Disappearing delicacies

PUSHPESH PANT

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When asked to introduce himself during a visit to Lucknow, it is said that Mir Taqi Mir, the great Urdu poet, lamented, ‘Budo bas puccho ho kya Purab ke sakino, Humko gareeb jaan ke, hans hans pukar ke, Dilli jo ik shehar tha alam main inteqab, jisko falak ne loot keveeran kar diya, rehane wale hain hum usi ujarhe dayar ke!’ (Hark all ye who ask with laughter on your lips where I hail from. I belong to that ill-fated city called Dilli, once an envy of the whole world, now devastated by cruel fate.)

Delhi, once the imperial capital of the Moguls had fallen into bad days much before the upheaval of 1857. The Afghan marauders, Nadir Shah and Ahmed Shah Abdali, had dealt mortal blows to the city and severely crippled its economy. However, the decline had started even earlier. The last Mogul emperor of substance, Aurangzeb, spent most of his time in the Deccan and in any case was a man of spartan tastes – almost an ascetic. The city in the 18th and 19th centuries was not a place where many could indulge the good life or cultivate culinary taste. Gifted chefs, like poets and artists, had migrated to small principalities in the hinterland – Rohilkhand and Awadh.

The city lay in ruins but lovers of good food survived. Hardier souls than Mir, Ghalib for instance, didn’t desert Delhi and continued to patronize their favourite kebabiya, nanbai or halwai.

In the first decade of the 20th century, memories remained green of Maseeta and Ghummi who manned their braziers on the steps of the grand Jama Masjid to produce sublime kebabs. There were other master craftsmen who specialized in nihari and biryani. Mouth watering temptations of Delhi were not confined to meaty dishes. Berhvin and methi ki chutney, along with halwa sohan were recognized signature dishes as much as the ishtoo. The chaat seller and khumche wala were an intrinsic part of the daily life. Vendors specializing in a product carried the moveable feast from one street to another and house-to-house.

Maheshwar Dayal has chronicled in a fascinating manner the role food played in the lives of the Dilliwala at the turn of the last century when the British decided to hold the durbar here and subsequently shift the capital from Calcutta to Delhi in 1911. Krishna Sobti too has, in her imaginative work of fiction Dil o Danish, made Delhi of that period come remarkably alive.

Those who dwelt in havelis (evocatively described by Pavan Varma as ‘Mansions of Dusk’) – men of means – relished daily meals planned in harmony with the changing cycle of seasons. Picnics were occasions to take packed food along with the whole family to public parks like Roshnaara Baag and Kudasiya Baag. Phoolwalon ki Sair saw the annual procession of revellers move from Chandni Chowk to Jogmaya ka Mandir in the vicinity of Qutab Minar.

Four distinct culinary streams traditionally have intermingled and enriched Delhi’s pluralistic culinary repertoire: Hindu – Kayastha and Baniya – Moslem and Punjabi (non-refugee) segments of populations have all contributed to the rich store of recipes.

 

The foundation of the new city was laid in 1911 and slowly its contours began to take shape; jungle was cleared and massive buildings dreamt by Lutyens began to dominate the landscape. In those early days, the centre of gravity of social life remained firmly rooted in what was soon to acquire a new name, Purani Dilli. In the walled city – Shahjahanabad, to call it by its proper name – citizens lived their lives at a leisurely pace.

It became impossible to remain passive spectators during the next decade spanning the 1920s. Slowly the spacious new city with tree lined roads radiating from many a roundabout was laid out, populated with government servants and their retainers. The British masters persuaded (cajoled and coerced) the Indian princes to buy large tracts of land in New Delhi. Hyderabad House, Baroda House, Bikaner House and Jaipur House flanking the India Gate bear testimony to this phase. None then thought that this bit of real estate would one day become most prized. The annual summer exodus to Shimla was established as a ritual. Changes were many but the culinary legacy of Purani Dilli dominated. Parathe wali Gali, Ghantewala ki mithayiyan, Gali kebabiyan continued to caste their irresistible spell over lovers of food.

 

Political turbulence and gathering war clouds distracted the common man from a life of self-indulgence in the next two decades. The national movement gathered momentum under Mahatma Gandhi’s leadership; he preached simple living, but this didn’t inhibit the local elite from enjoying what the new city offered.

Lahore remained the Orient of the East, Calcutta the beloved Old Lady and Bombay the fast paced trend setting Port City, but New Delhi was fast emerging as the seat of political power. How could the recreational facilities and eateries remain unchanged? This was when classy, western-style restaurants and hotels proliferated. Standard, Wenger’s and Gaylord date back to this time. Some had live bands and dancing floors. The fare served was what came to be labelled ‘continental’. Soups, roasts, grills, bakes and cakes, mousses and soufflé dazzled the diners. This is when the Anglo-Indian stream of Raj cooking entered Delhi. Slowly the recipes trickled down and spread out.

The outbreak of the Second World War interrupted the celebratory mood. Rationing was imposed to cope with shortages and ugly barracks to house ‘Tommies’ mushroomed around the grand edifices, defacing the new city almost as soon as it was inaugurated.

All this while native Indian food remained confined to home kitchens. Caste taboos continued to confine large sections of people into a straitjacket-like bind. There were few, mostly Anglicized members of the elite, who ate out.

 

Independence and the Partition triggered a tidal influx of refugees who changed the city’s demographic profile and ‘foodscape’ forever. Proliferation of the tandoor was their most significant contribution. Changes in the demographic profile inevitably resulted in corresponding changes in food preferences.

The dhabas were original set up to provide value for money, home-style basic fare for the homeless, uprooted and the unemployed – all those without a roof over their head and no access to a personal kitchen. Daal-roti, subzee and a robust mutton or chicken curry was what the menu was restricted to. The dhaba meals were supplemented by substantial snacks and mini meals prepared before the patron’s eyes and served hot from the karhaior tawa by the rehriwala (pushcart owner). According to legend, two of the most successful restaurateurs started off as dhabha or rerhi operators. Kundan Lalji of Moti Mahal (who is credited with the creation of butter chicken) and P.N. Lamba of Kwality and Gaylord’s fame are remembered with great affection and reverence by food lovers and other professionals.

 

By the mid-1950s, Moti Mahal had acquired an impressive reputation. Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, we are told, used to order its tandoori murgh for his beloved grandsons, Rajiv and Sanjay, as well as for other guests. Kwality owned by Lamba saheb served fried fish and chips and lamb chops, but wasn’t abashed about placing chhole-kulche on the same menu.

This was arguably the golden age of eating out in Delhi. Thousands of eateries bloomed to suit all tastes and pockets. At the high end were those that specialized in continental or Chinese fare – Gaylord, Laguna, Volga and York – followed by ‘middle class’ outlets like United Coffee House that boasted a jukebox. The largest concentration was in Connaught Place. The outer circle was girded by dhabas with a mini restaurant like facelift: Kakeda, National and Glory.

By now the myriad culinary streams had made way for the Punjabi refugee ‘mainstream’. Kukkad in its tandoori incarnation reigned supreme and the slow cooked black daal makhani dislodged all else for the vegetarian. In the beginning, regional variations were discernible – Pindi, Peshawari, Khyber etc. were prefixes used as geographical indicators, vaguely indicating the type of food one could expect, but it wasn’t long before the catch-all categories of shahi and karhai (be it murgh or paneer) blurred the difference between an item on different menus.

Panchkuian Road was another popular food street with dozens of stalls and holes in the wall selling tikka and seekh kebab – hot and spicy accompanied by sliced onions and mint chutney. Much later, Pandara Road joined this list – a haven for late night birds to quell pangs of hunger.

Refugee colonies grew out of makeshift settlements all over the city, altering its appearance and local eateries steadily built an enviable reputation in Rajendra Nagar, Patel Nagar and Malviya Nagar. The expansion of the city was necessitated by a burgeoning government. Roads were renamed in patriotic frenzy and frenetic construction was undertaken to add Krishi Bhawan, Rail Bhawan, Udyog Bhawan, Nirman Bhawan, Vigyan Bhawan to the skyline. These buildings were ‘office’ for thousands who lived in Sarojini Nagar, Sewa Nagar, Ram Krishna Puram and Moti Bagh. Private builders developed residential colonies and marketplaces in South Extension, Hauz Khas and Greater Kailash. New eating places sprouted to cater to needs of the residents. Sweets and snacks outlets began to rival older outlets at Bengali Market and Gole Market.

 

By the mid-1960s, the country had gotten over the trauma of wars with China and Pakistan, food shortages and guest control orders. The success of the Green Revolution had restored the self-confidence of Indians and Delhi was once again ready to turn a new gastronomic page. Hippies thronged the city on their way in and out of Kathmandu and Paharganj flourished as a landmark destination – a place where ‘home food’ could be had at affordable prices. Youngsters in Delhi University colleges also acquired a taste of Tibetan food and chhang at Tib Dhabs on Majnu ka Tila.

Nirula’s not only pioneered American fast foods like hamburgers and hot dogs served with coleslaw and hash brown paired with a mouth-watering range of ice creams and sundaes, but also opened dimly lit La Boheme that became a romantic rendezvous.

 

Don’t let this give you the impression that only the well-heeled were being pampered. The price rise resistance movement sired cooperative coffee houses that allowed patrons on a tight budget to fill the belly with masala dosa, bread omelettes, sandwiches and small, deep-fried hamburgers. The beverage was South Indian filter coffee. It sprawled where the underground Palika Bazaar is located these days. It is rumoured that this coffee house was demolished during the Emergency to make place for a more glitzy and expensive Rambles, as Sanjay suspected that those frequenting the coffee house were plotting to overthrow his mother’s government! After Indira Gandhi was defeated, the coffeehouse found another perch on the terrace of Mohan Singh Place, but it wasn’t the same thing.

Tea House stood at the corner of the Regal Building and was the most preferred adda of Hindi writers. It served a delectable keema dosa. The Cellar, the capital’s first disco, replaced it and was followed by an Arab restaurant, a first in the city. Puran Devi Acharya presided over Triveni Tea Terrace that was a favourite haunt of artists and poets, as much for its ambience as for its alu paratha, shami kebab and keema-mattar. Bankura, located in the Cottage Industries Emporium on Janpath, was a wee bit more elegant.

Small, nondescript eateries catered to the southern taste buds. Madras Cafe and dozens of messes – Nair and Raman – did brisk business. Those were the days when discriminating diners favoured Flora over Karim or Jawahar while Refugee Market gave biggest bang for the buck. Azaad dhabha in Shankar Market sold roti for 10 paise each circa 1965 and gave (watery) daal free.

The organization of the Asian Games in 1980-1981 spurred hectic activity in different fields, including construction of de luxe hotels like the Maurya and Taj Mansingh. The Maurya must be given the credit for showcasing Indian cuisine properly. With Major Habib Rehman at the helm, heritage master chefs were employed by the Maurya to create ethnic restaurants like Dum Pukht and Bukhara, now a ‘must do’ destination that has hosted celebrities like American Presidents and the Japanese Crown Prince. Later, Dakshin was added to this list.

 

Ironically, what was most successful wasn’t the much-hyped, refined, subtly aromatic Moghaliya cuisine in its Awadhi avatar but the more robust and rustic North West Frontier tandoori repast. Food for thought: Delhi is far more partial to the Turko-Afghan repertoire than with riches imported from more distant Persia. Not really surprising if you recall that before independence, the Punjab stretched from Delhi to Khyber Pass on the shared border with Afghanistan. From prince to pauper, the Punjabi palate preferences are shared.

In the context of Delhi the last two decades may be termed, with some justification, ‘years of plenty’, ‘fusion and confusion’; a veritable Discovery of (culinary) India by the rising middle class Delhi-ite, an assertion of ethnic and sub-regional identities.

Food impresarios like Jiggs Kalra ushered in the age of regular food festivals and designer parties. Food as entertainment soon won a loyal following. The late Sabina Sehgal significantly contributed through her restaurant review columns towards educating the readers about ‘good eating’.

The exploding population in Delhi has resulted in the evolution of a pan-Indian taste blending (not always harmoniously) Udipi with Srinagar, Kocchi with Amritsar.

 

The borders between the capital commissioned by the British and Shahjahanabad have long ceased to matter. Delhi today spills across River Jamuna encompassing Noida, Greater Noida and Ghaziabad; it also includes for all practical purposes Gurgaon in Haryana. Residents from one part of the NCR move to another in the course of work and in search of delicacies. Chittaranjan Park specializes in Bangla ranna and there is no dearth of small restaurants serving recipes from Kerala, Karnataka and Tamilnadu. Kashmiri Waza and high class ‘take away’ like Iram are much in demand. Delhi Haat is an immensely popular people’s food court. There is apparently great revival of interest in food. However, Dehalvi culinary legacy is seriously imperilled.

Delhi’s demographic profile is once again changing fast and dramatically. The young have no prohibitions and no prescriptions. Increased disposable incomes have inspired intrepid experimentation to tickle the jaded palate. This is what sustains the mushrooming Chinese, Thai, Mexican speciality restaurants. In addition there are Italian, Korean, Japanese, Moroccan, Greek and Lebanese eateries. The fruits of liberalization are visible in food marts with overburdened shelves laden with wines, chocolates, cheeses and exotic imported fruits. You order a fish tikka and the chances are you will encounter salmon on the platter.

While there is much greater awareness and better appreciation of foreign, regional and sub-regional cooking, somewhere in the process the precious gastronomic heritage of Delhi is being lost. More effort is spent on writing florid menus than on preparing a qorma, salan or kaliya. It is rare to come across a halfway decent shami or seekh unless you are invited home. Some classics like Nargisi kofta or pasande are available only in shehar Purani Dilli. Takke-paise ki subzee is all but extinct. Bengali (chhena) sweets have pushed to the margin the chewy sohan halwa. Phalsa sherbet is akin to an endangered species of flora and fauna. Panir is ubiquitous and has alas banished all seasonal vegetables to eternal exile.

It’s only in the walled city that one can savour the joys of nihari or paye. Murgh makes its appearance under different names – Changezi, Jehangiri, Noorjahani, Shahjahani – and is consumed without anyone being wiser that only the last named spent some time in Delhi and has an intimate connection with the city. Murgh makhani aka butter chicken rules the roost. How one misses simple, satisfying dishes – delicacies like alu gosht and do pyaaza! One doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry when one is offered a chaamp culled out of New Zealand lamb marinated in red wine and sprinkled over with dried imported herbs.

 

Delhi food had a unique character – not effete like Awadh nor self-consciously resplendent and eclectic like Hyderabad, yet flavourful and varied. The eateries nestling under the shadow of Jama Masjid and in the vicinity of the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya are rich in atmospherics but rather unpredictable and inconsistent in their edible offerings. This priceless heritage is in as urgent a need of conservation as the neglected monuments crumbling under the pressure of encroachment.

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