Work comes to the rescue once again. Just when i had started to settle down, began spending more and more time under the comfort of the razai, comes the trip to Burhanpur. I am sure, most of you, just like me,  have not heard about the existence of such a town. Its only claim to fame, Parvati, my colleague tells me is that  Isabgul is made here.

Geographically, Burhanpur is located on the banks of the Tapti, 180 kms south of Indore in Madhya Pradesh. Its location is such that it is surrounded by Maharashtra on three sides. Its a very sparsely populated part of the country. The landscape is arid with either sal forests of low shrubs. Every now and then there are chains of low hills which at some points create quite a few breathtaking montages.

22 kms northeast of Burhanpur, in the middle of dense forests, one particular hill rises more than 2,300 feet from bare ground. This hill protects within itself  a number of perennial pools and the summit commands, on a clear day, a stunning horizon looking over hundreds of kilometers of the Nimar plains. The Farooqui rulers who reigned over the region before the Mughals, fortified the hill at three levels. The lowest level of fortifications was called the Malaigarh. Further up was Kamargarh, the second level of fortifications. Crowning it all was the unassailable Asirgarh.

Asirgarh rises over the surrounding landscape

Legend has it that this fort can never be conquered by force. When we went to the fort, we witnessed for ourselves the meaning of the word “impregnable”. Each level of fortification was a fort in itself. The walls run all around the hill and are riddled with sentry points at every nook and cranny. Not even a fly could have passed unnoticed. Then on top of it, to get to the king who would have been stationed at Asirgarh, you had to conquer not one but three forts.

Road to the top

Even the greatest of the Mughals – Akbar, had to face his match here. After six months of incessant warfare, he realised that he could not win the fort by direct millitary attack. The fort’s canons, stationed high on the hill were out of range for the Mughal guns but rained fire and brimstone  on Akbar’s army. So he tried a different tactic. He retreated with his army just out of range of the Farooqui canons, surrounded the hill with his 5,00,000 men and laid a siege. within a year supplies of the garrisoned troops in the fort ran out and a mass surrender followed. As it transpired, the royal family along with a handful loyal and brave warriors had managed to escape through an unknown route and were never seen or heard from again.

Natural defences - the hill-face carved into a bastion!

Today, the fort can be accessed by a variety of routes. For those climbing with vehicles, it is advisable to use the old British road (yes, the British occupied it too).  We had decided to take the car up as far as possible and then climb down later using the original paved pathway hacked on the surface of the hill by the Farooquis. You can gauge the height of the fort by the fact that the road from the base of the hill to the makeshift parking at the neck of the hill measures a full 7 kms.

Gateway to Kamargarh

The car stops at Kamargarh from where you proceed on foot to Asirgarh, which housed the citadel, the best of the soldiers, stables, a jami masjid and a temple.

Looking up at the Asirgarh walls from Kamargarh

The stairs that take you from Kamargarh to Asirgarh

Gateway to Asirgarh

Looking down at the Kamargarh gate from Asirgarh

... in Asirgarh

One of the main attractions in the fort is the Jami Masjid. Perched on one edge of the cliff, the twin lofty minars can be spotted for miles around. While we were approaching Burhanpur in the train the minars could be seen from the window of the train. It is a mammoth structure built with black granite – a mark of Farooqui architecture. It looms large over you as you approach it. Of all the buildings in the fort, only the masjid and the temple have survived almost intact. Providential?

Through the hole in the wall

Approaching the Jami Masjid

Built on a platform that is almost 8-10 m tall, the mosque built of huge blocks of granite gives off an air of solidness. So hard are its rocks that even time seems to have collided against it and stopped. Most of the mihrabs, both on the qibla as well as the north and south walls were once faced with intricate jaalis. Very few have survived.

View from the south

You follow the road adjacent to the southern side of the structure and it winds left to lead you to the east-facing gateway to the mosque. You enter through three tall arches. You cannot help but feel dwarfed by the scale of the structure around you. The grand, lofty arches, the soaring pillars and the eerie silence – all add to the intrigue that is Asirgarh.

Entrance to the mosque!

Entrance - closeup

The minars rose against the backdrop of clear blue sky, dramatised even further by thin, wispy clouds. It could not have been any better!

Minar (left)

Minar (right)

The sanctuary of the mosque is composed of four isles of pillars topped by arched capitals – a hallmark of Farooiqui architecture.

If you ever go there, please remember that you can climb up the minars through the spiralling staircase in them. Avoid using the left minar as it is structurally weak. As we climbed up the right minar, we first stopped on the roof of the masjid. From the edge of the roof, it was a clear drop of 2,300+ feet. From a distance, as you can see in the following pics, it looks as if it were a platform suspended in mid-air.

Just like i said, a platform suspended in mid-air

I dare not go any further

The view from the top of the minar..well.. takes your breath away. You are so high up that your stomach begins to churn. You can see the fort down below and notice how it is a vantage point to keep an eye on the vast rolling plains all around you.

View from the top of the minar

Look where the minar casts its shadow!

The stairwell in the minar

The road we used on our way up!

Where eagles dare, i guess!

Also in the fort is a temple, built beside a baoli. By the looks of it, it seems that the temple was buile in the later half of the sixteenth century, roughly corresponding to the years of Akbar’s occupation. Local guides, however, will insist that the temple is over 5000 years old and was built by Ahwatthama of the Mahabharata. They will further claim that on many a moonless night the spectre of Ashwatthama can be seen walking odown the steps of the baoli to the temple. However incredulous it might sound, one must not take the words of the guides lightly, because had it not been for these fantastic stories they weave, my job..nay, history itself would have been rather drab.

The inside of the temple was dark, except for a thin light like sensation that helped us to make out the mouldings and the corners inside the shrine. A couple of long exposures revealed that the interiors of the temple were once painted.

A shot in the dark - notice how you can see the remains of the paintings that once adorned these walls

A shot in the dark - a niche in the temple

From the temple we carried on with the walk along the ramparts. We were following the high outer walls of the fort and that ensured that we covered the entire complex in one huge circuitous route.

Mountainside hacked and chiselled to act as walls!

What a brilliant day it was!

The primary reason why the fort came up on this hill was the presence of a number of natural and perennial sources of water – a key requirement in maintaining a garrison. The two talaos directly in front of the British barracks are known as Mama-Bhanja. Again, our guide, Sat Narayan ji came to the rescue and added an anecdote to these otherwise green water bodies. According to him, if any real life mama and bhanja go in for a dip in the waters of either of these talaos, they will never emerge alive. Sinister, very sinister!

Mama Talao

Half a kilometre further from the twin talaos is a little cemetery for the British officers and their family members who died in the fort. We were surprised to find the earliest grave dating back to 1810.

Gilbert Grierson Maitland lies here...

...and the tombstone reads...

From the cemetery, we went back to the gate which let us into the fort. As decided earlier, the car had gone down and would be waiting for us at the tea stall in the3 village down below. We would be walking down using the path that the Farooquis had built more than half a millennium earlier.

On the way out

As we climbed down the pathway, which was largely a long staircase, we were thankful that we had taken the car on our way up. The steps were huge and even while descending, we were frequently feeling breathless (doesn’t say a lot about our fitness levels, either). With every turn in the road, the fort above our heads kept receding to the skies. The real sense of enormity and vertical distance was becoming more and more apparent.

Slowly rising into the bright blue sky!

further...

and further...

and then some more...

Malaigarh, Kamargarh and Asirgarh - all in one frame!

Asirgarh was definitely the high-point of our Burhanpur trip. But my dear travellers, it is definitely not all that you see in Burhanpur. The city and its immediate environs are literally dotted with historical monuments small and big, taken care of and neglected. Watch out for a sample of the Burhani flavour in this space. Till then…

A house in Asirgarh village

Our visits to tourist attractions like Jama Masjid or the Red Fort often reminded us that Westerners weren’t the only tourists in Delhi. There’s a middle-class India thriving far beyond Saket Citywalk Mall, and many of them are just as interested in their nation’s heritage sights as we are. Coming to Delhi from second- and third-tier cities around the region, these tourists have the same goal as we do: to take pictures of things they can’t see at home. But while our list includes sidewalk tailors, roadside shrines, and alley pigs, their list includes Western tourists.

Jenny and I are proud to possess the first white skin many Indians have ever seen in person. It was not unusual for a baby to suddenly be placed in our lap as we rested in a shaded area of a tourist sight, the mother posing her child for the picture without uttering a word to us. Nor was it unusual for mustachioed, middle-aged men to come up and start conversations that always culminated in photo requests. (“From which place?” they’d ask with a genuine interest never shown by jaded Saket Citywalkers. “You like India? Yes? Take picture?”)

Most entertaining of all were the gangs of college-age girls who’d crowd around us, giggling and stroking Jenny’s hair, giving us their email addresses and offering invitations to visit their hometowns.

Teenage boys rarely approached us directly, on the other hand, choosing instead to pretend to deeply scrutinize an SMS as pretext for holding their cameraphones at picture-snapping angles as they walked by. Except at Jama Masjid, where the teenage boys all loitered at the top of the mosque’s forty-meter minaret, waiting for their lookout to spot a female tourist entering the claustrophobic stairs that are barely wide enough for two people to pass. Then they’d file casually down the narrow stairwell as their victim went up, their hands just coincidentally held in perfect breast-brushing position.

At first we were quite offended by the photo requests, wondering how people could be so rude as to treat us like alley pigs or sidewalk tailors. Jenny made sport of teasing the men who approached her, agreeing to “take a picture” and then pulling out her own camera and snapping a shot after shot until the baffled men left her alone.

But as time went on, and our own photo album swelled with pictures of vegetable vendors, wandering sadhus, and streetside omelet makers, we realized our hypocrisy: if we found the people around us to be fascinating, beautiful, and photo-worthy—subjecting them to sudden evaluations of angle and light, followed by the sudden blink of our black lens and then our sudden disappearance without so much as a thank-you—it was morally dishonest not to accept ourselves as objects of equal interest.

We vowed to happily accept photo requests from that moment onward, putting broad grins on our faces while anybody who pleased put their arms around our shoulders and stared expressionlessly into their cameras. We made ourselves equally open to the cameraless people who just wanted to shake our hands, although they always seemed far more interested in shaking Jenny’s hands then my own.

Our experience came full circle when we realized how much more we liked it when people asked permission to take our photo than when they attempted paparazzi-style photos from afar. We decided to give our photographic subjects the same consideration: instead of suddenly stopping, snapping, and speeding off, we got in the habit of requesting permission for pictures, and then thanking people profusely and showing them the output on the screen. Not only did our interactions with people become more satisfying, but our photos got better as well.

As the annual Muslim pilgrimage of Hajj kicks off in Saudi Arabia, many of the world’s 1.5 billion Muslims around the world are celebrating Eid al-Adha under hardship.

The effects of previous wars coupled with the devastation from natural disasters in their country has stopped them short in their rejoice of the annual holiday.

The weather was sunny and hot Friday morning over the desert valley on Mina, a contrast to the unusually heavy rains that soaked the faithful on the pilgrimage’s opening day Wednesday. The downpours caused heavy flooding in the nearby Red Sea coastal city of Jiddah, killing 83 people.

The stoning rituals at Mina have long been the most hazardous of the hajj. The pilgrims — more than 3 million this year — file past three stone walls representing Satan and stop to pelt them with stones in a symbolic rejection of temptation. In the heavy traffic, crushes and pileups have killed hundreds, most recently in 2006.

Wikipedia reports…

Eid al-Adha (Arabic: عيد الأضحى‎ ‘Īdu l-’Aḍḥā) “Festival of Sacrifice” or “Greater Eid” is a holiday celebrated by Muslims worldwide to commemorate the willingness of Ibrahim to sacrifice his son as an act of obedience to God. It is also celebrated by the Druze.

Eid al-Adha is the latter of two Eid festivals celebrated by Muslims, whose basis comes from the Quran.^[1] Like Eid al-Fitr, Eid al-Adha begins with a short prayer followed by a sermon (khuṭba).

Eid al-Adha annually falls on the 10th day of the month of Dhul Hijja (ذو الحجة) of the lunar Islamic calendar. The festivities last for three days or more depending on the country. Eid al-Adha occurs the day after the pilgrims conducting Hajj, the annual pilgrimage to Mecca in Saudi Arabia by Muslims worldwide, descend from Mount Arafat. It happens to be approximately 70 days after the end of the month of Ramadan.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eid_al-Adha

“A good Muslim should bring happiness to the hearts of fellow human beings” he said.

After the early morning prayers, the faithful flocked to makeshift animal markets, while others, dressed in their finest clothes, headed to cemeteries to visit the graves of dead friends and relatives.

Source…

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5jzONYVoEPpfYIKnFrS3bg-WGHf3QD9C7UM8O0

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/09/20/eid-alfitr-2009-feasts-ce_n_292769.html

This was already my 3rd night in India. Somehow, I couldn’t sleep sound. I checked my watch, it was just 5:00 am. The southern wind carried the melody of Indian folk song. Under the silent city, it was crisp clear, yet soft and enchanting. Not long later, morning prayer from the mosque sounded, breaking the dawn. A new day has just begun.

I opened my room’s door, it was chilling. It’s now early winter in Northern India. My room was located just south of Taj Mahal. And I was able to see the big white marble dome from here. I wanted to see how this City of Love emerged from the darkness.  I expect something magical! But only to be disappointed by an overwhelming sense of emptiness and loneliness.

I grabed my gears, got my way to the local bus station to catch the 7:00 am bus to Fatehpur Sikri, the Mughal Empire’s shortlived capital during the reign the Akbar.

(Buland Darwaza – Gate of Magnificence)

(Jama Masjid)

(Ruins at Fatehpur Sikri)

(Diwan-i-Khas, Hall of Private Audience)

(Central pillar of Diwan-i-Khas, Hall of Private Audience)

(Birbal’s House)

The Jama Masjid (Friday Mosque) is the largest mosque in India. It was commissioned by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan (the same emperor who built the Taj Mahal) and was completed in 1656 AD.

Not far away from Red Fort, lies the famous Jama Masjid, the largest Mosque in India and the final architectural extravagance of Shah Jahan. To reach there, I need to navigate through Chandni Chowk, a busy street full of vendors. And I got all the attentions everywhere I go. “Japanese? Korean?” this was how they greet me. 

Guess what! I found a McDonalds here and ended up having a fish fillet burger as my first meal in India. I was just extrememly cautious after having a bad experience earlier on (touts at train station). And in fact, I can’t really find a place for a decent meal around here. So, don’t blame me for not being adventurous.

Polka dots “pyjamas” for all the female tourists. They looked so adorable!

Here, everywhere you go, you need a ride by cycle-rickshaw or auto-rickshaw. Auto-rickshaw is definitely faster. Faster means you doesn’t need to stay longer on the road. You don’t want to be on the road any second longer in Delhi I bet. Because the longer you are, the more you inhale the air, a cocktail of dust, sands, fumes from rubbish burning and car exhaust. I took a cycle-rickshaw ride………and caught in traffic jam…….

The smiling face was fake! Once I reached the guesthouse, the first thing I did was to clear my nostrils. They were jammed. And in fact, it was my daily exercise in India.

When visiting Delhi, be sure and take a walkabout in old Delhi near Jama Masjid, the huge historical mosque that is the cornerstone of this district.  The small alleys and streets are teeming with people, animals and every means of transportation one can imagine.  It exudes atmosphere and is chockful of opportunities to practice your documentary photography.  Remember, it is difficult to perfectly compose every shot as life in this neighborhood is dynamic, so focus on capturing life on the streets, imperfections and all.

Although you may feel uncomfortable on some of these streets due to the lack of tourists, the streets are safe and the people open to having their photographs taken.  If you feel some discomfort, move on.  There’s always someone else to shoot.  Also remember, approaching people with a smile and openness goes a long way.

Photos taken with a Nikon D700 and Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8 zoom lens.

Congested streets

A frown here but really friendly later.

Hidden by merchandise.

Old Delhi restaurant.

Fatalism: free will does not exist, history has progressed in the only manner possible.

Whether it is fate or just the consequence of my own travel plans I do not know, I have always loved India, the idea of India, for as long as I can remember and now it is day one in this bewildering country. We landed at 4am this morning and got through the swine flu screening and immigration, cashed some travellers cheques and by the time we stepped out of the airport terminal it was already light. I have always wanted to be driven in a Hindustan Ambassador so one of my wishes was already granted as we stepped into our first Indian taxi. As everything in life it was nothing like I had imagined, the immaculate dashboard of my mind had been replaced by tangled wires of every color, the chairs were ripped to shreds and the seat belts non-existant. Driving on the quiet roads into Delhi I had the feeling that we have sneaked into India while the country slept, the sidewalks deserted except for groups of construction workers working on the new line of the metro system, some women in saris sweeping the street with what seemed like brooms made of twigs and i’m sure I spotted someone walking with no shoes. We got to Pahar Ganj with no idea of a place to stay and stopped the first westerner we saw, a blonde American girl with a slightly harrassed expression on her face. We asked her where we could stay and she told us to follow her, while she was telling us about the place she teaches in Jaipur and her plans to go to Bangkok for a few days (to be able to re-enter India on a tourist visa) I spotted a dead puppy with a mangled leg just lying there in the middle of Main Bazaar. Nearby a group of men were huddled around a small bonfire drinking tea and noticing my expression were talking amongst themselves in Hindi about who would clean up the pup. Our hotel is in a back alley, we asked to see three rooms and still I wasn’t happy but eventually K. chose the room beside the darkened room of the voice, the voice which every now and then screams obsentities.

Once we threw our backpacks onto the bed we knew we wouldn’t be able to sleep, we had travelled all night and were hungry. I didn’t want to try any food that I wasn’t familiar with so we took our first auto-rickshaw to Connaught Place and promptly began asking people for a western supermarket where we could buy supplies. This seemed to cause confusion amongst the Delhiites and no one could give us a proper answer. We found a small shop where we bought Mountain Dew( a drink which is a bit like 7up) and a packet of chips. I was so hungry at this point we just sat on the steps of a closed store, beside some people who may have been begging, and had our carb breakfast.

After our measly breakfast we felt confident enough to head towards Old Delhi and Chandhi Chowk with the knowledge that we would surely find something proper to eat there. We got to Chandhi Chowk and when leaving the metro station we found a temple and this was the moment that India hit us. People were sitting on the street, some with no legs, others no arms, we saw women with naked babies all pleading to us for money, a group of small children were pulling our clothes asking for money. I just thought, “oh God, is this it?” but we decided to visit the temple anyway. As we got nearer the beggars were laughing and signalling at us not to go in and in that moment I had the realisation that maybe we were in some Indian version of a soup kitchen for homeless people. We left and found ourselves in Chandhi Chowk, holding onto each other and trying to cross the road, it must have been mid afternoon and we became aware of the heat and the crowd. We visited the Red Fort, while we were resting in the shade of a tree I began to notice the beauty in India, groups of women in vibrant sari’s against the backdrop of Mughal architecture, the little kids selling postcards, other groups of people staring at us, us as alien to them and they were to us.

We spent a good part of this afternoon trying to get bottled water, maybe this was a lesson that India had to teach us. We couldn’t find it anywhere in the small alleyways of Old Delhi and were becoming desperate, the shops were either selling car parts or lights that you would put on Christmas trees. Eventually we found a shop selling water and that was probably the best part of the day, to find water and to be aware of it’s importance. The rest of the day was spent wandering around Old Delhi, the Jama Masjid mosque and we took a heartbreaking ride on a cycle-rickshaw, again we were confronted with the reality of life on the flyover at Gupta Road. Small groups of men with their carts, overloaded with boxes, furniture, trying their best to get across that flyover. I had refused to remain seated in our cycle rickshaw and with K. we helped the driver push the rickshaw across Gupta Road. Every now and then I spotted other people on the back of their cycle rickshaws, seated and thought how heartless of them just to sit there while their poor drivers tried their best to get over the bridge.

Around nine we decided to head back to the hotel, some shops were already closing, the Main Bazaar wasn’t as manic as it had been in the afternoon. While we were walking we noticed a dead man lying in the middle of Main Bazaar. His death was as easy to read as a book, he had been walking with a small plastic bag, and had at first almost fallen on his knees but at the last moment fell to the side. The plastic bag was still clutched in his hand, his shoes exactly on the spot where he had took his last step, a stray dog was barking into the poor man’s face. At first I tried to understand the situation, it was only when I noticed the pool of urine that I realised what had happened. A few meters away a group of police men were standing, talking and now and then laughing nervously and a little further along a group of children were playing as if nothing had happened. A shop keeper came and tried to convince us to visit his store as if nothing was happening and we pointed to the man and the shopkeeper told us the man was dead and in the same breath asked if we wanted to visit his store. We started walking towards our hotel and I started crying as the ambulance passed us, I thought of the puppy in the morning, and now the dead man. Is this a sign that, in India, when you think something is bad then it can get a whole lot worse?

After seeing the dead man we have decided to remain in our hotel, I’m really upset, I can’t get the image of the man’s death out of my mind and at the same time have so many questions, had he come to Delhi to follow his dreams only to die so suddenly in such a cold place?, was he a refugee stranded here post-Partition?, had the stress of Delhi killed him? Realising all of this, I’m thinking now that maybe I should never have come here, maybe I’m not strong enough to cope with the reality, maybe this is a place only for people who like to live on the edge.

When you travel around and visit different religious sites, it is very good to be prepared – to know what is considered acceptable attire. Most people don’t want to unwittingly insult their hosts – count me among those people. I am careful and try to pay attention to the rules. I take a scarf to cover my head and wear longer pants or skirts. I keep my shoulders covered and try to leave all leather materials at home. I know to take my shoes off before I enter and to walk away from idols backwards. I know not to point my feet out in front of me when sitting on the ground.

I have been around the temple block so to say.

H.o.w.e.v.e.r., when you are in Old Delhi and you visit the Jama Masjid Mosque, short sleeves are also a no no. Ooops.

But, have no fear, the keepers of the mosque are gracious hosts and they will offer you a robe to wear insist that you wear a robe so as not to embarrass yourself.

I will leave it to you to decide whether you will wear short sleeves in the Jama Masjid. (And men, you can laugh it up all you want. But if you wear shorts, they will give you a wrap – read skirt – to cover up those too sexy legs of yours.)

Jama Masjid;

Jama Masjid, porche;

Delhi, into the streets;

Qutb Minar;

Qutb Minar, arcades;

Qutb Minar, colonnes;

Le Fort Rouge;

Fort Rouge, détail;

Tombeau d’Humayun, bâtiment;

India Gate.

Notre traversée Indienne commence avec la capitale de l’Inde, Delhi, une ville bruyante et fourmillante mais non dénuée d’un certain charme. Entre ses monuments, ses bazars aux ruelles tortueuses et son métro immaculé, Delhi vaut le coup d’œil.
La ville, dans la journée, est calme, comparé à l’agitation qui y règne le soir. Il peut être délicat de se retrouver dans les rues lorsque la nuit tombe, car les rickshaws, les voitures, les pousse-pousse vont dans tous les sens, les klaxons s’envolent, il est quasiment impossible de traverser une rue… Il faut se lancer dans le flot en évitant de justesse les véhicules, ce qui, vu l’étroitesse des rues, n’est pas toujours évident. Et il en va des hommes comme des véhicules : ils sont partout, il faut veiller à les éviter, et il est impossible de ne pas butter dans l’un d’entre eux.
Delhi est une ville étendue et il faudrait plusieurs jours pour en faire le tour. Le voyageur qui préfère ne pas trop s’y attarder peut tout de même en voir le principal assez rapidement. Delhi possède un métro qui fonctionne avec des jetons. A l’entrée il y a des contrôles de bagages, comme dans les aéroports. Les wagons sont très propres et rappellent un peu ceux de Tokyo.
Du côté des marchés, le visiteur a le choix. Connaugh Place est l’étoile luxueuse où se côtoient les magasins des grandes marques. Sous les arcades de ses rues se retrouvent les vendeurs ambulants, étalant leurs quelques marchandises sur le sol. Entre faste et bimbeloterie…
Main Bazar est un endroit agréable où il fait bon flâner, si le voyageur fait abstraction de la saleté. Les magasins sont nombreux, vendent de tout, et il faut reconnaître que certains prix sont assez attractifs.
Chandni Chowk, marché populaire que l’on peut voir dans certains Bollywood, est plutôt décevant. Il n’a pas ce côté traditionnel et un peu suranné que l’on trouve à Main Bazar. Il s’agit plus d’un marché moderne, hétéroclite, mais peu attrayant, pourtant situé dans la vieille ville.
Du côté des monuments, les principaux à découvrir à Delhi sont Jama Masjid, le Fort Rouge, Qutb Minar et la Tombe d’Humayun.
Jama Masjid est la plus grande mosquée de l’Inde. C’est un lieu calme où se recueillent croyants et touristes.
Le Fort Rouge est, comme son nom l’indique, taillé dans une pierre rouge très esthétique. Les sculptures florales sont vraiment magnifiques. Le site est immense, émaillé de nombreux petits bâtiments, blancs ou rouges. Le meilleur moment pour le visiter est la fin de journée, lorsque la lumière vient caresser les pierres. Il faut compter quelques heures pour en faire un tour complet. Les nombreux bâtiments sont entrecoupés de touffes de verdure où il fait bon se reposer.
Après cette petite promenade dans Old Delhi, New Delhi s’offre au visiteur.
Qutb Minar, le minaret de la victoire, se trouve un peu excentré. Il faut prendre un rickshaw pour s’y rendre. Le site est vaste, le minaret impressionnant, les avions passent au-dessus pour rejoindre l’aéroport, liant le passé au présent. Les sculptures ornant les colonnes sont superbes. La pierre ici aussi possède ces nuances ocrées et orangées, qui s’amplifient sous les rayons du soleil. Une fois à l’intérieur, le visiteur a l’impression d’avoir quitté la ville. Les quelques arbres et pelouses apportent une fraîcheur agréable et les perruches qui volent d’arcade en arcade ajoute une touche forestière… C’est un endroit reposant qu’il est bon de visiter le matin, lorsque la lumière est dorée et souligne les couleurs tout en jouant avec les décors. Les fenêtres ajourées, dans certains bâtiments, sont également magnifiques sous cette lumière matinale.
La Tombe d’Humayun est intéressante. Quelques bâtiments sur les côtés, de l’herbe, des arbres, une impression de grand jardin ou de campagne. Les écureuils courent un peu partout entre les bâtiments et sur les pelouses. Le tombeau en lui-même est assez grand, rouge et blanc, avec une énorme coupole blanche. Le porche y menant est aménagé pour créer un bel effet de surprise.
Autour se trouve le quartier médiéval de Nizam-ud-din. Les ruelles sont étroites et l’endroit est quelque peu oppressant. Il n’y a rien d’exceptionnel à y voir. Les restes médiévaux sont un peu à l’abandon et insérés dans le maillage des nouveaux bâtiments, si bien qu’il est parfois difficile de les en distinguer. Une visite de la Tombe suffit entièrement, inutile de se perdre dans ces petites rues.
Pour finir, un petit passage par l’India Gate, lieu de rencontre et de rendez-vous d’une bonne partie des Bollywood…

Hungry in the capital city? Thankfully, there is opportunity in such adversity.

And to seize on that opportunity, all you need to do is head to Old Delhi. Besides being home to a World Heritage site and a centuries-old marketplace, this area is often visited to check out the Red Fort and the Chandni Chowk. But if these attractions still give you time to address your hunger pangs, there are three distinct options that have to be checked out. These are no less attractions in their own right. And absolutely finger lickin’ good ones, at that!

First up is the historic Paranthe Wali Gali. This is one walk no food-respecting gourmet would want to miss out on. Off Chandni Chowk, this nondescript bylane is a veritable treasure trove of paranthas of every conceivable type. Said to have been visited by legendary names like Jawaharlal Nehru to the modern day celebrities, the no fuss eatery joints here offer over 50 different types of paranthas – and it’s an all vegetarian affair. The humble paranthas that are found widely elsewhere take on a multitude of interesting avatars – potatoes, cauliflower, radish, paneer, dal, pudina and many more…hotter, tastier and ever so popular.

The second stop has to be the most historic. Ever wondered what the Mughal emperors had for lunch and dinner? Now, how about tasting that very same fare? Yes, one of the most popular spots in the walled city has to be Karim’s. Just behind the imposing Jama Masjid is this age-old favourite of Dilliwalas. Started by a descendant of the chef to the Mughal emperor, Karim’s is truly a non-vegetarian’s paradise. With chicken and mutton dishes named tastefully after the Mughal rulers, the flavour is unbeatable. Such is the fan following of Karim’s that the outlet could not help opening 3 more branches in Delhi.

Last, but not the least, is a perennial favourite of the Delhi palate. The best of North Indian cuisine is what Moti Mahal stands for. From the ethnically turned out, turban and Pathani suit wearing waiters to the delectable range of food from the Dal to the Tandoori items, this is one restaurant that has been a part of over five generations of Dilliwalas. Situated in Daryaganj main road, this too has seen many legendary names dining here. And Kundan Lal Gujral, the man behind Moti Mahal, is no less a legend than this famed landmark.

So, the next time you are in the Old Delhi area (or for that matter, anywhere in Delhi) and are famished, you know where to head for.

When Ramzan started I came across a few articles online about the nightlife in the Jama Masjid area and all the mouth watering delicacies on offer. I kept procrastinating my visit till the end and finally, (like always, I spurred into action by the do or die situation) on the night before Eid, I visited Jama Masjid with my childhood friend, ex-classmate and photography partner, Aziz Mahdi. Following is a brief account of our visit and the amazing experience we had..

Aziz had come from Iran to celebrate Eid with his family and when he called me upon reaching Delhi I mentioned about my plan to visit Jama Masjid and he instantly agreed to come with me. It was the 29^th day of consecutive fasting, and like always, there was buzz of anticipation in air, whether “Eid ka Chaand” will be sighted tonight or would there be another day of fasting. Not taking any further chances we decided to reach there around Iftaar.

Aziz was riding pillion on my bike and we were carrying our Canon 450Ds to capture the excitement through our lens. We reached there just before Iftaar, and after parking the bike near Jama Masjid, we took our list of food items and places to try out..:)

After breaking fast with some juicy Iranian dates, we made our way towards the food stalls.

Jama Masjid @Iftaar

Our first stop… Phirni…

Phirni

We both had a glass each of this Phirni and we decided, that space in our tummy is at a premium, so we would share food so as to try as many items as possible..:)

After clicking a lot of pictures, we proceeded towards Haveli Azam Khan (Haji Shabrati Nahari Wale,) asking for directions on the way.

Haji Shabrati Nahari Wale...

There was a huge crowd when we had reached this place with a long waiting period to get seated. All the waiting and hunger, and of course, the huge crowd had increased our anticipation and we eagerly waited for our turn..:).. and later ordered two plates instead of one as we had decided earlier..

The hype lived up to its name and the Nahari served with hot naan right from the tandoor made an amazing combination. Though I wouldn’t say this was the best Nahari I ever had.. (That title goes to the Nahari served during the wedding of my neighbour and namesake, Asad Bhai’s sister a few years back in Okhla.. )

Nahari..

Suddenly the siren went off, signalling the end of Ramzaan and sighting of the moon, meaning Eid was on the next day. One could sense the excitement in the air with children running around with their friends, people chatting excitedly and planning for Eid..:)

Excited kids....

Our next stop was “Ameer” sweet shop in the same lane. Aziz had mentioned that his family had been ordering sweets from this shop since he was a kid and the sweets they make are good. Once we reached there we were given VIP treatment, sweets of different types being offered one after the another, and we had a good time in trying all of them..:) I was surprised when they refused to take money for the sweets in spite of my insistence.  A few minutes later my confusion cleared when we were asked which media channel do we belong to, courtesy our DSLR cameras..:D We bought more sweets for home, for which I paid, but they didn’t charge for the sweets we had earlier..:) And yes, it’s not the free sweets speaking, but they were really awesome..;)

Ameer Sweet Shop..

We were suddenly being treated as VIPS, and Aziz and I thoroughly enjoyed the attention we got. Where ever we went, the crowd gave us way.. We reached a small stall a little further fully engulfed by waiting crowds. Nonetheless the crowd gave way to us, and we noticed a man with his tiny stall selling “Gurh ka Sharbat.” Now, I love jaggery a lot and have had “Gurh ki kheer” as well, but had never heard about this…

Gurh Ka Sharbat..

It was quite a refreshing drink, and for 2rs a glass, this was a steal..:) We also got to know this stall has been around for about 55 years now..

Aziz had some other appointments and we were running short of time. So after walking for many minutes to reach Balli maraan to have Kababs, we turned back and left it for some other time along with Bade Mian’s kheer..

Opposite Jama Masjid gates, we had fried chicken and fish pieces which were quite tasty but the tikkas were somehow horrible to say the least. Brisk selling decreases the quality it seems.. We had a funny incident here as well, while waiting for our order of fried chicken to be ready, we got Tikkas from the near by shop.. The fried chicken shop owner said to both of us, ” Sir, mere bhai ne 12th ki hai, usko kya karna padega woh karne ke liye jo aap log karrahe hain ?” (Sir, my brother has done 12th, what does he needs to do now to do what you are doing now? ) Now, Aziz and I looked at each other enquiringly, I said “Bhai Sahab.. tikke khane ke liya kya karna padta hai? ” :P We had a good laugh when he told us that he wants his brother to become a reporter.. We cleared things then that we were just amateur photographers doing other things in life as well, and probably his brother should first complete graduation then try out MCRC at JMI..:)

Jama Masjid

Over all it was an awesome experience… too crowded that night for more photography though, ( we were concerned about damaging our cameras.)

Hope to visit again sometime soon to tick out the remaining items of our list..

It is Sunday morning and the roads leading to Chandni Chowk are deserted. We cross the chaotic merry-go-round of Connaught Place in a trice and head to old Delhi. Where are all the people? The buffaloes that amble through the roads listlessly? The children who dart at unexpected moments across the road? It is so quiet. Where are all the vehicles? There is no orchestra of blaring horns, no tinkle of cycle rickshaw bells as they weave their way through the narrow lanes, just managing to miss running over innocent feet and getting run over by speeding cars. Before I realize it, the Red Fort is to my right, imposing and grey in the early morning light, not fully awake.

And inside the Jama Masjid, the sense of stillness follows us. On an earlier trip late one afternoon a few months ago, I remember the contrast the interiors of Jama Masjid presented to the Babel of the streets and market surrounding it. At one of the gates, the cap seller is just taking out his stock, arranging them carefully into a delicate house of cards. He ignores my intrusive camera, shrugging his indifference even when I show him his photographs. I can see he is pleased though; he summons his friend to see them and then calls out to me a few minutes later to share the meagre breakfast of parathas they have all carefully carried from home.

I stand near the gate that looks on to the Red Fort, sharing the moment with families sitting on the steps. And later, from the top, having made our way up the narrow, winding steps, we see old Delhi sprawling before us, bursting at the seams. My mind keeps going back to the past, to the place this must have been, to the better days this area has seen. Now, people are washing their clothes on a tiny stream between the mosque and the fort, vendors are setting up shop all along the road, children are running around trying to catch chicken and each other in a game that makes sense only to childhood.

Back again on ground level, people are quietly doing their own thing. Near the pool in the preliminary cleansing ritual, under the arch staring out blankly into space, on the corridor offering prayer, behind the pillars fast asleep; all outside noises are filtered by the thick red walls along with their worries and anxieties.

Inside Jama Masjid, each individual seems to have found his own space.

***
Published in the Mumbai edition of Sunday Mid-day…

From India 09

When travelling, obviously i find that different places appeal to me in various ways, but more than that, i always seem to get a thought in my head whenever i visit somewhere, especially if it is new to me. It is more than likely to be equivalent to one of these three:
1) I wish i could stay here longer, there is so much more to see and do; i need to come back here as soon as i can! Perhaps i could even find a way of staying for longer next time…
2) I enjoyed my time here and would recommend it as a place for someone to visit, but dont think I’ll feel the need to come back soon.
3) I didn’t like it here and dont see myself returning for a while.

Being as adaptable as I am means that the vast majority of places seem to fall in to the first category for me. A recent example is Shanghai. My time there was one of amazing discovery and i hope to continue it as soon as i can, perhaps even looking to live there for a few months to give me a better feel for it. Another is Berlin. Whenever i leave that city, i feel the need to go back and do more. It just has so much to offer, historically, culturally and creatively. Not all are big cities, such as the place that i am writing this from, but more on that in the next post.

The second category usually consists of small places. One that comes to mind is my trip to Hampi, which at two days i found gave us ample time to see the sights. Nothing is likely to change there in the near future and even though i enjoyed it very much, there are many more places to see on my neverending list before i return there. It appealed to me as a tourist, but being there longer would probably not suit me.

The third, unfortunate category has just been created for its lone entrant…

On August 15th, Indian independence day, we went to Delhi. A very exiting occasion, of course. I was looking forward to seeing the city buzz on such an important day, as all capitals should. Countless people (Indian and foreign) had told me that it is the worst city they have ever been to, but obviously i never believe such harsh words without finding out for myself. I tried, i really did, to like it, but the amount of stress that the Indian capital puts upon ‘outsiders’ just doesn’t give you a chance to appreciate it. You would expect people to be used to tourists in such a place, instead, the constant staring and hastling by virtually everyone means that the only safe place seems to be McDonald’s. One particular incident sticks in my mind. When by the red fort, a German lady asked me why it was closed, so I explained. Within about 10 seconds of our conversation starting, I turned around to see a semi- circle of literally about 100 people surrounding us. As we tried to get through, there were pushes and shoves and all I could focus on was keeping my possessions. The whole day consisted of scenarios like this and what particularly disappointed me is that it didn’t even stop in such a place as the Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India. By India Gate, there was a group of soldiers passing us who behaved like little boys who had just seen a woman for the first time. They not only gaped at us, but tried to be clever and take photographs with their phones. The first time I just shook my head with a (very) disapproving gaze. The second time, I stood up and started walking towards them. They turned around and walked away very quickly. I just can’t sum up my anger at this.

Whoever gave such idiots the right to not only wear a uniform, but also carry a weapon? Shouldn’t a soldier be the pride of his nation? Shouldn’t the tourists be the ones who want to have their photo taken with him? Shouldn’t he take his duties even more seriously considering he is standing next to his country’s main war memorial!? What makes the whole incident even less funny is that the sight of an angry white man was enough to make six armed soldiers and their officer run away from a possible confrontation.

On a heartening note, we managed to find a rickshaw driver who clearly understood what we must feel like and agreed to take us to our hotel (about 15km) for Rs.100. Not only this, but we had a pleasant conversation with him while he showed us some of the sites on the way. I feel slightly guilty as we didn’t return to Delhi as planned and I didn’t keep my word about getting in touch with him. His name is Dripathi and I would definitely recommend his services to anyone planning to visit Delhi. His number is +919871574379. Please tell him Adrian says hi, as he was the nicest person I met that day. As for Delhi, perhaps I will return one day to discover I was wrong about it, but not for a while…

Edit: Also forgot to add something about the metro, which I have to say I was incredibly impressed by, even though the attitude of the people seemed no different to anywhere else. As a Londoner, it was amusing to hear “Please stand clear of the doors” and “Mind the Gap”. It was extremely clean and modern as well as being fairly cheap. There was even a constant phone signal underground. Let’s just hope that it’s a sign of things to come in Delhi and won’t get swallowed up to look like the general state of its surroundings.

For a short period in the history of Mughal reign, Fatehpur Sikri was raised as the empires capital. Today this silent and ancient city is one of the UNESCO Listed World Heritage Site. Fatehpur Sikri is built by the famous Mughal ruler Akbar. Akbar designed and built an entire city in Persian as well as Hindu architectural style. There are several Palaces, halls, masjids, huge squires etc. in the city. The main landmark buildings in Fatehpur Sikrti are, Buland Darwaza, Diwan-i-Am, Diwan-i-Khas, Jama masjid, Anup Taloa, Mariam-uz-Zamani etc.

The tomb of Salim Chisti, a white marble tomb is the centre of attraction in Fatehpur Sikri. Devotees believe any wish can be granted if one ties a black thread on the marble screen of the late saint’s tomb, with a promise that the thread will be loosened once the wish is fulfilled. People from distant places visit this ancient city similar to that of China’s Forbidden City.

Agra airport is the nearest one which is mere 9 km away from the World Heritage Site. For those who chose train as a means of travel, still Agra railway station is the best possible stopover to reach Fatehpur Sikri. There are a few hotels and heritage resorts near the tourist site.