Chandini Chowks a million horizons

Colour, Jilebees and more…

It is hard to breathe. The nauseous stench fills the air, making it hard for one not to walk gingerly. You take a sip at the tea stall, even though it’s hard to gulp it down your throat. A foot-wide open drain, human and animal excrement, rotting food, ragged clothed children dressed in smiles, claustrophobic petite gullies made smaller by the number of people sauntering through them as if each one of them are in a hurry. White walls turned grey. Yet, there is more to this place that you can imagine

Nestled between the red fort, a Guridwara and the Jama Masjid, it is in its bizarre contradictions that the locals love to call their own. The locals here might have to slum it out, but they have their own style and swagger that in evident in every gesture that this small locality greets you. The young men with their gelled hair and piercing transcend their surroundings. Ragged children wear their smiles, unaware of how harsh the world can be. Every nook and corner is painted with a brush of energetic vibrancy. The aroma of history tingles your olfactory senses. Like old roses on a breeze. It lurked even in the most ordinary of things. In Road railings. Tomatoes. That bright pink coloured soft toy with a light layer of dust. The tar on road. Certain colours. In the absence of being alone. Of not being alone. The crowded streets of Chandi Chowk, located in the heart of old Delhi gives you a kaleidoscopic glimpse of decades in History.  It is the unusual stretch of famous religious shrine co-existing, which lends the busy street the sense of communal harmony. Starting from the Red Fort, which holds the main attraction of the area, the monument holds next to it the Jain Lal Mandir, Sikh Guridwara Sis Ganj Sahib, Fatehpur Masid and the Jama Masjid all knotted together like the colour threads of a not so apparent Chinese knot.

At the paratha-walle gully, the ubiquitous ‘Flavoured Lassi’  unites Indians across borders. The rich, the poor, the socialite and the manual laborer, the politician and the electrician, the bureaucrat and the journalist are all seen relishing a lip-smacking plate of Paratha and Aalo Sabzi. On the streets several street hawkers face problems from the police and local administration. As the license fee is quite steep, most helpless hawkers pay a small bribe with an additional complimentary treat to biscuits and cigarettes. Ranjit looks like an everyday Joe. Short, scrawny with a thin moustache. A night watchman uniform beckons him at night and the driver of a posh BMW belonging to his Saab on weekends. His stories are markers of the triumph and travail of lower-end entrepreneurs.  The more you explore, the more you realize that the clock does not stop here, the area does not sleep.  Even in the rustic chaos, there is an invisible order, if you paid close attention – the tiny name boards, the shops, the loud pleading of the shop keepers, the chaotic buzz, hand rickshaws, the pedestrians. Each one of them in a world of their own, continuing their check lists, unperturbed, without disturbing the other, snaking a pathway of their own.

Chandni Chowk is a long tireless journey. One that needs patience and an eye for detail. Countless hidden stories, enchanting experiences, everlasting hopes and silent memories that you will carry away from the chaotic charm. No matter what one says or does, there will always be a subtle mysterious aura to this wonderland, which the thirsty traveler will always want to unravel.