We live in a southern New Delhi neighborhood called Vasant Vihar, which is split into several blocks. Ours is D like Delhi. Knowing Diwali night traditionally calls for excessive fireworks, we opted to stay around D-Block. To be more specific, we opted to stay on our sofa with an occasional foray to the balcony. Tony tried a few times to grade papers, but ultimately the explosions and high-pitched whistling of wayward firecrackers sent him back to the couch. We were slightly embarrassed when our landlord’s daughter came upstairs decked out in turquoise chiffon and sequins to bring us small oil lamps called “diyas.” Wearing sweatpants, an old T-shirt and glasses, I followed her out to our balcony, where she placed them on the railing. Downstairs, her mother positioned more lamps along the garden wall.
Lights are key to attracting Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth. People leave electric lights on inside, string more lights on the outside of their homes, and fire up numerous diyas, which are placed inside and outdoors, in hopes that Lakshmi will visit and bring prosperity and happiness for the coming year.
Here’s another take on the illumination tradition from the diwalicelebrations website.
According to Ramayana, Diwali commemorates the return of Ram, an incarnation of Lord Vishnu and the eldest son of King Dasharath of Ayodhya, from his 14-year exile with Sita and Lakshman after killing the Ravan, a demon king. The people of Ayodhya illuminated the kingdom with earthen diyas (oil lamps) and fireworks to celebrate the return of their king. … Twinkling oil lamps or diyas were there in every home and fireworks were there too. Great celebrations were held and everyone was happy for Rama to be the King of Ayodhya. This celebration took place on the night of the new moon of Ashwin (October-November). The tradition and the timing continued to be followed even these days. Even today Diwali celebration means happiness, fireworks and sweets. Thus the festival of diwali is in honour of Rama’s victory over Ravana. Among all the legends of Diwali this one is the most believed one.
After visiting the Lotus Temple yesterday, we popped in to a few shops at Hauz Khas, ate lunch at Bagel’s Cafe and stopped at Katrina’s dressmaker to pick up her latest creations. Getting ready to head home, I snapped a few shots of flower sellers, which you’ll find on every street corner. Men, women and children sit on the ground amidst mountains of marigold blossoms, threading the blooms onto garlands. Apparently the flower prices skyrocket for the Diwali holiday because everyone needs them! They adorn storefronts and homes, as well as serving a key role in the worship of Hindu deities. I just think they’re pretty.
Weary of wars in the name of religion and disillusioned by the hypocritical behavior of so-called Christians in America, I visited New Delhi’s Bahá’í House of Worship yesterday both in search of a fresh perspective and to admire its architecture. The building was designed to resemble a lotus flower, so locals refer to it as the Lotus Temple.
Along with my friends Katrina and Sandra, I checked my shoes at the entrance and walked barefoot up the steps. A woman greeted us in English and gestured for us to join the line. We were the only foreigners in a small crowd of elderly pilgrims who seemed to have come from a different part of the country. The women wore simple colorful cotton saris, and the men dressed mainly in white with long tunics and loose pants or sarongs. As we stood outside, the hostess reminded us that silence was imperative inside the hall. She gave a heartfelt speech about prayer and encouraged us to pray or meditate for as long as we wanted. After repeating the speech in Hindi (I assumed) and pressing his index finger to his lips to hush us, a man opened the doors. We filed in to a huge hall with little ornamentation other than a few plaques featuring Bahá’í quotes and two large flower arrangements at the front lectern. Rows of wooden pews with white marble benches filled the hall, so we took a seat and allowed the tranquility to sink in. Quiet is not an easy thing to find in New Delhi, so this was a special treat. The lotus-petal walls reached up around us while arched perimeter windows filled the hall with natural light.
I looked up at the sunburst at the top of the dome. The symbol inside featured three parallel lines intersected down the middle by another line and flanked by two stars.
According to Bahá’í Faith, the official website of Bahá’ís in the States, the symbol “serves as a visual reminder of God’s purpose for man, and for Baha’is in particular. The top horizontal bar represents the world of God, the Creator. The middle bar symbolizes the world of His Manifestations, unadorned. The bottom bar represents the world of man. The vertical line joins the three horizantal bars together in the same way that the Divine Messengers of God form the link between the world of God and the world of man. The twin five-pointed stars on either side of the design represent the Bab and Baha’u’llah, the twin Messengers of God for this age.”
After awhile, we wandered back outside and down the stairs to the pools that represent the floating leaves of the lotus. Panels displayed information about Bahá’í philosophies, which were refreshingly inclusive. Although I approach all organized religion with a dose of skepticism, many of the basic principles resonated with me:
* The essential harmony of science and religion
* The common foundation of all religions
* Universal compulsory education
* Equality between men and women
* Elimination of prejudice of all kinds
* The abolition of the extremes of wealth and poverty
* Spiritual solutions to economic problems
For more details, check out the Bahá’í Faith website, which has an excellent section with Frequently Asked Questions.
The Lotus Temple’s website also features interesting information, a video tour and fascinating details about the architecture and construction. It says more than 70 million people have visited the Lotus Temple since its dedication in 1986. Up to 10,000 people come every day! We were fortunate to get there early and avoid the crowds.
After a peaceful exploration of the prayer hall, we reclaimed our shoes and meandered through the information center, where an excellent display of artifacts and interpretive panels further illuminated the Bahá’í religion. Unfortunately, photography was prohibited inside the prayer hall and information center.
At the entrance.
Bags for shoes.
People leaving the prayer hall.
Standing at the prayer hall and looking back at the information center. Haziest sky we’ve seen in New Delhi so far.
Reclaiming our shoes.
I’ll wrap up this post with a quote from Bahá’u’lláh, who encouraged his devotees more than a hundred years ago: “Consort with the followers of all religions in a spirit of friendliness and fellowship.” A good lesson for us all, indeed.
Tony and I enjoyed celebrating Diwali at the home of my lovely colleague, Devika, and her husband, Deepak, last Friday. I bought an elegant kurta and churidar (pants that fit tightly in the calves and gather at the ankles with enough room in the bottom for my whole third-grade class).
We were greeted by the whole family, including Eshana, age 4, in her shimmery sari. I coaxed her out from behind a door with a Diwali gift of markers and a coloring book, and she immediately got to work drawing pictures and writing her name. Sparkling with energy, she contracted a contagious case of the giggles when I took a picture of her taking a picture of me.
With mom. (Oh! That round thing on her plate is an idli, fyi.)
With dad. (She was giving me a finger wag! Can you imagine?)
So enamored with Eshana, I didn’t even think to take photos of the rest of the group or even the amazing delicacies on the buffet table. My plate overflowed with idli and coconut chutney (one of my favorite dishes!), vegetarian momos (dumplings), samosas with tamarind dip, chicken kebabs, and mouth-watering burfi (a milk-based dessert) and honey-soaked fried dough balls, whose Hindi name escapes me.
After the crowd thinned, we sipped wine and engaged Deepak in a discussion of Indian literature. Such a special evening!
Hindus and others across the city are gearing up for one of the most important festivals of the year – Diwali. The five-day celebration officially kicks off on Oct. 24, but we got our first taste of the festivities on Saturday. Organized by Saheliya – a group of Indian parents at our school, Diwali Night featured a dinner buffet, traditional dance performances, loud DJ music, endless colorful lights and fireworks.
Flower petals lined the path to the event, and drummers greeted us as we passed this “rangoli.”
Approaching the event, which took place on the sports field.
We hadn’t even passed through the entrance before this little band of entertainers encouraged us to “dance, dance!”
Hard to resist.
Stilt walkers paraded around with someone’s kid.
Tony in his kurta and me in my lehenga. I love playing dress up!
So festive!
Ground-level explosions were followed by fireworks shot from the elementary school building’s roof.
A “kids corner” offered crafts and other diversions for the children. This young lady seemed a bit surly about my request for “mehendi.” I don’t speak Hindi, but there was no mistaking the eyeroll she shared with her friend. Translation: “Seriously? This is supposed to be for kids. How annoying.” She clearly wasn’t at the top of her game.
Even the little Japanese girl who was next in line could see it was a pathetic job.
Diwali is celebrated on a nation-wide scale on Amavasya – the 15th day of the dark fortnight of the Hindu month of Ashwin, (October/November) every year. It symbolizes that age-old culture of India which teaches to vanquish ignorance that subdues humanity and to drive away darkness that engulfs the light of knowledge. Diwali, the festival of lights even to-day in this modern world projects the rich and glorious past of India.
(Note: It’s been brought to my attention that not everybody realizes the brown text in my posts are LINKS, so click them, people! Also, for some reason, this blog theme won’t let me do italics. It kills me that I can’t italicize foreign words or book titles, but I can’t be bothered with changing my theme. -S)
There’s a slight chance that I may have a teeny little problem with overbooking myself. Saturday was a prime example.
After an exhausting week at school, I rose early for a walking tour with Surekha (of Delhi Metro Walks) through a few neighborhoods in South Delhi: Hauz Khas Enclave, Gulmohar Park, Mayfair Gardens and Padmini Enclave. Five other teachers went on the tour, including my friend Katrina, who was celebrating her birthday (and who, incidentally, is my new shopping BFF, but more on that later…).
We began our tour near Kharera Village, which has retained its protective walls. Uncontrolled urbanization has led to demolition of similar walls, so Kharera is the only former village with its entire enclosure wall intact. Apparently a single family has taken over the area for farming. Strange to see a modern air-conditioner unit installed on a 500-year-old wall.
This walk happened to be in Surekha’s own neck of the woods, so we took a quick detour to visit her home. She showed us the expansive lounge area that opened to a quiet private garden, all designed by her mother.
Back on track, we soon encountered the Nili Masjid, which translates to “Blue Mosque.” Completed in 1506, the mosque got its name from the blue tiles over the lintel. The reassuring red sign of the Archaeological Society of India means the mosque has been targeted for restoration.
These little girls couldn’t stop staring as we snapped photos of the mosque and bael trees heavy with softball-sized “stone apple” fruit. Katrina offered a granola bar, which the girls eagerly dashed off to eat.
Strolling through Gulmohar District Park, we came upon the Mosque of Darwesh Shah … and this guy carrying a rifle. Nobody batted an eye. I chose to believe he was on his way to gun-safety class.
I found two interesting newspaper articles about this wall mosque. Both were published last summer. The Times of India article mostly quotes locals criticizing the restoration work, while the story in The Hindu provides some musings on the site and its namesake.
After exiting the park, we paused to sample some fresh water chestnuts and check out the in-season veggies while this man sipped a drink on his overloaded motorbike.
Other street scenes.
Despite a deep appreciation for fragrant trees, shady lanes and urban green spaces, botanical discourse makes my eyes glaze over. Katrina felt the same, as captured here during one of many stops to identify the area’s flora. The group gathered around Surekha and her illustrated book of Delhi’s vegetation.
Passing through the Mayfair Garden district gate, we were met by Neera Misra, a social entrepreneur who founded Draupadi Trust. The non-profit organization “derives its name and strength from the mythohistorical Draupadi, who was born in this District (Village Kampilye) and was the epitome of sacrifice for the sake of the family. A woman of tremendous strength who rose above every adversity,” according to the Draupadi Trust website. Misra said Draupadi was the “first woman to raise her voice against injustice,” and she explained that the organization strives to empower women and youth while blending heritage and modernity.
Misra led us on a quick tour of a Sufi saint’s crumbling tomb, which her organization has recently adopted for restoration. The tomb of Makdum Saheb features 12 pillars allegedly taken from Hindu temples and sits on the idyllic grounds of a Tughluq-era (1300s) mosque.
Misra explains the significance of the site.
Next stop: Chor Minar, which translates to “Tower of Thieves” and served as a beheading hotspot. I read a lot online about this creepy 13th-century tower, and I liked the write-up on the Delhi Information website. Check it out.
Maybe it’s too hard to see in this pic, but green Alexandrine parakeets (which are huge) were swooping between the tower’s severed-head holes and nearby trees.
Next, Surekha walked us across the street to an “idgah,” an open-air mosque visited by the masses on holy days, such as Eid al-Fitr. This one was built in 1404 by the last sultan in Delhi.
As we entered another neighborhood, we spotted this sign offering solutions for those who find the gate padlocked. Why bother with #1 or #2 when #3 offers instant gratification?
We ended our walk at Tree Tops, a bed and breakfast operated by historian and prolific author Murad Ali Baig. Standing around a table in the foyer, we gobbled up a savory breakfast of idli and coconut chutney (delicious!), washed down with salty lime-ade flavored with black salt that gives off an unfortunate sulphur smell.
Murad then invited us into the lounge, where he shared some of his thoughts on the accuracy of India’s reported history. Although I can’t reproduce the enlightening and articulate anecdotes, I can sum it all up. In a nutshell, he advised us to be discriminating students of history in India and elsewhere, noting that most of our historical understanding stems from a storytelling tradition with a tendency to exaggerate or embellish. Despite the soporific effect of resting on a comfy chair with a full tummy in a cool room, I found his insights fascinating and his passion inspiring enough to purchase his book, 80 Questions to Understand India – History, Mythology and Religion (available at amazon).
As the gathering broke up, Katrina and I caught a tuk-tuk to Hauz Khas Village, a labyrinth of clothing boutiques, antique stores, jewelry shops and other components of paradise. I was on the hunt for a dramatic outfit to wear at next weekend’s big Diwalli celebration taking place on our school’s campus. We enjoyed a rooftop lunch at a lovely restaurant and then popped in to a few boutiques. In one shop, I modeled some glam creations over my own clothes.
I loved everything, and – surrounded by acres of swishing tulle and blinding sequins, all sense of logic went out the window. At one point, I called Tony to ask if I could by a skirt for $600 (which included a little top and hand-embellished scarf). Bright orange, floor-grazing and stunningly bedazzled, it swirled in Bollywood drama when I sashayed across the shop. Did I mention it was bright orange? With visions of tit-for-tat Bose speakers floating through his head, he said, “Sure, baby, if you want it, go ahead and get it.” I hung up in a daze while Katrina flipped through the racks of dresses. “Hey, Katrina,” I said, desperately seeking validation for this purchase. “Could I wear this to school?” She looked me over and then shot me one of her characteristic scary looks. “No,” she said with one raised eyebrow. That verbal face-smack brought me back to reality. I half-heartedly removed the skirt of my dreams and handed it to the clerk before slowly pulling out another “lehenga” from the colorful collection. Katrina said definitively, “That’s it!” And it totally was. I had flashbacks to wedding dress fittings; I felt like a princess. The skirt fit perfectly, but the top was a bit big, so they’ll alter it and have it ready later this week.
Can I wear THIS one to school? Hmmm…
At one point, the shop owner took us up a few flights of stairs to see the workers hand-stitching beads and sequins onto her glorious designs. She said this piece would take six weeks to finish, and it was just the SCARF that goes with that $600 outfit! No wonder it costs so much. I was surprised to see the workers were men. The work was agonizingly tedious.
There is nothing like a retail high, but Katrina and I were ready to head home. We just had one more stop to make: a tailor shop, where she had some dresses made. But the path to the tailor was littered with more ancient monuments. We would take five steps and then sigh with exasperation because you can’t just walk by a 700-year-old building and NOT take a picture. Here’s what we saw before finding the tailor shop.
After all that excitement, I went home, changed into my jammies and crawled into bed … no wait, that was just a dream. I actually changed into my jammies and went to a BIRTHDAY PAJAMA PARTY in honor of Becky, Kate and Katrina. I was so exhausted, I could barely stand up and maintain eye contact with people. I lasted just over an hour before walking around the corner to my house and REALLY crawling into bed.
Nancy was clearly impressed that I wore my retainer for authenticity.
Tony and I checked out McDonald’s last weekend at Priya Center, an outdoor mall here in New Delhi, India. Sorry about the wind noise. I half-heartedly tried to edit it out.
You know what I’m lovin’? This funny Grammar Girl post about McDonald’s latest jingle.
This post is for those of you who keep insisting that Tony and I are SO brave to live overseas and SO adventurous to immerse ourselves in a different culture.
It’s true, every day really IS an adventure, full of small but interesting experiences. Our morning taxi ride to school, for example, is a bumpy, swervy, death-defying experience full of cow-dodging, speed-bump-soaring, pothole-pounding, horn-honking lunacy that we hardly even notice anymore. And it’s true that we have interesting cultural opportunities on the weekends and over school breaks. However, our days are generally filled with mundane tasks and routines, not unlike those of teachers in the States.
Here’s a typical “day in the life” of Sharon and Tony …
6:32 a.m. – Kapoor pulls up in his taxi to drive us to school.
6:46 a.m. – We greet the American Embassy School gate guards and walk to our respective buildings.
8:30 a.m. to 3:35 p.m. – Tony sometimes gets breakfast (and frequently gets snacks) at Open Hand Café, which is just inside the gate on campus. He teaches grades 9 and 12 on alternate days, attends meetings, works in the English Office and meets with students during his breaks and lunch.
I work with third-grade English learners in three different grade-level classrooms every day, teach World Language English to eight third-graders every other day, attend lots of meetings, and try to eat lunch outside whenever possible.
One thing I DON’T have for the first time in my teaching career is playground supervision responsibilities! It IS a nice playground, though.
After school – Tony often has more meetings and/or piles of papers to grade after school, but he occasionally drags himself to the fitness room for a jog on the treadmill. I go to Hot Yoga on Mondays, play rehearsals for “Beauty and the Beast” on Wednesdays, and technology workshops followed by Zumba on Thursdays. Because the work day includes little down time and because many after-school activities take place on campus or at the American Embassy across the street, I often stay late at school to catch up on emails and plan lessons.
If there’s nothing going on after school, we catch a taxi outside the school gate for the 20-minute ride home. The longer we stay at school, the worse the traffic gets.
Evenings – Thanks god our housekeeper, Raji, makes dinner most nights because it’s not unusual for us to stumble through the door after 8 p.m. Our evening excitement typically includes watching TV till about 9 and then heading to bed.
Although a 5000-year-old Indian scripture refers to a city located in modern-day Delhi, archaeologists will have to keep digging to find proof. Sites unearthed so far have found signs of Delhi’s urban dwellers in seven successive ancient cities dating to around 1060. New Delhi, as we know it, is considered the eighth. Yesterday, we visited the ruins of Delhi’s first ancient city – Qila Rai Pithora, which extended the citadel of Lal Kot, constructing a walled city with 13 gates.
I had heard the name “Surekha” from several sources, so I got in touch with the founder of Delhi Metro Walks and signed up a group of 11 teachers to join her Saturday tour. We all met at a busy street corner and walked to the Mehrauli Archaeological Park with a brief stop at a square domed tomb, which recently underwent renovation. We veered off the sidewalk onto a dirt path that wound up a hill. No wonder British soldiers used to picnic at this spot; even today the view is lovely. Back then, the forest and hunting lodge must have been a welcome refuge from city life. Inside the mausoleum, intricate finials and traditional patterns decorated the walls. According to an article in The Hindu(India’s national newspaper), the resident of the tomb is up for debate. The tomb’s caretakers migrated to Karachi after Partition forced Pakistani nationals to leave India (and vice versa). “No one remains to help unravel the mystery of the mausoleum,” the article says.
Climbing up to the tomb.
Isaac checks out the view.
Inside the mausoleum.
After back-tracking to the sidewalk, crossing a busy street, and cutting through the debris of a recently relocated flower market, we entered the Mehrauli Archaeological Park. Suddenly the honking and shouting faded, and we found ourselves amidst sun-dappled trees, rolling lawns and a newly planted rose garden. We exchanged curious looks with this little group.
Starting in 1997, the Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage (INTACH), with funding from the Delhi Tourism Development Corporation (DTDC), has been identifying, excavating, renovating and conserving 42 of the buildings (which represent nearly every era in Delhi’s history) in this 100-acre park. In addition, According to the INTACH website:
50 trail markers, 40 monument description boards, 150 benches and project description boards, together with 2 km of heritage trails were laid down. Both signage and pathways have been built of natural materials such as sandstone and the local quartzite stone employing traditional workmanship thereby contributing to the unique natural and historic character of the area.
Here are some highlights of our tour.
Sir Thomas Metcalfe, who was the East India Company’s resident at the Mughal Court, constructed his 19th-century country house right over the 17th-century mausoleum of Muhammad Quli Khan (an attendant to the Mughal emperor Akbar and stepson of Akbar’s wet nurse). Metcalfe’s dining room was apparently directly over Khan’s tomb, and he further embellished the area with pavilions, a dovecote and a waterway to bring visitors to the estate by boat.
The motorbikes are parked in what would have been the canal. The building was a boathouse, and we walked up the steep steps to the site of the former tomb/country estate.
Work is underway to restore the building to its original state – as a mausoleum, not as a weekend get-away.
The Rajon Ki Baoli is a three-storey stepwell built in 1516.
Many walls, gates, foundations and buildings remain unidentified and overgrown with weeds and trees. The sign marking this one just said “wall” or something like that.
Surekha walks through an archway.
Near the entrance of another tomb.
Inside the mausoleum of Shahid Kahn (son of Sultan Balban, see below), Surekha pointed out the “scrafitti” on the ceiling. I had never heard that word before!
The sun was setting as we approached the tomb of Ghiyas-ud-din Balban, who reigned from 1265-87. Surekha explained that this building is believed to be the first in India constructed with “true” arches. The Speaking Arch is an interesting article that clarifies architectural significance of that arch.
Surekha saved the best for last, but it was pitch black by the time a caretaker unlocked the gate to the Jamali-Kamali mausoleum. Inside the tiny building, we used the flashes on our cameras to light up the colorful, ornate space.
It was so dark, I couldn’t see what I was shooting. When I opened up the pictures on my computer, I decided not to crop out the heads in the interest of perspective.
The tomb of Dervish Shaikh Jamali, a Sufi saint who died in 1536, lies next to that of Kamali, who is assumed to be an associate of the saint’s family.
The mihrab is a nook that indicates the direction of Mecca.
After leaving the Jamali-Kamali tomb, we walked in darkness back to the starting point and – with some help from Surekha – rounded up some tuktuks for a short ride to dinner. We invited our wonderful tour guide to join us, but she had another busy day planned for Sunday and needed to rest.
Our group met up at Thai High restaurant and enjoyed a delicious dinner on the rooftop terrace.
Delhi is the symbol of old India and new … even the stones here whisper to our ears of the ages of long ago and the air we breathe is full of the dust and fragrances of the past, as also of the fresh and piercing winds of the present.
– Jawaharial Nehru, India’s first prime minister (1947-64)
I echo Nehru’s poetic take on this fascinating city, but unfortunately I have to admit the allure of ancient ruins, modern art galleries, teeming bazaars and cultural shows hasn’t been enough to break my weekly school-home-school-home cycle that leaves me too exhausted for weekend revelry. Then I found out about Restaurant Week and suddenly mustered the energy to venture beyond my usual route.
During Restaurant Week, 13 upscale eateries offered 3-course meals at a fixed price – 1,000 Rupees or about $20. I would have gone every night except the available dinner seatings were at 8:30 p.m. at the earliest! I’m usually in bed by then on school nights. So I booked two reservations: Friday dinner and Saturday lunch.
For Friday’s outing, I invited three other teachers – Nancy, Andi and Katrina – for a little Ladies’ Night at Chutney Restaurant, located in the Metropolitan Hotel. Rather than worry about transportation, we hired Kapoor, the taxi driver who takes Tony and me to school each day. Having no feel for the layout of this city or the time needed to get from any point A to any point B, I planned for an hour’s drive. In fact, it took 20 minutes. So we settled in at the hotel bar and enjoyed cocktails and some fun with the beaded curtain.
We finally got seated for dinner around 8:45 p.m., by which time we had nearly eaten the sofa cushions. Our waiter, Amit, graciously explained that two menus were on offer: vegetarian and non-vegetarian. Un-versed in Indian cuisine, we made him repeat and describe the courses several times and ultimately confused him in return by mixing and matching the options to create our own combo-veg-non-veg menu.
I opted for the veg appetizers, as pictured here.
Hmmm.. I wish I could tell you what I ate. All I can say is it was delish.
We all chose shorba tamatar, aka spicy tomato soup, for the second course and started pouring the wine in earnest to douse the fire in our mouths. For the third course, I went non-veg with two scrumptious curries – fish and chicken, served with rice, black-lentil dal and nan bread. Dessert featured a fried something (called tukda) and a dense Indian-style fruity ice-cream.
By the time we swallowed the last drop of wine, our cheeks ached from laughing. As much as I relish a fine meal, I know it’s much better paired with fun company. We were having such a great time that we forgot to watch the clock, so when we stumbled outside at 11:30, Kapoor was nowhere to be found. I pulled out my phone to ring him only to find the battery had died. One of my new friends called Tony to get Kapoor’s number, and our sleep-deprived driver eventually pulled up to the restaurant in an understandably cranky mood. My bad.
Still a bit full from the Friday night dinner, I climbed into a taxi Saturday with Tony and another new teaching couple – Dan and Sandra – for my second Restaurant Week outing. In the shadow of the historic Qutub Minar, the restaurant Circa 1193 served up a beautiful view and tasty Asian fusion dishes. The menu included a few choices for each course. My line-up: vegetarian miso soup, pork gyoza with a spicy tomato relish, crunchy and carmelized basa (an Indonesian fish), and yuzu and mint cheesecake (at which time I learned that yuzu is a small citrus fruit). I figured the optional cocktail pairings would help alleviate my hangover, so I also enjoyed a Garden Frost Martini (green apple and cucumber) with my dumplings, a glass of Opera Chardonnay with my fish, and a passion fruit spritzer with my dessert.
On the deck, overlooking the ruins.
The taxi driver took this shot. He was a good sport.
So, that wasn’t so hard. Breaking out of my routine actually felt good. I’m inspired to check out a little more of this city, bit by bit, dish by dish.
