(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.
