later, two Consular officers came out to meet me: a man and a woman named Mafrat. They treated me with the utmost courtesy as they invited me inside into a small office. They told me that as an international embassy, they are prohibited from entering into any cash transactions with anyone—hence the arrangement with the local bank. They understood my predicament and when I told them that I had a return flight to Bombay that evening, the man suggested I do a bank wire transfer—NEFT as it is known in India—from my personal account in my bank to their bank account. He gave me the bank details and told me that it was a simple matter, could be done in two minutes and the instant transfer of the money would be reflected in their account. Once they received the money, he said they would issue the visa.  In my case, they would make allowances, he said, and allow me to deliver my payment receipt and papers past the 12 noon deadline. He instructed the chowkidar accordingly.

     With nothing more to say, I thanked them profusely and called for another Uber to take me back to the Fulbright office. Anupam instructed the security staff to open the office for me so that I could use one of the computers that is attached to a printer and we set to work. Luckily, Anupam stayed on the phone with me as I tried to make the wire transfers. 

     I will not go into the painful details but I will tell you this. At every stage, I was made to feel frustrated.  Either the system was too slow or the system was shutting me out or technical errors made it impossible for me to make the transaction.   It was simply endless.  Feeling more and more stressed, I had to take deep breaths to pull myself together mentally. Finally, when I did get through, I discovered that my bank had a  day limit of no more than Rs. 10,000 on wire transfers. My visa cost about Rs. 13,000–so I had a firewall that came up to prevent me from doing any further transactions. Meanwhile, I had misunderstood and thought that I could do no more than Rs. 10,000 per transaction (not per day). So I had decided (with advice from Anupam) to do two transactions for a total of Rs. 13,000. That was a bad move because, as it turned out, the Embassy would not accept anything other than a single transfer for the entire amount. It was a nightmare, if you can imagine it!

     Anyway, with Rs. 9000 already deposited in the Embassy account and no way that I could deposit any more until tomorrow, I called the Embassy again. This time an accountant informed me that they would make an exception in my case provided I write a letter to the Ambassador explaining why it had been necessary for me to make two payments. He told me to make the second installment of the payment tomorrow, bring printed receipts for both payments, bring the signed letter of explanation and return with all these documents to, hopefully, get the visa. 

     This meant that I had no other choice but to cool my heels here in Delhi for another 24 hours. Believe me, I had tried all possible options in attempting to get my visa today and I had failed. I had to pray for the serenity to accept that which I could not change. And I did. 

     I left Anupam to sort out the business of putting me up for one more night here at the Fulbright Guest House (which is very safe, really luxurious and in an incredibly quiet part of the capital) and to adjust my ticket so that I leave tomorrow night instead of tonight! It also meant that I had to contact the folks in Bombay with whom I had scheduled interviews for my field research as I am booked solid with work assignments until the rest of the week—I cancelled both of them and told them I would reschedule them. I also called the person in charge of Lectors to let her know that I would not be able to do the Second Reading in church on Maundy Thursday. I also told my Dad about my predicament. He was close to tears as he had been looking forward to seeing me home for the Holy Week services. 

Off to Explore Delhi on my Own:

     You know by now what my philosophy of life is, right? When Life gives you lemons, make a ruddy G and T! So I was off and hitting the roads of Delhi before you could say Jai Hind! I took an auto and asked the driver to take me to the National Gallery which was not far away at all.  It was about 2.00 pm and Delhi’s population had finally awoken. There was some traffic build up but still...nothing of the sort one could expect on a working day. It was still a pleasure to be ferried around this stunning city.

At the National Museum:

     Like all official buildings, the National Museum of Delhi—known also as the National Museum of India—is a solid pink and yellow sandstone edifice that houses some of the most significant national treasures.  Of course, I could quite easily have spent the entire day here, but I decided instead to head straight for the most magnificent exhibition one could ever have the good fortunate of seeing. The Jewelry of the former Nizam of Hyderabad, that the Indian Government had acquired instead of allowing them to be auctioned off to the highest international bidders, was on display. I had been telling my students for years about this collection which was reputed to have diamonds and emeralds and sapphires and rubies as large as hen’s eggs. Well, today, I had the chance to set eyes on them myself.  And I was simply blown away!

The Jewelry Collection of the Nizam of Hyderabad:      

      All of you know that the Jewelry section of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London is my favorite part of that museum. So you can just imagine what I was looking at: a collection that puts the entire two floors of that section completely in the shade.  You had to see this collection to believe it: apart from the Jacob Diamond which is 185 carats and is valued at Rs. 450 crores plus its antique value; there were necklaces, ear-rings, bracelets, armlets, anklets, rings, turban-ornaments and such that were absolutely staggering. I was literally dumb-founded by the miles of strings of pearls and the size of those emeralds. The Moghuls had a fondness for emeralds because the color green is associated with Islam—and indeed they were as large as small bird’s eggs. There was a stunning Navratan brooch that is on the brochure and there were matching bracelets that were gifted to the Nizam’s faithful retainers! The collection truly beggars description.  What’s more, it is so impeccably curated with pictures of the ladies of the harem and close family members actually wearing these items in black and white photographs of the period that have sepiaed with age. Truly, my enjoyment in being in Delhi was full enhanced by this completely unexpected treasure trove on which I could actually set eyes. The collection is protected in a vault and has round the clock armed guards keeping watch. By the way, the ticket to enter the Museum costs Rs. 20 but you pay an additional Rs. 50 to see the Nizam’s Jewels.

     If you remember, when I was in Hyderabad in October last year, I had spent a lot of time in the Salar Jung Museum—now Salar Jung was the Dewan or Prime Minister of this Nizam—the Nizam off Hyderabad. I remember thinking as I feasted my eyes upon Salar Jung’s treasures that the horde of his employer would probably be a thousand times more dazzling.  Little did I know, when the thoughts passed through my mind in October, that by April, I would actually get to see the Aladdin’s Cave accumulated by the Nizam! How’s that for coincidences? What’s more, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time as this Jewelry exhibition only began in March and will be on until May 5. So in the midst of the horrors I had experienced at the Embassy, the silver lining to the gloomy cloud was seeing this once-in-a-lifetime collection. Truly a highlight of my year in India.   

     Before I left the museum, I browsed through its permanent collection that included wonderful miniature paintings from the Moghul and Rajasthan schools, superb Chola bronzes, grand stone and metal sculpture, an entire section devoted to the Indus Valley Civilization which contains the famous Dancing Girl from Mohenjo-darp and other major archeological finds. The Museum is huge, beautifully laid out,spotlessly clean and well maintained. Truly a national treasure.

Lunch in the Museum Canteen:

     By then, it was 3.00 pm and I was hungry—so I asked where the museum canteen was and I made my way there.  The thing about having such a glorious city is that you cannot find the sort of roadside shacks that you see all over Bombay in a place like this—and thankfully so.  Should you need sustenance, you will need to head to an area far from the diplomatic or artistic enclaves—and I did not want to waste time trying to find food.

     The museum canteen would do just fine: I had a special thali which came with rice (which I did not eat), two heavy parathas, dal, paneer masala, raita and papad and I ordered a glass of lassi—no one makes lassi like the Delhites. I remembered the amazing lassis we used to have as a family when we were on a holiday when I was in my teens. They were so creamy and so rich, we could only have a few tablespoons of it before feeling satiated. 

     

Heading to an Interview:

     One of the things I’d had the intellectual foresight to do when I knew I would have a few hours to kill in Delhi between submitting my passport and picking it up was schedule an interview with someone I was very keen to meet as part of my study: Ibrahim Alkazi is known to be a giant among contemporary Indian developers of culture and the arts. He is Delhi-based and has been since 1961 (having started his work in Bombay where he was eminent in English-language theater). Sadly, he is now 94 and unable to speak. His daughter, Amal Allan, however, a theater director herself, had been very happy to fix an appointment with me and it was her that I was meeting at 4.00 pm. She texted me the address and in an auto rickshaw, I was there in about 10 minutes. As she was running late, I had a chance to see the wonderful exhibition on the lower level of the Art Heritage Gallery (which Alkazi had started and which his children now run as a family business) of the recent prints of the artist Devraj Dakoji whose work I had first seen in Bombay  while I was in my teens and had still lived there. 

  

An Exhibition of the Work of Devraj Dakoji:

     So, while waiting for Amal and after meeting her son, Tariq, I feasted on the work of Devraj Dakoji who has been living in New York, on Long Island, for the past 25 years. He is a print maker par excellence and I was thrilled to become acquainted with his recent work. In the style of the American poet, Walt Whitman, who had lived not far from Babylon, New York, where Dakoji lives, Leaves of Grass, the poet’s masterpiece had been created and printed at his own printing press. I told Devraj this when I met him a little while later. It was fascinating to see what he has done with the Long Island Railroad tickets as he commuted from Manhattan to Long Island—he sketched on them to pass time and many of those sketches became full-scale prints or lithographs—this was very exciting for me to see. 

   

An Interview with Amal Allana:

     My interview with Amal took place in her office in the basement of the Triveni Art Gallery complex where her own art gallery Art Heritage is located. I found her a delight to chat with as she told me about her father’s contribution to the Performing and Fine Arts in contemporary India. She showed me the books she has edited, the volumes that were brought out for his 90th birthday and about all her memories of growing up in the illustrious Padamsee family (her mother was Roshan Padamsee, Alyque’s sister) with this multitude of cousins. As the oldest cousin, she is a storehouse of memories and she could reiterate for me what Yohan  and Raell had told me earlier. Plus she should tell me about the family life she enjoyed with her father and mother Roshan, both in Bombay and in Delhi. It was simply amazing. I loved every second of our dialogue and truly wished it could have lasted longer. 

     Later, I met her husband Nissar, a theater set designer, who also owns an art gallery in New York City that is called the Alkazi Gallery. He told me about the number of plays the two of them had done in Bombay before they migrated to Delhi—mostly the work of Bertoldt Brecht as Amal had trained in Germany on dramatizing Brecht’s plays. I was deeply excited by the contribution of this family to the work I am currently pursuing. I was also happy to participate in the opening called Urbania of the 12 artists they are featuring in their multi-artist exhibition right now. There was tea and rather delicious snacks but as I’d had a very late lunch, I could not stomach much at all.   

Browsing Around Connaught Place:

     After a fabulous evening in the midst of a thriving capital art community, I took another rick to Connaught Place and decided, while twilight fell softly over the city, to browse through the handsome shops there. I reached there in another ten minutes in a rickshaw and made a beeline for the Oxford Bookshop. It had rained quite suddenly and the temperature had dipped rather fiercely. I was very cold in my shirt-sleeves and was happy to be in the book shop for a while as I lost myself in the travel section.

     Connaught Place is very smart these days; it is newly painted and gleams in a pristine white. The Doric columns that made up this arcaded shopping area looked grand. It is suitably adorned with designer showrooms and all the international brands you could want. I needed a new cable for my phone and went into a store to buy it. I have decided to go in for the cheapest brands I can find as these cables only last about a year on an average—whether one buys Apple or anything else. 

     With my buy done, I went into Burger King and bought a meal: A Tandoori Chicken Burger with fries and a Pepsi for my dinner. I carried it out intending to eat it in about two hours when I would feel hungry again. 

     I then took a rick and made my way back to the Fulbright Guest House at about 7.30. I settled down to have a chat with Llew and tell him about my woes of the morning which I had decided to put behind me as I focused on enjoying a little bit of Delhi now that I have the unexpected opportunity to be here. Tomorrow, no doubt, will bring a fresh share of tension and I need to steal myself for the worst that I can expect. I had, meanwhile, received the updated ticket from Anupam—so, hopefully, I will get my visa tomorrow and be able to get on with my travel plans.  

     Until tomorrow.