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Hindustan Times
02-08-2025
- General
- Hindustan Times
Delhiwale: This way to Esplanade Road
Esplanade is 'a large open level area for walking.' This is Oxford Dictionary's definition, and Old Delhi's Esplanade Road does possess such a trait. Though the wide road is so excessively crammed with street stalls that it is as cramped as a street. The dictionary further dissects the word as a 'level space separating fort from the town.' Purani Dilli's Esplanade Road is indeed close to the Red Fort. It spans out from Chandni Chowk, going all the way to Cotton Market, which stretches out to the great Jama Masjid, which overlooks the Walled City's crowded galis and kuchas. (HT Photo) This afternoon, a man is lying flat under the shade of an Esplanade Road bargad; a tattered teddy bear is tied tightly to the tree trunk. 'I am Devender. I used to work in printing press. I'm now too old to work. I beg.' Devender is among the many Esplanade Road dwellers, most are daily-wage labourers and street-stall entrepreneurs. The next bargad tree, for instance, functions as citizen Munesh's cycle rickshaw repair stall. This humble cycle rickshaw happens to be the soul of Esplanade Road, which is full of cycle rickshaw shops. So much so that folks here refer to the place as Cycle Market. Hari Chand Juneja & Co. is particularly picturesque with its installation of cycle wheels. The store assistant is currently idle, but rickshaw pullers from across Delhi visit Esplanade Road to get their cycle rickshaw. The street is otherwise speckled with weary buildings bearing old-fashioned doorways, staircases and balconies. These are punctuated with exceptionally beautiful temples. The wall of Hanuman Mandir is painted with illustrations of elephants, langurs, and tigers. The wall beside Jagannath Mandir is less artistic, painted with an astrologer's WhatsApp number. The temple's doorway however is striking in blue, red, and yellow. More colour is lent to the scene from the colourful bedsheets drying on the balcony above. It is impossible not to click a photo (see other photo!). A section of the street is in fact dedicated to photography—but as it existed before the mobile phone camera. A dense bunch of camera repair stalls and photo printing studios lie packed along a row. Among them is Ashoka Studio, a veteran in the 'converting of negatives & slides into media format.' And yet, despite the many cycle and camera shops, the street is extraordinarily multifaceted with businesses of other kinds. Chedilal has his eye glasses stall. Mithun has his jalebi cart. Raja has his chai stall. It is Deepak who has the street's most unique stall. He sells old currency notes and coins, collected from all over the world. Meanwhile, the aforementioned Devender hasn't moved an inch from under the bargad. His eyes are wide open, scanning the sky above.
Hindustan Times
22-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Delhiwale: The kanji walla
Wrapped in a wet red cloth, the earthen lota is perched atop the cycle's back-carrier. He himself is sitting beside the cycle, on the pave, hands clasped patiently. A figure in throughout white, the venerable Shiv Shankar hawks a drink that is rarely sighted in Delhi streets. It is kanji. Explaining that he makes the drink from fermented rye, the street hawker clarifies that his drink is sans the gaajar—which is curious, since carrot is considered to be an essential ingredient for kanji. His steen voice moderated by a gentler demeanour, Shiv Shankar gradually lets go of his starchy guardedness as he continues talking. Unlike most hawkers, he didn't come to the city from some far-flung place to make a living. He was born in Delhi, spending his childhood beside the Yamuna. His parental house, he says, used to be on the banks of the river. Now he lives with his wife, sons and daughters-in-law close to the Red Fort. And it is in that address that he daily prepares his kanji. Every morning, Shiv Shankar settles down beside his old-fashioned stone silbatta to grind a dizzying smorgasbord of spices for his merchandise. He lists the spices, as if he were crooning a folk song: zeera, heeng, kali mirch, safed mirch, peeli mirch, amchoor, harr ('for stomach problems'), chhoti badi peepal, desi namak, kala namak, and lahori namak. The spice mix is thoroughly mixed into a solution consisting of rye that has been left in water for two-three days to ferment. Next, Shiv Shankar fries pakodis rustled out of moong dal and urad dal batter, which he adds into the drink. Kanji is ready to be day's first half is already gone. Shiv Shankar spends the long afternoons cycling around the Walled City. 'I daily make a stop at the Cycle Market, at the Ghari Market, at the…' He pauses. Looking sombre, he says: 'I have to confess that while my sons tend to be busy in their own jobs, my daughters-in-law help me make the kanji.' He talks of one of his sons who suffered an injury at his work, and has been obliged to remain at home, unable to earn. 'We all look after him,' he says, unclasping his hands in a gesture of spontaneous courteousness. Shiv Shankar now poses for a portrait, after which he prepares a serving of kanji, squeezing half of a lemon. He also drops a rough lump of ice into the plastic glass. The drink is tangy and tasty.
