Parathawala Galli

It was perfect weather. It was a drizzling morning after a night of heavy rain.

These days, the hungry mind of mine feeds on travelling, photography, new food and blogging. The mission for that day was to accomplish all these tasks at one go.

What else can be a better subject than the crowded streets of Old Delhi?

***

I joined my colleague at the Lal Quila a.k.a. the Red Fort. Half a day affair.

I wanted to have a cup of tea at the infamous Tea House from colonial times. While we were waiting for the cup of tea, I had the privilege to lecture my colleague about the antiquity of the tea shop and my previous visit that I couldn’t recollect much. I weaved his anticipation that the tea served there could do some magic and take us back in time. Sadly, when the tea finally arrived, it was a ‘dip tea’ in faded cups, and the tags that hung over the cups were a testimony to the fact that they came from a neighbourhood grocery. They charged the price of 10 dip pouches for one cup of tea. So much for the time travel ambitions.

Despite the anticlimax at the Tea House, I was still determined to transport my colleague back in time. I declared that we should go to Parathawala Galli. We took a rickshaw into the crowded streets of Old Delhi. The rickshaw driver squeezed the vehicle through people, dogs, cows and other rickshaws. Sure you ought to get those bumps when you travel back in time. It was a near death experience for my colleague, and I could see the relief in his face once we got down from the rickshaw.

***

Parathawala Galli is a crowded zigzag alley with many eateries. I was very particular about the Paratha shop I saw in the travel show. We had to wait for 10-15 minutes to get a table. About 40 people shared the space for 20, and one cannot be sure from whose plate they are eating. Hygiene conscious people should refrain from trying this place.

Unlike the Tea house, the Paratha shop lived up to the legends of antiquity.

They didn’t change the oil in the pan since the Independence!

The pan was dirty and burnt out and my crazy mind associated it with the supermassive black holes.

We ordered one paratha from each of the popular flavours.

Parathas are not divine or ‘out of the world’. It is not an exquisite food for Kings but a simple common man’s food. They do not require any culinary skills. Most of the flavours tasted the same, except for the dry fruits paratha and ‘rabri ka paratha’ (stuffed with fruit salad and milk cream). Though my colleague insisted that they were terrific, I couldn’t agree with him.

Eateries like the ‘Parathawala’ do not provide any exotic food or outstanding service. It is the atmosphere and the little stories we hear about these shops that make them alluring.

The trained tongue and cynical mind of mine did not allow me to travel back in time.

Nevertheless, I appreciate the wonderful experience I had there.

After all, taste fades away from memories but the experience lingers.

Chasing the Light

When there is lightning in the sky, kids back in my part of the world say that it is taking a photograph of the earth beneath.

Most people love to have their photographs clicked. I wonder if it is a psychological phenomenon where one finds himself better looking in the pictures than in reality.

We turn our backs to hill stations, monuments, statues and paintings and show all our teeth. Once a moment is frozen in a snap and if it is a happy one or maybe the people in it sometimes pretend to be, then the photo stands testimony to the perception that people in it are eternally happy, no matter what the truth is.

We have started worrying more about the megapixels in our mobile phones.

We treasure our childhood photo albums for our unborn kids to see.

A minority of us prefer to squeeze our eyeballs into the viewfinder than to make funny poses in front of the lenses. I am one of them.

***

I was in my 6th grade when my father bought the Yashica-automatic. It was my first camera.

It was a matter of pride in those days to own an automatic camera. I took it out for my first independent photo shoot at the thief’s cave. I was too naive or too lucky that there weren’t any girlfriends by then, and my boy gang of five was forced to be the “subjects”.

The thief’s cave was on the top of a little rocky hill that superimposed its grand reflection over a muddy lake. It was no regular tourist spot. The place was known only to the local shepherds and our gang. Every weekend we trekked there on our bicycles. It was a steep and risky downhill ride. We dwelt in the cave until it was dark

The photo shoot was originally supposed to focus on a group of boys trekking the rocky hills. However, I could capture some historical evidence to prove that man evolved from the monkey. The most significant breakthrough since Darwin set foot on the Galapagos! One of my friends literally swung in a tree for a pose. With no idea of light and focus, I shot the pictures randomly. A little boy I was then, who didn’t have any idea about the camera as a gadget or photography as an art.

Though the camera could automatically load for the next shot, one had to manually rewind the roll once it is used entirely. Since I didn’t have the expertise of such ingenious labour, I sought the wise counsel of my dear friend. We opened the cover in broad daylight and rewind the entire roll. My friend proudly announced, “this is how you should rewind!”. I nodded my head like a sincere scribe.

***

The guy at the photo studio literally laughed at my father when he went to collect the prints. The roll was utterly wiped out. It was a total white. I had learnt my first photography lesson.

One might wonder why I am referring to the thief’s cave in the past tense. Few months after the disastrous photo shoot, the thief’s cave was taken over by the government for a social project. They mowed the valley, ripped the cave and the hill.

***

I bought a Canon DSLR recently.

Thankfully, now there are no film rolls! But there is no thief’s cave anymore.

The sheep that grazed the valley are all gone. The shepherds are now working in leather processing factories or cotton mills.

Our bicycles are rusted.

I am chasing the light with my new DSLR.

My first shot inside Notre Dame de Paris

Stairway to heaven!

Santhome Saint Thomas Basilica is my favourite religious structure in India, of course, among the ones I had visited so far.

It is one of the few things I miss here in Delhi. One of the many things that make Chennai the most beautiful City, of course, even among the ones I have not seen so far.

Though the beauty of Chennai prejudices my judgement, as a consequence of my ever increasing itch to explore Delhi, I decided to find monuments I could frequent. One thick friend of mine, who knows Delhi inside-out, had advised me to climb the Minaret of Jama Masjid.


***


Yesterday, I set out with my best companion. Myself.

I decided to climb the Minaret. In less than thirty minutes of starting from home, I was standing right in front of it. That is the unrivalled comfort being alone. No compromise. No excuses.

You can do things at the speed of your thought.

I also have this practice of walking and roaming alone for a while, if I am in doubt, if I have to make a decision, or if I have to make some plans.

The Masjid, one of the finest examples of the Mughal Architecture, is made of red stones.

The entry to the Minaret is near the main gate.

Barefooted, I started climbing the Minaret.


It was a spiral staircase around a pillar, space big enough for two men walking sideways.


The first few steps were easy, just like any other spiral staircase.


After the tenth step, it was utterly dark.


Little light and air were coming through the ventilators.


One should make careful steps.


The ultimate objective of any faith or philosophy is to find the light - the truth - the absolute knowledge.


Treatises and dissections attempt to find 'the light'.


After all, the analogy of darkness and light is an ocean for a tadpole-like me.


Halfway, my legs were aching. I was in the middle of the tower from where climbing the next half seemed like a herculean task. I stopped in front of the biggest ventilator for a minute. Though I am not claustrophobic, I wondered what if the tower crushes and I get buried alive.  The passages on how Robinson Crusoe felt when an earthquake shook his cave flashed in my mind.


I started climbing the next half.


After a few steps, the darkness became diluted.

A faint light was coming from the top of the tower.

I cannot tell you in words how my spirit lifted. It was an experience.

I started climbing faster. I could hear voices from the top.

Fresh air was coming in.

And then there was light. Amen.

***




From the top of the tower, you get a panoramic view of Old Delhi.


I could see crowded buildings leaning on each other, narrow gullies packed with people and the colossal prayer ground of the Masjid itself. At least a hundred Eagles were circling the sky.

It was some view.

I stood awe-struck gazing at it.

I sat there for a while reflecting upon life.

***

After leaving the Masjid, I tried some fantastic Achar Biriyani at Al Jawahar.

I can most certainly say that I had seen heaven that day.

My experiements with light

Summers long gone

This lazy Sunday afternoon brings back many memories.

It was a summer holiday when I started reading a comic book on my own.
It was a summer when I learnt how to ride a bicycle and to swim.
It was a summer when I went out shooting with a Yashica camera.
Summer meant visiting relatives.
Summer meant cricket.
Summer meant friends.

Summer has returned.
Mangoes and watermelon staked in the markets announce the arrival of summer.
For this summer reading, I have a classic novel in my hand.
Dreams of voyages have returned.

But playing cricket, taking a trip into the county side on a bicycle, swimming sessions in playground size wells, fishing in Cauvery and Noyyal, trekking to the secret hideout at the Thieves Cave... they will never return.

I am far away from my friends. Too far.

Our gang had planned for one of those reunions this summer, to which I could never go.
One of them got married today while I am a few thousand miles away.
I couldn’t be there.
By the time this summer gets over, half of my gangsters would have completed their honeymoons.

I got a one-way ticket, and I am afraid there is no return.

If I live a long life, I might see another thirty odd summers.
Maybe I will make some new friends.
One day, I will be watching how my sons spend their summer vacations.

But...



My boyhood summer days are long gone.
The summers of the ’90s will never be back.

The Black Watch

It was Carbon dial watch with a black metal strap.

Perfectly rounded. Crafted to perfection. Aesthetic fineness.

It was love at first sight.

I tortured my friends by telling them how badly I want to have it yet how conflicted I am in making that decision.

It was for a day or two. Rationality crept in slowly. Along came introspection.

It was a beautiful watch. No doubt.

But. Will it suit me?

Should I spend this much on a watch?

After all, it shows just the time like any other watch.

I realised that it will be the oddest part of me.

It might even encroach upon my identity.

***

Six years back.

She was beautiful.

She was my kind of girl.

Brave and brilliant. Elegant yet humble.

She was not one of those wax beauties.

She had a strong personality.

The wheat glow on her skin. Big dark eyes.

Dense curly flowing hair. The magical concoction of her natural scent and a candy perfume.

I drowned myself in dreams of her and tortured my friends with my lovesick blabberings.

I was debating with myself every day if I should tell her how much I loved her. I was carrying the burden of unsaid love like carrying a crucifix.

I felt feverish when she was near.

Legs limped in front of her.

Her voice and laughter vibrated in the cranium.

I ravaged my mother tongue and English with my pathetic poetry.

But I never told her. I was afraid that she will never talk to me again if I told her.

I was afraid that she will refuse to see me if she learns my lovesickness.

I never told her.

***

A boy transforms into a man when he falls in love for the first time in his life. And if and when that love fails, there is a sudden growth sprout. Like a butterfly, splitting open its pupa. It is a painful process.

With manhood comes rationality.

***

We come across these situations now and again in life.

Falling in love, finding a job, buying a house... for some people it happens with a black watch too.

We realise that it may not suit us. We realise that it could be the wrong choice.

***

Sometimes, time takes us to the same door once again.

Dejavu.

Another relationship, another interview, for some people... maybe another watch.

Now we undergo an acid test.

A lot of people make a mistake in choosing something or someone that is identical or similar to something or someone they couldn’t get in the past.

We cheat ourselves.

Later on, the sceptical mind will start comparing the new object with the old passion. That is a chasm one can never cross.

Your heart will grieve.

With grief comes to pain. Along comes darkness.

***

Start afresh when life gives you a second choice.

Don’t look for the same black metal watch with a round dial.

Maybe a square or rectangle... Maybe white or blue...

One might even get something better than what was previously desired.

A better partner, better job... some people are lucky enough to get a better watch.

Better than what was previously desired.

Some are unlucky. For them, it is an eternal pain.

***

The write up had ended in the previous passage.

However, for the curious reader, I would like to announce happily,

I got a better watch.

Digital. Multi-functional. Beautiful.

Oh! You are asking about my love interests after the heartbreak?

I will leave that to your interpretation and imagination.