Qudsiya Bagh

 In my last post about the wanderings on the ridge, I made a brief mention of Qudsiya Bagh and then promptly forgot about it. That was until this Sunday. Browsing the internet for something random, I came across a website of old Indian photos. It had a photograph of the Qudsia Bagh masjid from just after the mutiny (war of independence) of 1857. Taken in 1858 by Dr. John Murray from the Western side, it shows the collapsed or collapsing arches of a bridge on the right and the main building of the mosque, all holed and battered perhaps by the gunfire.

The Qudsiya Masjid in 1858

In some ways, the Qudsia Bagh of today stands in a very similar setting. First of all, it is, amazingly, still a bagh i.e. a garden. It still is an island of silence and serenity right next to the bus station. Unusual for such a setting, there are no amorous couples here. All we came across were the caretaker of the mosque and a couple of old ladies sitting under an old gate. The mosque is still alive, the domes in the exaggerated late Mughal style. The damage to the standing walls has been covered up with plaster but none of the collapsed walls have been rebuilt. The gate has ornate red sandstone carvings and decorations with floral patterns and vines.

Qudsia Bagh is not a place I would recommend a standalone visit to. However, if you are around the bus station with a few minutes to spare, do walk over. It is short, it is sweet and it is stunningly serene and detached. The mosque, the old gate, and one later structure (which looks like a mansion but we could make nothing further of) are the bonuses.

Qudsiya Masjid in July 2011

The gateway

Floral patterns on the arch

Fatehpuri Masjid

Fatehpuri is one of Old Delhi’s many hidden gems. In 1650, Shahjehan decided to let his wife, Fatehpuri Begum (known so because she was from Fatehpur) build a mosque at the far end of Chandni Chowk, a straight shot down Red Fort’s once great canal. Standing at the gate of Fatehpuri Masjid you could see the Red Fort clearly. Today, that view is obscured by Delhi’s ever present haze, haphazard construction, and tangles of electric wires.

Fatehpuri Masjid at sunset

The mosque, a poorer cousin of the grand Jama Masjid is still in operation and actually quite big itself. As you enter from the main gate, on your left you can see recently constructed apartments encroaching onto what used to be the madrasa on the first floor. A yellow wall here, a few red bricks there, some taking up all the space and some just teetering into the mosque. Its as if a web of the surroundings is starting to engulf the mosque, very slowly. Even if new construction takes the originality of the building away, it makes the old mosque a true part of the bustling surroundings. The courtyard has a homey feel. People stroll through the courtyard with nonchalance, as if they were walking in the courtyard of their own homes. Maybe that is what they are actually doing.

The surroundings becoming one.

I visited three times, spending quite a bit of time on each trip. The hospitality of the people in the courtyard struck me every time. Someone offered to take me around, someone else volunteered information about the mosque, and yet another person inquired if I was having a good time and liked the place. Whatever the mosque lacks in size and grandeur compared to Jama Masjid, it more than makes up for in its welcoming atmosphere and hospitality.

Walking to pray

 

Sunehri Masjid

One day last winter, I was walking from Nili Chhatri Mandir towards Chandni Chowk when from amongst the leaves of a large tree, I saw a small bronze dome right next to the road. A small detour to the right, up and down some steps and through a large iron gate, I finally landed at the Sunehri Masjid. It was built in late Mughal period by Qudsiya Begum, mistress of the infamous Muhammad Shah 'Rangila', the Nero of Delhi. They say the three domes were gilted with copper. The copper was stolen, possibly during one of the many foreign sweeps of Delhi. Eventually Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal emperor, had the remaining metal replaced with sandstone.

Today it stands a little away from the Red Fort, very close and yet very far from the road. The inside has 3 arches with reed mats laid below. In one corner are some taps for performing ablutions before the namaz. Once in a while, someone walks in to pray. The noise of traffic outside is drowned out by the sound of a broom scrubbing the floor.

Finding Hakim Biryani

One of my first few days in Delhi when I still did not have my bearings and could not tell Defence Colony from Lodhi Colony, I and a friend Vivek attended an INTACH walk. I was using these walks as tools to orient myself. We went around Nizamuddin seeing many things, amongst them Ghalib's tomb, Nizamuddin dargah, Amir Khusrow's tomb. After we finished I remembered that another friend had recently told me about an eatery that served delicious Biryani. I have a huge weakness for meat based rice dishes.

"”It's near Kashmiri Gate" the friend had said, "maybe about a kilometer from the gate.”"

“"Where near Kashmiri Gate?”" I asked.

“"Take the right after Kashmiri Gate into the small lane, its around there,”" was his answer.

So, after so much roaming, I and Vivek decided we could do with a generous helping of the biryani. Our tongues lolling out in anticipation, we reached Kashmiri Gate and turned right. After an earlier visit to Kashmiri Gate, I had emphatically declared to all those who cared to listen that none of the Shahjehanabad wall existed anymore, only the gates were left, those too in shambles. Immediately, I realized I had been very wrong. In the lane, stretching out right in front of us was a long section of the wall. It was fractured in places, there were holes too, but it was there. The arches in the base had been reinforced (presumably by ASI) to strengthen the structure which had been mined for stone by locals (what goes up must come down). There were also holes large enough to make a bedspace. Torn rugs of blankets proved that even in those cold months of winter the small dens were in use. Mughal structures still influencing modern Delhi.

Section of the Shahjehanabad Wall

Hole in the Wall

After about half a kilometre, we began asking for Hakim Biryani. The reaction could not have been stranger had we asked for the moon of Mars. We persisted but eventually changed strategy to ask for Rodgran Gali, which I had looked up as the address somewhere on someone's blog. That drew blanks too. The good - or the bad thing - was that the lane we were on did not branch anywhere, so we did not have to make any real choice. One helpful rickshaw walla offered us to take us to Karim's. It took quite a while to convince him that while both Karim's and Hakim sounded similar and both served food, they really were different. "Or are they?", I thought to myself.

The lane eventually merged into what looked like a major road. There, we hunted out an auto and asked him about Hakim Biryani (because autos tend to have a longer range). When that did not get any response, we asked again for "Rodgran Gali".

"That?!" he quipped.

"Why are you surprised?" I asked.

"That is near Lal Kuan, what are you doing here?" he asked.

I was stumped, I thought maybe there could be 2 of them. So, I asked, "I am sure the one I am looking for is here."

"I have been around for quite sometime. Trust me, there is nothing by that name here."

"How far is Lal Kuan?"

"About 5 kms."

Now I was not really sure. My friend had told me it was about 1 km from Kashmiri Gate and we had already walked 2. So, I called him. When I cross questioned him about the route and told him about the situation we were in, he sheepishly said,

"We were drunk on beer and we were in a car."

"Oh, awesome!!" I barked and disconnected the call.

No wonder he had felt it was right around the corner and only about a km away. So, we were stuck nowhere near Hakim Biryani. Brave souls that we are, we decided to walk on. Asking around for Lal Kuan (because that was somewhere everyone seemed to know), we wandered around the streets. Walking across an overbridge, we saw a sadhu covered in a dirty brown shawl with a tattered orange turban sitting senseless on the pavement. His head hung down and from metres away, you could smell pot. Although I am not usually a smoker I jealously considered that no amount of noise, chaos or shaking would wake him. He had attained his nirvana.

Jai jai Shiv Shankar!!

As we walked into yet another bylane, across the busy street towered a red building. Intrigued, we got closer. We had reached Fatehpuri and this was the St. Stephen's Church in Fatehpuri. Built in Gothic style in 1862, the church had been awarded the DDA Urban Heritage award in 1993 for excellent upkeep. And one could see why. The walls were spotless and the painted windows gleamed. The nave was locked though. We walked around to find someone and reqesuted them to open. It was more of a wish than a hope. The people however were really pleasing and helpful and one of them gave us a short tour. The furniture was clean, even the rug on the floor was clean and there were 3 different information boards explaining the history and heritage of the building. The most important thing was that all the boards agreed on nearly everything, something which rarely happens in Delhi.

St. Stephen's from across the street

Inside the award winning church

The few minutes in the church had made us forget the purpose of our quest. Walking outside, we passed along a street of nut sellers with shops extending to the street. The colourful shells and skins made for fascinating viewing. Dotting the nut stalls were shops with sweets made of pure desi ghee. It was tantalising for the tongue and torture for our growling stomachs. But we persevered. The biryani beckoned and it demanded an empty stomach. A few minutes more and we entered Lal Kuan, a narrow, crowded and sometimes smelly street. In other words, typical Old Delhi. We could see some domesticated pigeons flitting around in an orchestrated flight over the street.

Lal Kuan is named after a historical Mughal well made of red standstone. Today, the well occupies a non-descript area on the side of the street, marked by a peeling INTACH board. The mouth of the well has been closed with wooden planks and sits inside a small shed, which forms the temple walls. To see the walls of the red well, you ,must request the priest to move his planks a bit and peer down into the dark hole, which may still have water. Noone knows.

The remains of Lal Kuan

Since this was Lal Kuan, everyone knew Rodgran Gali and pointed us further down. After what seemed like aeons, our bellies on fire, we reached a small bylane. About 15 feet above us, entangled in a mesh of electric wires, stood an old sign announcing

"Mohalla Rodgran"

The sign that will strain your senses

We were ecstasic. We had arrived. Biryani was round the corner. But the first person we asked knew nothing, neither the second, nor the third. We kept walking and finally found someone to point us to the right place. It was no restaurant. It was no eatery either. Hakim Biryani fills only wholesale orders in a huge kitchen. We had found our holy grail only to realize that it was beyond our reach, as hungry as we were the 5 kg minimum seemed a bit much. No amount of begging for a taste would melt their hearts. Understandable. How could they take off a few hundred grams from someone else's order and feed it to us, even if we had walked 7 km and 3 hours to reach there. Sadly, they were good and honest people. I called my supposed friend and lambasted him. But after scarfing down lesser biryani from a stall nearby I secretly thanked him, for leading us astray. Along the way we saw many things which we would never have otherwise seen.

I left the place, promising myself that one day I would find a reason and a following of people large enough to place an order. I would finally conquer the biryani from Hakim.

Hakim Saheb Shafakhana

This will probably be my last post on this blog unless I manage to find the energy to write about many other places I have been to but never got down to writing about. On 14th February, I leave Delhi, travel around South India for 2 weeks, then may go back to the mountains for a month. Thanks to everyone who has been reading this blog and giving their feedback, it has made each entry more than worthwhile and my travels have been enriched by sharing with you.

I had a long standing desire to go to a Unani Hakeem and be told, after reading my pulse, that I was the fittest man ever to have walked the face of the earth. In the absence of any parameters to find the real gold in a pile of crap, we had no option but to try our luck. So, yesterday, 09 Feb 2011, a friend, Johnny and I decided to walk into one of the more prominently visible dawakhanas in Old Delhi. It was near Golcha Cinema in Daryaganj. We had been forewarned to expect some sort of questions about our sexuality etc. As a disconnected observation, I have seen many a medicine practice fall prey to the easy money making route of preying on the psychology of men/women who want an offspring but do not have one. So Unani having gone that way was not surprising. From a time in the 14th century Delhi, when Feroz Shah Tughlaq had erected an entire medresse next to the Hauz Khas tank for students to study this branch of medicine to today, when every street in Old Delhi can boast of a fake pulse doctor, Unani's decline has been slow but sure and steady.

So, as we located the board of the dawakhana, known as Hakim Saheb Shafakhana, the first thing that drew our attention was the text at the bottom. It was a painted metal board with the torso of a middle aged man with a round face. He had headgear with a long protrusion skywards. Intentional or not but the 'protrusion' was eerily similar to a penis. At the bottom, in large bold font, 'SEXOLOGIST'.

A man was standing next to a staircase which led up. As we climbed up the stairs, Johnny and I discussed our strategy. We would go in together and Johnny would start with talking about his throat and knee. Depending on how the conversation went, I would either talk about some genuine issues (which I did not have) or cook up something. On the second floor, after passing a small gallery looking down upon the main street, we entered a room. This was already impressive. There was a reception and a receptionist. The room was not badly furnished either. Having seen 'SEXOLOGIST', I had anticipated a dinghy, ill lit, single room 'facility'. Instead, a well groomed man, presumably a patient was seated on a sofa and the receptionist was behind a table. Another man was standing beside the receptionist. One by one, we spelled out our names. After that I added:

'We want to go in together.'

'Together!!', the standing man asked in hushed tones, almost surprised.

'Yes', I replied.

He tilted his head a little, winked at me, smiled a bit and said 'Ok.'

After waiting for sometime at the sofa, we were sent to an adjoining room. A very small room, small enough to just hold a chair, a table and 2 chairs across the table. When the door was opened, it would almost brush one of the chairs. One by one, we walked in and said Hello. On the other side of the table was seated an old, short, pudgy, triple chinned, paunched, bald man wearing a suit. He had obviously shaved his head but left a tail at the back. I pushed one of the chairs further up to walk behind it to the second one when I was suddenly interrupted:

'No, no, no. Not from the back!! From the front!' Neither of us understood what it meant. As we exchanged puzzled looks, his eye fell on the bag I was trying to place behind one of the chairs.

'What is that?' he asked

'A bag.'

'What is a bag doing here?'

'It is my bag, so I am carrying it.'

'But what is it doing here?'

'It is being placed on the floor.'

'What is in it?'

'A camera.'

'How did the camera come in here?'

Then he called one of his orderlies and said

'How did these kids get the camera in here?'

So, obidiently, we walked out one by one with our bags and cameras and placed them back in reception room. After entering the room again, the 'No, no, no, not from the back' business started again.

This time he also said, 'Men do not sit on the chairs from the back. They come from the front.' After we were seated, he gazed at both of us, asked us our names and then many other questions.

'How old are you?'

'28!? Are you married? Why not? When do you plan to?'

As I answered each question, he had huge, fat notebook open in front of him and he kept noting my response on it.

'Where are you from? You are sure you are from Himachal? Himachal is so big, how can you be from there? Where in Himachal?'

After asking similar questions of Johnny, who had some trouble asnwering some of them, he asked with a smile:

'Are you good friends?' I am not sure if the smile was naughty but I think it was.


'So, how do Shalabh and Johnny know each other?'

Before we could answer, I wanted to get to the point about our visit. Before I could get to the point, he started a monologue. I only remember some part of it, the rest, some very interesting has been forgotten

'By the grace of almighty god', he said, 'we are all here. By his grace, everything works. We eat so many kinds of food. All of it is broken down into 5-6 kinds of things. Then, everything is converted to semen. This is the reality of life. In life, it is very important. People do not want to acknowledge this. But we? We acknowledge this and we also say that if you do not satisfied with what we do to you, you go back and get money. Has any other business given you this expression, this bold expression? I tell you, noone can give this bold expression to you, no where in this city anywhere. It is difficult to get this expression.'

We nodded our heads at the 'bold expression' and he continued.

'You are young people, I can see that. You have lot of energies. You go to college and have many energies and not to know what to do with them. These are not diseases, these are weaknesses. They are only weaknesses and we can help you master these weaknesses. Only we make this bold expression. Now, there are 3 reasons for your weaknesses. Because you have many energies in college, you young boys do 3 things.

1. You do too much hand practice.
2. You do too much sex.
3. You have night ommissions.

Because of this, you lose your energies and then no energies are left. But not worry, you have come to us and we make bold expressions and take care of your weaknesses. You need 5 things

1. Patience
2. Determination
3. I forget the 3rd thing
4. I forget the 4th thing
5. Faith in almighty god'

A lot else went on. Some repetition, some unique phrases. I was wearing an innocent smile on my face, trying to keep from laughing. Johnny was in half a state of confusion and half a state of absolute mirth. Twice, I tried to interrupt and steer the conversation to Unani. Each time, I was told

'Beta, jab bade bolte hain to chhoton ko chup rehna chahiye.' ('Son, when an elder is speaking, the younger people should keep quiet.')

Eventually,we did get down to the question of what was wrong with Johnny and Shalabh.

'I have some pain in the inside of my knees and some pain in the throat.' said Johnny.

He waited with an expectant look in his eyes and kept looking at Johnny. The eyes seemed to say, 'And?'. A little later, getting no response from Johnny, the mouth said, 'What else?'

'Nothing', replied poor Johnny.

'Nothing?' he was surprised.

'Do you have girlfriend?' was the next question.

'Yes.'

'How many?'

'Only one.'

Another pause, another look.

'How much money does she spend on you?' Johnny was stumped. So was I. After waiting a little, he said,

'Quite a lot.'

'And how much do you spend on her?'

'A lot!!'

'Then everything is all right.' Another small pause and 'Is there anything else wrong with you? Any pain anywhere else? Are you sure?'

Then it was my turn.

'I trekked for over a year, walked a lot, over boulders and hard surfaces. Now my knees hurt.' was my complaint.

'You also have knee problem.'

Several questions followed.

'Do you feel pain? Do you hear sounds when you walk? Sounds from the knee? How much does it hurt?'

All responses were diligently noted down, as were Johnny's. After what seemed like an age of noting down our responses, the diagnosis was handed out.

'Mr. Johnny, you have a problem of ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat)'

'Mr. Shalabh, you have a problem of orthopaedics. Mr. Johnny, you too.'

I almost felt like falling at his feet for revealing the secret of the elixir of life to me.

'Not to worry. Sex is not everything. Many problems are there. Not only sex. I can see you have a lot of heat in your eyes and your bodies. You are young people. Do you feel weak?'

We nodded our heads in a No.

'Do you have a good appetite?' Yes.

'This is only first consultation. We charge you Rs. 100 for this. If you want to talk about your problems, you can talk them, all kinds of problems. Not even those of knee or throat. We can do special consultation for you. It will cost Rs. 11000 and we can also do treatment. It will cost Rs. 35000. You have to choose according to your budget. We have treatment from Re.1 to Rs. 500,000. You have to choose according to your budget. So what is your choice?'

'Choices between what? What are the options?' asked confused Johnny.

'You have to choose. Choose according to your budget. We will make you walk, hear sounds in your knees, tell you how to walk, tell you food, listen to your throat.'

'Oh, so you will prescribe a diet?'

'Yes, like honey.' he said in a conspiratorial tone. 'I am not supposed to say this but I told you as an example. We will tel you honey. Money is not the issue. This is by the grace of god almighty. Only you have to do everything. We only do consultation, make you walk, hear sounds. Then you have to do everything and have faith in god almighty. Money is not the issue, we have many by the grace of god almighty. Only you should be happy about it. So, what is your choice?'

'Choices between what? What are the options?'

Repeat the above for sometime. After multiple assertions that a choice could only be made when one had 2 options, he decided to make two signs of blanks in the register in front of each of our names.

'So you have no choices. Thats ok. It is ok. You can get consulatation for Rs. 11,000. Normally it costs Rs. 1,00,000 but for you this is special rate. Money is not the issue, you should be happy. When we do consultation, it will take 4-6 months. How long will you be here, Mr. Johnny?'

'6 months' said Johnny.

'Thats good. Mr. Shalabh, you should show Mr. Johnny the mountains of Himachal. You are good friends.'

Over the next 5 minutes, we made multiple attempts at getting up from our chairs but were bogged down. Eventually, we were handed cards with our names on it, the dates of our visit and an R-5 on it. We are supposed to call back when we have made our choices.

'My assistants dont speak English. Call directly and tell me your choice. By the grace of god almighty.'

Suggestions from those who reach the end of this post are welcome.

The front of the card (in English)

The back of the card (in Hindi)

Guest Post: Photos by Ram Mahajan

My first contact with Ram was through my trekking website, www.trekhimachal.com. As I moved to Delhi, I met him briefly once at New Friends Colony, shared a couple of beers and had some of Al Bake's shawarma rolls (or I had them for he is a poor vegetarian). He mentioned his interest in photography. In typical lazy fashion, I never bothered to check his facebook profile.

End of January, one Sunday evening, we got together again over three large Old Monks at Kabila Resto Bar in Hauz Khas (As an aside, I dont know what they do to it but they serve the best Old Monk I have ever had). He showed me some of his clicks on his HTC phone. I was blown over! BLOWN OVER! I asked him

'Why don't you consider photography professionally?'

'I do this for pleasure, cannot imagine doing this otherwise.' he replied.

After blabbering about why he should take this 'seriously' for a couple of minutes as he kept smiling at me, I realized such talk is too rich coming from someone who has been wandering for 19 months without taking anything seriously. So, I just shut my trap and asked him permission to post his photographs on this blog. All photos below are Ram Mahajan's work, copyright owned by him and not governed by the usual Creative Commons license on this blog. All of them were taken in and around Old Delhi, near Chandni Chowk. Look at them, admire them, drool at them but before using them, ask Ram. See more of his work at

www.flickr.com/photos/woh-pal