GO INDIA: No visitor to India should miss out on the grand old city of New Delhi, one of the most complex, effervescent and enthralling places in the world, writes MAL ROGERS
THE MARGOSA trees line just about every street in New Delhi, and seem to be endlessly useful. “Part of them can be used as a spermicide, other bits as toothbrushes,” said our guide Manjeet, before adding that it was probably better not to get the two mixed up.
But he was right as to the tree’s ubiquity – part of the mahogany family, their foliage provides welcome shade on days when the mercury can nudge 45 degrees. The margosa, aka neem, also provides shelter for the langur monkeys who leap from the trees onto the roofs of the equally ubiquitous makeshift stalls.
We were passing through Chandni Chowk, the teeming market area of Old Delhi, along dusty streets towards the Gurudwara Sis Ganj Sikh temple. En route we had to negotiate past vendors selling everything from bling to blessings. Hairdressers and dentists plied their trade on the pavement, religious men sold charms and prayers, and dozens of typists clattered away under the shade of the trees, often in danger of having their food, or paperwork, stolen by a passing monkey.
These typists, a tribute to India’s bureaucracy, are a remnant of the Raj. “The British invented bureaucracy, but the Indians perfected it,” according to Manjeet.
Here, in one of the world’s last redoubts of the Remington and the Olivetti (which win out over computers in a land prone to power cuts), you can get all your paperwork done – and if it’s official business, it will be required in triplicate. Just watch out for any monkey business.
We pressed on, past the theatrical confusion of the market place, a whirlpool of rickshaws, monkeys, sacred cows, beeping SUVs, the odd camel and frantically scurrying people.
Our bicycle rickshaws ground on through the airless, furnace heat towards the Sikh temple. Inside, it wasn’t much cooler; and almost as busy as out on the street. Worshippers had come to say their devotions on the site where the ninth guru Tegh Bahadur was executed for not accepting Islam. Shoes must be removed before entering such a holy place. However, you do get a pair of orange covered flip flops – which apparently the gods are more tolerant of.
Inside, the temple was an unbelievable melange of colour, smells and noise. A band played – brass, keyboards, percussion – while incense, chanting and ululating filled every corner of the temple. Manjeet told us that one spate of ululating was from a non-stop relay team, chanting a dead holy man’s name. His name has been chanted continuously since dying about three decades ago. We nodded in thoughtful admiration at this moving threnody.
The temple also provides food for the poor of New Delhi, and it was in the kitchen area that one of our party fell foul of religious observance.
A Welsh lady was wearing her most decorous dress; but it was deemed not modest enough. An older Indian lady, in charge of the chapatti-making operation, attempted to cover a bra strap that had just come into view by tugging on the dress. When this didn’t meet with requirements the Welsh lady was bundled out onto the street; politely, but without ceremon. You’d almost have expected a special throwing-out-of-the-temple ceremony at the very least.
Gurudwara Sis Ganj is for Sikh devotees; but India is also home to Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Jains, Zoroastrians and Christians. Religion is never far away in this city. Speaking as an infidel who may be going to hell in every religion, I could only watch in wonder at the multifarious displays of piety and faith I witnessed.
Notwithstanding our friend’s expulsion from a temple kitchen, we were shown nothing but friendliness throughout our visit. At the Swaminarayan Akshardham temple, with its thousands of years of traditional Indian and Hindu culture on show, we noticed – as elsewhere – that a sizeable proportion of tourists were Indians.
Here, amidst the splendours of the temple’s architecture and spirituality, a gentleman in his forties approached me and shook hands, explaining some of the religious ceremony taking place. He introduced me to his mother, a beautiful woman in her seventies, dressed gracefully in a green sari. She knelt down in front of me and kissed my bare feet and, according to her son, offered me her respect. Blimey. It was the finest, if also the strangest, encounter I’d ever had with a fellow tourist.
HISTORY CLINGS TO you like burrs in “new” Delhi as much as in the old city. A hundred years ago the silk-robed maharajas with their bejewelled concubines would have arrived in style for the Delhi Durbar of 1911 – the occasion to anoint King George V Emperor of India. To the assembled dignitaries the king announced that Calcutta was no longer the capital of India – it was to be Delhi. Soon after, Sir Edwin Lutyens headed east from England with plans to construct a “new” Delhi. It is Lutyens we have to thank for the broad, tree-lined boulevards of the new city, and the swagger of the former imperial buildings.
“God created the maharajas,” wrote Kipling, “so that mankind could have the spectacle of jewels and marble palaces.” The palaces still stand, along with minarets, temples, domes, forts, shrines – as well as skyscrapers, flyovers and Indian railways. Yes, the trains are every bit as crowded as you imagine. Everywhere are the remnants of the old Raj – not least the imposing India Gate, now the war memorial to the Indian army’s dead.
Nearby is the President’s Palace, the Rashtrapati Bhawan, that sits atop Raisina Hill. It was here that the viceroy entertained the maharajas, the nawabs and the nabobs – the indigenous rulers without whom Britain would have struggled to govern this vast land mass.
Some Raj relics, however, are missing. The statue of brigadier-general John Nicholson, an alumnus of Dungannon Royal School, no longer adorns New Delhi. Nicholson, probably Dungannon’s most famous citizen aside from Bulmer Hobson and Darren Clarke (sedition, golf), was killed during the Indian mutiny of 1841. His statue was moved home in 1960 – which may have given rise to one of Dungannon’s abiding urban legends, concerning the town’s former RUC barracks. This, now a PSNI station, is the most curious architectural folly – with turrets, battlements and towers – and owes its existence to the Raj, or so the story goes.
At the turn of the 19th century a department of the British civil service was employed to furnish plans for municipal buildings throughout the empire. At one point the department was simultaneously working on plans for both a fort in New Delhi and a police barracks for Dungannon. Somehow the plans got mixed up, and the Indian fort ended up in Co Tyrone where it stands to this day – and somewhere in New Delhi is a building originally destined to be a police station in Dungannon.
It’s fair to point out that forms of this legend exist elsewhere in Ireland and beyond. Nonetheless, I kept my eyes open for a likely Co Tyrone peeler station while I was in the Indian capital. No luck. But I did see the Red Fort, or Lal Qila, built by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan, a big shout round these parts in the 17th century.
The fort is a wonderful synthesis of Persian, European and Indian art, and oddly enough complements beautifully Lutyens’ jack-the-lad architecture for the Raj. Ah, the Raj. Weird thing altogether. I dunno, there’s probably a book in it.
NEW DELHI IS often used as a stopover for those journeying south to the Taj Mahal and thence westerly to Rajahastan, or north towards the Golden Temple of Amritsar and on to the Himalayas. Indeed, Delhi means “threshold”. But no visitor to India should miss out on getting to know this grand old city – one of the most complex, effervescent and enthralling in the world.
Whether it’s the domes and minarets of countless temples and churches, the tendrils of the Raj, or the ramshackle markets and dusty street stalls selling everything you could possibly need and much that you don’t, you’ll bring back memories and reminders of your time in the subcontinent.
I still have the marigold garland that seemed to make such sound sense in the Chandni Chowk market. I haven’t worn it round Dundalk yet; instead it hangs on the wall of my front room, a colourful reminder of an unforgettable journey.
* Mal Rogers was a guest of The Travel Department. He flew Aer Lingus from Dublin to London, and British Airways from Heathrow to New Delhi. The Travel Department (01- 6371600, thetraveldepartment.ie) is offering a India – Splendours of Delhi, the Taj Mahal and Rajasthantour which includes flights from Dublin and Cork (via London Heathrow) and coach transfers. Prices start from €1,625 plus taxes.
New Delhi where to . . .
Stay
* The Suryaa, New Friends Colony, New Delhi, 00-91-11-26835070, thesuryaanewdelhi.com. In the heart of New Delhi, teeming markets and historical monuments are all nearby. Double from €400.
* The Cabana Hotel. R23, Greater Kailash 1, New Delhi, 00-91-11-40747474, hotelcabana.in. Clean rooms, hot water, stiff drinks in a funky place. Doubles from €75.
* Crowne Plaza, Plot No. 1, Community Centre Phase-1, Okhla, New Delhi, 00-91-11-46462000 crowneplaza.com. Reliably upscale hotel with terrific views over Tughlaqabad Fort. Doubles from €140 per night.
Eat
* Legend of Connaught, K-21, Connaught Place, New Delhi, 00-91-11-2341-8632. Connaught Place is the Piccadilly Circus of New Delhi: overcrowded, sometimes overpriced and touristy yet full of locals. In a city with more eating places than traffic lights, it’s hard to recommend any above the rest. But Legend of Connaught is one of the more laid-back eating establishments, with a wide range of Indian dishes.
* Zambar, 3rd Floor, Ambience Mall, Nelson Mandela Marg, Vasant Kunj, New Delhi, 00-91-11-49422222. Authentic south Indian cuisine. Inside the glass-walled show kitchens, chefs prepare specialities ranging from Hindu Nair delicacies to Syrian Christian dishes (from Kerala). Elevated cooking with resoundingly good flavours.
* Punjabi by Nature, Basant Lok, Munirka, Delhi, 00-91-11-46117000, punjabibynature.in. One of Delhi's best regarded Punjabi restaurants. Ask for a window near the display kitchen. Try masala quail ( bataear masaledar) or fresh tandoori pomfret, accompanied or preceded by the house speciality, a "golguppa" shot: a tiny puri (fried puffed bread) filled with spicy vodka, which you pop into your mouth whole.
* Spiced Water Trail, M-24, M-Block Market, 00-91-11-30894731, spicewatertrail.com. Specialises in the delicacies of coastal south India. Try an Andhra prawn fry, tossed in a mild curd and coriander masala, or the Pandi curry, the national pork dish of Coorg, from the southwest of the country. With a meal for two around the €30 mark, this is the place to try some of India’s unusual dishes.
* Malabar, 33-B, Sarei Julena (opposite Escorts Hospital), 00-91-11-6502 6147. A good selection of Maliyali dishes, including fish curries and fries, puttu and kadala (black gram curry).
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This article was amended on Friday, June 1st, 2012, to correct an error.
