Mehrauli..

For years, to be precise, eleven years, I have been treading the narrow dung-dotted lanes of Mehrauli (can’t say whether it is cow-dung or buffalo-dung!). The name reminds me every time of the song “LAKDI KI KAATHI” from the Hindi movie “MASOOM” where a yet-to-bloom chubby Urmila Matondkar lip-synced the famous lines “रहता हैं महरौली परयह घोड़ा अपना अरबी हैं”!

The road leading to Mehrauli is an experience in itself. It is akin to looking at multiple layers of time on a broad screen. On one side, the weather beaten walls of old forts and sprawling old bunglows seems to have stopped the clock at a time when I was yet to see the light of the day, while on the other side the fashion houses  of the whos’ who of haute couture tends to jerk you back to the reality. Right from Manish Malhotra to Anamika Khanna, every name in the fashion industry that matters have marked their presence in the neighbourhood. It sets a wonderful contrast – the fading pastels to yesterday on one side and the colourful of today and tomorrow on the other....

No, I do not have either the means, or the need, to buy a Sabysachi saree...What I do in Mehrauli is a matter of ridicule in my family, and a known fact among my friends. Deep inside the ‘Readymade Market’, there is a shop, a beautiful one which goes by the name ‘Sophistication Boutique’, which is run by one of the most wonderful persons I have ever met. I started going there when I was a young woman, simple and naive. I still go there, for the obvious reason of getting my clothes stitched, and I am no longer young and naive. But I still enjoy my sojourns to Mehrauli, which is my driver’s nightmare, but any autowallah’s delight (as he is sure to get whatever fare he quotes - after all, not many bravehearts dare to venture into those lanes!). A distance of more than a couple of thousand kilometers separates my present home from Delhi, but I never miss a chance to order my wardrobe there, over a plate of aloo-tikki and lip-smacking golgappa...

Inside the locality, the ‘phoren’ doctor from a bright billboard smiles down at me, proudly highlighting the name ‘KAUSHIK DENTAL CENTRE’. As I scratch my head to wonder whether the mysterious ‘Dr Kaushik’ is Indian or British, a wobbly Wagon-R comes to a halt just inches from my heels! I look up angrily to find a teenage-boy-trying-hard-to-be-a-man smiling sheepishly from behind the steering. I am amazed that he chose the barely four feet wide lanes of Mehrauli to make his initial attempts at driving.

But then, this is what makes Mehrauli the enticing hub that it is. I have seen the pretty choodiwali (bangle-seller) grow from a wiry little girl to a petite young lady. I also saw the momo-stall owner grew strength by strength from being a roadside vendor to the proud owner of the large eatery near the police-chowki. As Delhi boasts of international trade-fairs and high-end meetings, I still find myself fascinated by the “phoolwalon ki sair” in Mehrauli. If you think that Hindu-Muslim unity is confined only to the Wagah border and the tear-jerkers in the line of ‘Bajrangi Bhaijan’, well, you are grossly mistaken. At the risk of sounding like a fossilized historian, I am proud to have seen this mega secular event in person, where people march from Chandni Chowk to Mehrauli, a full 32 kilometers, through the Meharauli market, to offer their prayers at the shrine of Sufi saint Hazrat Qutubuddin Kaki and the Devi Jogmaya Mandir; the flower sellers pray for a better flower season in the coming year by offering big fan or pankha, embroidered with flowers to both shrines.

My most recent visit to Mehrauli was two days back, which was the day of Moharram. The Adham Khan Tomb opposite the Mehrauli Bus Terminal was a myriad of people, of fruit juice stalls overlooking the tomb, of paradoxical existence. Life stands still there – yet, the locality is full of life. Azaan and Gurubani are equally audible here, so are the visuals of burqas and sindoor-laden foreheads. A new demure bride in a bright-red salwar-kameez shares as much space as a prima donna in hot pants.  As I walk out of the crowded ‘Aggarwal Sweets’ with the taste of the wonderful jalebistill lingering in my mouth, I look back to the narrow lane – muttering a  silent good bye, till I come again, very soon........