INDIA pt. III

DELIGHTS OF DELHI

O C T O B E R 2 5, 2 0 2 1

After several days in the enthralling metropolis that is Mumbai, Chef and I set off for India’s capital city of Delhi. At this point it is late December, and though we had the great gift of heat and sunshine in Mumbai, the northerly climes of Delhi were somewhat less kind.

We woke up the morning after our arrival in the Taj Palace Hotel to a view of the hotel pool, glimpsed in fragment through the surrounding dense greenery. A gentle, hazy fog seemed to lay over everything, obscuring only the most distant of landmarks. The change in latitude, however, meant a drop in temperature – so it would be jackets and layers for us, instead of poolside lounging and refreshing lassies.

Situated about half way between the airport and central New Delhi, the views from the hotel were nothing but rich vegetation, and yet it was essentially within the city itself, and roughly 20 minutes from the famed India Gate (imagine a smaller version of the Gateway of India in Mumbai). The Taj chain has hotels all over India, and the world, and it was very good quality for money. Though they didn’t knock my socks off with uniqueness, they were trustworthy, clean, and still embodied a sense of Indian grandeur and opulence. And I almost hate to say it, but the Taj Khazana shop in the hotel was the best quality ‘gift’ shop we found on our entire trip. One of the quirks of India is that any driver you have will try to take you to tourist trap gift shops. This is mainly because they get a commission for bringing people in, sometimes even if you don’t buy anything. And while Chef and I were often happy to oblige for the sake of our drivers, it can get tedious, as a lot of these places carry the same low quality stuff. But no joke, I would come to this hotel just for the shop, if nothing else. It was more expensive than the city tourist shops, but it was well worth it for the superior craftsmanship.

One of the side effects of having a chef for a partner is that our travel itinerary is often dictated by his gastronomical inquests. And since the man knows what he’s about, I’m more than happy to reap the rewards of following his stomach. He also somehow has an uncanny ability to find restaurants that are the real deal, and usually off the radar for your average tourist. My point being, he knows food, and if my man’s got a restaurant suggestion, my answer is always a resounding Oui, Chef!

Therefore, our mission on day one was to venture into the heart of Old Delhi in search of the notorious (but strangely not famous) Aslam’s Chicken.

The day’s excursion began with a hotel cab, that transferred us to a tuk tuk, that took us to a rickshaw, our vehicles becoming tinier and wobblier as the streets of Old Delhi grew smaller, windier and more crowded around us. Tucked into a narrow street packed with people, food vendors, shops, and more electrical wires than I’ve ever seen, at last we arrived at Aslam’s. Famed for their unique style of butter chicken, which (I believe) inspired the butter wings recipe at London’s Brigadier restaurant, Chef reluctantly informed me that they also did a butter paneer variation of their signature dish. At the time, I had been a vegetarian for about a year, but I must admit that I let Chef momentarily convince me that chicken is a vegetable (as he often tries to do) in order to sample a few bites of his much-anticipated butter chicken. And holy-wow, was it worth it. This is butter chicken like you’ve never experienced before, literally dripping in mouth watering buttery goodness. My butter paneer version was also well worth the wait, but carnivore or vegetarian, this place is not to be missed. And I have to say, it felt like we were the only tourists in there, which is never a bad sign. Side note: always only drink bottled water in India. You’ll thank me later.

Our rickshaw driver, who we met outside of the Jama Masjid mosque, offered to wait for us while we ate. And here we lucked out, as we would in most Indian cities, by happening upon not only a skilled driver, but a kind soul and knowledgeable tour guide. Abdul was from Nepal, but lives in Delhi several months of the year to work as a rickshaw driver and send money home to his family. After stuffing ourselves with hot rumali roti and butter-everything, Abdul took us to the roof of the chili pepper market in the Old Delhi spice market, and down some amazing back streets of Old Delhi that we never would have found on our own. The streets were packed with food vendors, selling everything from cutting chai and pani puri to curries and kebabs. As we jostled along, the air filled with the scent of spices and the never-ending cacophony of honking horns, random music and the everyday sounds of people going about their lives. From the back of the rickshaw, vibrant scenes pass by like vignettes in a Wes Anderson film. Until Abdul, taking us through a dizzying maze of lefts and rights, turns down a street so narrow the rickshaw can barely fit. The buildings rise jagged on either side, grubby sentinels blocking out the sky, muffling the noise of the larger streets behind.

The street is quiet and dark as the buildings close in above us, leaving barely a sliver of sky overhead. We make our way slowly down the darkened lane, a smattering of pedestrians pressing themselves into the shadowy walls as we pass. Until, on our left, a small, bright archway emerges. Chef and I disembark the rickshaw to allow Abdul to lift it over the low step and through the archway, then follow him like the Pevensie children following Lucy through the wardrobe and into Narnia. Out of the darkness of the alley, we emerged into what seemed like a small, bright universe - a step back into another India filled with color and light. The architecture in this small passage, and even the light itself, seemed like nothing short of a living time capsule. Forgotten by time, flooded with ethereal golden air, and guarded by the dark maze of buildings on the other side of the archway, the street sat quiet and still, devoid of life save a single stray dog and a man standing in the doorway of a solitary shop. I had the impression that they’d both been there for centuries. At the end of the alley was a small Jain temple. We went into the small shop, purchased a few diminutive elephants, and admired the historic street in wonder. I still have the sense that, walking back out through the archway into the darkness beyond, the small bright passageway disappeared behind us into an otherworldly mist.

In the late afternoon, thinking we had a few more days to explore Delhi, we decided to call it a day. As it turns out, what we’d optimistically hopped was fog earlier that morning turned out to be mainly smog, and by late afternoon Chef was coughing and tearing up from the omnipresent pollution. In fact, before we’d left the hotel that morning, we had been advised to wear face coverings or scarves if we had them, which we did not (ironic, since I can barely remember what it’s like not to always have a mask at the ready).

So, we returned to the hotel for a little R&R before dinner. Chef, in typical Chef fashion, had somehow managed to get us a dinner reservation on a day’s notice at the famed Bukhara, located conveniently in a nearby hotel. Considering most people book months in advance, and there is always a small mob out front hoping to squeeze into a coveted ‘no show’ table, I was thoroughly impressed. Known for its Punjabi food, Bukhara was, at one time, the best restaurant in the world. They’re well known for their buttery dal makhani (black dal), which was so good I think I blacked out and forgot the rest of the meal (although I still think nothing beats the black dal at SoHo House Mumbai - embarrassing, but true). And, as a lover of all things carb, I have to say that the New York pizza sized naan bread was a true blessing to behold.

The next day, we woke to realize that we could not see out of our hotel room window. Overnight, the air quality had gone from ‘severe’ and ‘hazardous’ to emergency levels. Thus, everyone was advised to stay inside unless absolutely necessary. And since we couldn’t see three feet out the window, this sounded like a good idea to us, even though it meant regrettably canceling our day trip to the Taj Mahal. If only we’d known the ‘stay at home’ order and suggested face coverings were a sad glimpse of what was to come in 2020…

After Delhi, we had planned to travel to Jaipur and stay in a palace-turned-hotel for New Years, and from there, go on to explore the wonders of the Golden Triangle. However, we soon learned that we had traveled to Delhi during the end of the regions burning season, when crop stubble is burned extensively, adding to the city’s already dubious air quality (trash burning is also omnipresent). And as it turned out, the issue was not just confined to Delhi, but reached as far as the regions of Uttar Pradesh & Rajasthan, including the cities of Jaipur and Agra (Taj Mahal).

And since the dangerous air quality would not be relenting any time soon, we decided to change course and head south on New Year’s Eve to warmer climates and cleaner air. While this was obviously a bit disappointing as Delhi and the region had so much more to offer, this was also a nice perk of not having all our travel plans set in stone. So, make sure you visit Delhi well outside the burning season (usually October-November), when it’s a bit warmer and a bit easier to breath.

Because Delhi, as it turns out, is just as intoxicating as Mumbai, just not always in a good way.