Shopping in Delhi

Oh the shopping! The range and beauty of the textiles and jewelry here dazzles me. The art, with painstaking hand-drawn details and filigrees, is sold from little stalls where barefoot men sit behind the pictures and urge you to buy two or three. There are bazaars and melas (like craft fairs) and Dilli Haat and markets and modern malls that make the Mall of American look measly.

First, Hauz Khas. A former teacher last spring told me that this was the Georgetown of Delhi, so in  my first week, when a friend and I visited, I was kind of shocked. Its muddy paths and tangles of power lines looked nothing like the tony DC neighborhood I frequented during my years living there. But, after two months, I see Hauz Khas for the funky mix of shops and great restaurants that she did. This is a picture from our first week, my first experience in my neighborhood shopping district, Hauz Khas:

City Walk Mall is on the west side of Delhi where all the new development is occurring with industries from around Asia and the West building soaring office towers outside of the city limits' height restrictions. Here, you can buy Parisian pastries and macaroons, household goods and get a killer Thai foot massage for 45 minutes for 17 dollars.

Friday night after school, we climbed into the Ambassador and went to Pahar Ganj. The chaos is filled with pottery, cupboard knobs, scarves for 50 cents each, silver and emerald earrings for $40 (no, didn't buy them), a store that sells bath gels, perfume and sandlewood prayer beads (among many other things, earning the name "Everything Store" from a friend who took me), and street food that filled the air with the scent of spices and fresh bread and searing vegetables. I never cease to be amazed by the fact that the dirt, the motorcycles that never run over your toes but come darn close, the touts and hawkers don't phase me. Everywhere I turn is a feast for the senses. And I have learned how to say "ney-ney." No.

I realized I have no pictures of what is the favorite market of Westerners, Khan Market. When I go there, I am all about business. Anokhi has the most beautiful block prints, colors and designs I have ever seen. (Yes, I have bought these.) And Fabindia is, well, fab. Thanks to this store, begun by a Westerner as a channel for Indian craftsmen and women to sell their goods at a fair price, I have beautiful pillows and curtains. I have learned that if I want clothes, I go to Greater Kailish Block 1, a little shopping area set around a city park south of me. For cheap western clothes or tunics, as well as the best-looking vegetables (sold illegally off of carts), I go to Sarojini Market. INA is the market that has everything, including live chickens and spices. Dilly Haat is where craftspeople from around India go to show their goods. It changes every month, giving new crafts and artisans a chance to sell to the urban market.

I went to City Walk at the end of our second week and knew that if I need a Western fix, that is where I would go, but I have not been back since. If you want something here, you can find it. You just have to know where to go. I just discovered a nearby gourmet market that has Swiss chocolate for a third of the cost I paid in Switzerland. I bought lights for Diwali at a Christmas store in the same market.

A student in my journalism class, who had lived in Cuba for a few years, said her first thought upon hearing that her father was being relocated to Delhi was "Capitalism." Very true. 

"How much for this bracelet?"

"2500 rupees."

"What is your best price?"

"You buy more, we talk." 

Humayun's Tomb, New Delhi

Woman cleans leaves from bench in gardens of Humayun's Tomb

People all around the world have heard of the Taj Mahal and it is on the top list of sites for anyone coming to India, but what many do not know is that these type of majestic tombs are enduring architectural legacies to the time when the Mughuls ruled northern India, a reign that lasted until the British seized India in the 19th Century.

One of these tombs is Humayun's Tomb in Delhi, not far from the tomb that gives my neighborhood its name, Safdarjung. Humayun was the second Mughal emperor, son of the Mughal that ended the Afghan rule of northern India, and Safdarjung was prime minister to the last Mughal. That their tombs should stand so close together is somewhat poetic.

Humayun's Tomb has just been restored (in fact they are still working on one outer building) through collaboration of the Aga Khan Trust and the Archaelogical Survey of India. There is an interesting film on the restoration here, courtesy of the Wall Street Journal blog:

http://blogs.wsj.com/indiarealtime/2013/09/18/before-the-taj-mahal-there-was-this/

Unlike his father, according to information from the Archaelogical Survey of India in its brochure on Humayun's Tomb, Humayun liked to write poetry and party more than fight. He was also an astronomer in what would be a long line of rulers who cared as much for the arts and sciences as the art of warfare. He was actually deposed by another dynasty from 1539-1555, and reinstated just a year before his death.

Humayun's tomb was constructed under the supervision of his widow and actually set the template for what would become known as the Mughal Indian architectural style: a bulbous dome set on top of an inner dome, sandstone, white marble inlay, incorporation of the lotus flower motif and the use of jali screens, which are intricate carvings into stone that are seen throughout India even in modern architecture. So, in fact, Humayun's tomb set the stage for the Taj Mahal.

Here are some more pictures:

The top picture is a picture of the inside of the main tomb, looking upward from the cenotaph that marks the emperor's tomb. The picture to the left directly above is the tomb of Humayun's barber. Note the jali screen. These screens are beautiful and characteristic of Indian architecture. They keep animals out but not mosquitoes. The photograph to the right is the inside of the dome of his barber's tomb, which is its own building set within the gardens of the emperor's tomb. The barber was honored with his own tomb because of his loyalty as the person who regularly held a blade to the throat of the emperor.

Humayun died after falling down stairs in the palace fort he took from his conqueror. He kicked out the Afghan shah with the help of a borrowed Persian army and took over the fort the shah had built. The Afghans/Pakistanis and the descendants of Humayun continue to wrestle for control of the northernmost borders of India.

Kotla Firoz Shah

Welcome to Kotla Firoz Shah, also called Firozabad, a citadel built by Firoza, a 14th century Turkish Muslim ruler and the last of three well-known rulers of the Tughlaq dynasty. Although the dynasty continued after Firoza's death from natural causes, his successors are largely unknown. The predecessors were known for their expansion of their kingdom in what is now northern India both through their genius and their cruelty. According to our guide today, Firoza was chosen because he was kind of nondescript. He wasn't good looking or ambitious so the politicos of the day decided he would be a good choice for a respite from his cousin, Muhammad, who evidently would bestow riches on a subject in the morning and cut off his head that evening depending on his whim.

Firoza understood why he had been chosen to succeed his cousin and was okay with it, according to his journals. That's what our guide from Delhi Heritage Walks told us. (I haven't read his journals. Students, note the credit to sources here. Our guide, a lovely young woman, is currently working on a PhD in history at Delhi University.) Nevertheless, Firoza found a way to more peacefully make his mark and secure his rule. He raised the salaries paid to everyone (so the rich would not complain about the poor getting more) and he built cities across his kingdom, including the citadel on which we stood, which covers acres of land and includes a mosque. He also built water channels and roads.Whatever he built carried his name so that his subjects would know whom to thank. 

Firoza's buildings are now ruins but the massive walls remain a testament to his social welfare initiatives. The stone walls are two-feet deep. According to our guide, no one knows exactly what was where, but from a pattern similar to other citadels, it has been deduced that the outer walls that face onto what is now called Old Delhi were the most public spaces and that each new series of rooms, as we moved back toward where the sacred Yumuna River once flowed, became more royal, housing family and the wife and Firoza himself. Perhaps a credit to his beneficence, he ruled for nearly 40 years from 1351 to 1388. 

An interesting footnote is that he sought to made amends for the harm caused by his predecessor and paid compensation to families and victims terrorized by the former ruler. He then asked for each to write a note of forgiveness and he buried all of the notes in Muhammad's tomb.

 This is me near the entrance to the citadel,

which would have been one of the more public spaces.

We returned here for a sweet-salty lime soda afterward.

"Sweet salties" have become my favorite drink.

Limeade with soda water and salt can replenish 

even the most dehydrated person.

 Look closely at this picture. It gives you a sense of the scope of the 

ruins, but in the upper left you will see a pillar that is noteworthy for two reasons.

The locals call it "lat baba," meaning a spirit worthy of respect. It was discovered

near this citadel by Firoza on his travels and he had it removed by workers excavating 

around it and allowing it to fall on silk cotton that was piled up. It was then hauled

by hundreds of men on carts to a barge and floated up the river to his citadel.

They then hauled it up from the river, building new levels to the citadel as they went.

Firoza could not read the script (later determined to Brahmi). The gleaming, polished sandstone 

pillar is now known to be one of many that were erected across northern Indian by the great

King Ashoka, a Mauryan who, after vanquishing the territory in the 3rd century AD,

looked at the carnage of the battlefield and renounced warfare. He became Buddhist. This

pillar carries one of his edicts, issued across the subcontinent on these pillars. This one famously 

sets out the beginning of modern Indian belief that all living things should be respected. It specifically

lists animals, including white doves, that should  not be killed. The pillars were topped

with statues of animals, but it is believed most were knocked off by Muslims opposing idolatory.

 I had heard and read of Ashoka. 

Today, I stood and looked at the edict he set out 1800 years ago while standing

high up above the city of Delhi on a citadel built by a ruler who believed the way to secure

his rule was to raise his subjects out of poverty and build for the public good.

The above picture is the times of prayer and a prayer rug propped at the

front of the mosque built by Firoza. While its roof and walls have fallen, 

it remains a very busy  and active mosque.

Here are prayer rugs stacked in one of the porticoes of the mosque.

The rising sun lights up a walk of the citadel.

(The walk started at 7:30 a.m. so that we could be done before

the heat of the Delhi sun bore its full weight on us.)

An outer wall of the citadel. The  Tughlaq architecture is marked by

the slant on the left hand side of the wall, which is an outside wall.

The foundations of the mosque and the structure surrounding Ashoka's 

pillar are stone cells. The narrow, darker ones are home to bats. Others, like this one, 

are more open to the outdoors. All are sacred spaces where people come 

to present offerings asking for the guidance and help of the djinns, spiritual 

creatures believed to inhabit these spaces. We were told that every Thursday the ruins are open
 to the public and that people bring offerings and the homeless that live on Delhi's streets
 come prepared to accept offerings of charity. We saw one cat. Cats are believed

to be companions of the djinns, much like old Salem believed that witches kept 

them as familiars. The strands of marigolds are typical here, used in weddings,

funerals and we were welcomed to India with garlands of marigolds. The white flecks to 

the left are sugared puffed rice and the little square holds a sweet dessert. A range of 

flowers are piled in the middle and candles and incense purify the air.

(And mask the smell of bat guano.)

In these first weeks in India, it has been at once overwhelming and familiar, making it difficult for me to know where to begin to share my journey with all of you. I hope you will enjoy what I write and be patient as I try to figure out how to begin to share this story. 

India noticings

This is a Hindu temple in Chhattapur, taken from my car window.

As in any new place, there are things that strike you as different. My dearest daughter and friend both gave me journals in which to write these things down. It has been hard. Life has moved too fast, but here, before more time lapses, for you, are what I have noticed.

Electrical outlets in India are designed to prevent you from plugging in any plug that is not grounded. But many plugs are not grounded. So, what do you do? Stick a pencil into the grounding hole and slip the plug in, pull out the pencil. There are pencils and chop sticks all over school to facilitate this circumvention of electrical codes. This says a lot about India. There are rules--and ways to get around the rules.

There are cows. The second week we (my neighbor and fellow teacher, J, and I) were here, our jointly hired driver took us to buy clothes and fabric at Fabindia (amazing array of colors and styles, as well as upholstery and curtain fabric). We got out of the white Ambassador and stepped gingerly around puddles mirroring the red clay they sat on. There was garbage and men were sitting around watching three American women trying to keep from getting our shoes covered in yuck. We step up the clay tile steps and down a narrow passage to come out to an open plaza with Fabindia across the way. We begin to walk forward when, from our left, a cow with a back as high as our shoulders started to pass. It was white with a layer of gray over it and large horns. We waited.

Cows are everywhere. It is not hyperbole. They saunter along and forage through garbage piles with the ragpickers. (Did you know India has the most effective plastic recycling program in the world? It is accomplished by poor people who pick through the garbage.) Sometimes they walk down the road, with no sense that they should be in the right lane if they want to go south, and block traffic. A half dozen were blocking traffic along with revelers on our way home from book club three nights ago.

Free dogs are also everywhere. I am not calling them wild because they are about the most docile dogs I have ever seen. Some lay still for minutes. You think they're dead and then they pop up. They sleep under cars, benches, and sometimes in the middle of streets. I haven't seen one hit or dead yet. They are savvy dogs. There is one on our street that the landlord has named Romeo because he roams up and down the street mating with every female. No true love. I hear them bay at night, though. Supposedly they get much more territorial at night. Need to be wary.

I have also seen boars and a couple of monkeys. The monkeys were sitting at a bus stop one morning as we drove to school. Two policemen stood a few feet down.

The shrubs and frangipani trees are beautifully and regularly manicured, even under freeways. Among them live the poor. Camps, where dirty blankets are propped up by bamboo poles, spring up every where. Wrought iron fences are frequently clothes lines with stretches of vibrant red and saffron saris stretched along them, even in the medians of roads.  Shorts, underwear and t-shirts also dot the rails.

India is a country always on alert. There is a car of policemen armed with semi-automatic rifles stationed at the main gate to school 24 hours a day. Events at school require those not credentialed as staff, students or parents to go through a metal detector. When a school van drives into the lot, it is scanned for bombs, but the children from the slum across the street run through the parking lot unabated day and night. The lot lies outside of the 10-foot wall that surrounds the school.

The Indian people I have met, from the painters who expertly painted my apartment in two days to our drivers and the local staff at school, are gentle and helpful. There are men on the street who make you feel uneasy now and then, but no one has said a cross or lewd word to me. It could be the gray hair, but everyone has been just lovely. I enjoy myself, recognizing that I am a stranger who does not know the mores or expectations and I have to be humble and gentle myself as I negotiate this new world.

Next time I will write about shopping in Delhi--wide range.