SUNDAY MORNING - CONNAUGHT PLACE

Rahgiri - means walking in streets and early on a Sunday morning from 6 til 9am, is what happens. Sunday is rest day for most. Many of the markets are closed. Connaught Place is open but not until after ten or later. The space that surrounds the inner circle, where the vehicles park is vacant Sunday morning. The inner road surrounding Central Park has minimal vehicular traffic but much foot traffic. 

This area becomes public recreational space. Around each block various activities are in action. Some attract the hip youth, males with mod haircuts - shaved sides, hair reaching skywards. Packs of them goading each other on. Others out and about in track pants, dressed down and relaxed. Families are about and the elderly. Multiple games of cricket and badminton are under way, with games intersecting each other at times. A walking club keeps brisk pace. There are groups doing morning exercises. Bright green and pink Frisbees fly past skilfully reaching the intended catcher amongst the activity.

There are no food vendors, chaiwalas or such. It is not time. Most will go home and take breakfast late. The only business out are the shoeshine boys, carrying their boxes or satchels containing all the necessary for their business. They too are more interested in the games than profit.

Today is International Science Day and there are many science based activities to be involved with. Workplace health and safety would have a field day here. The most attracted activity is making, and then launching, your own rocket. A couple of trestle tables are crowded with people making a rocket out of paper, card and tape. The components have been prepared so it is just a matter of assembling together. A card shaft, pointed cone and fins are all bound together in either red or green tape with some wonderful variations in the mix. The propulsion is compressed air, so need to make sure it can hold the pressure. Inserted over the tube the pressure is released and the rocket performs, or not, as the case may be. Some reach a great height and distance, others, distance, some get stuck in the trees, yet others fizz and flop off the end. There is laughter and wonder with each attempt. Away from the launch youths clammer, jump and push each other to catch their prize and if undamaged return it for another fly. Any unsuspecting bystander could end up with a projectile hitting them, there is no supervision or designated 'no go' zone. 

There are a series of bathroom scales that are tuned to give you the appropriate weight on he planted in our solar system. It is fun watching the reactions of those who just thought it was to check weight as they go from one to another complaining that the scales are wrong. Several skill games were in play, from catching ping pong balls in plastic strainers, simulating weightlessness, to favourite, throwing hoops over representations of planets; the reward, another couple of throws. Everywhere, selfies. Selfie sticks in use, one in frame or a group. It has become a huge fad here. Selfies of every activity, selfies to check out the hair, selfies to impress. I feature in many and wonder who will see and where they will end up. 

In amongst all this are the shoeshine boys, eager and enthusiastic, ragged and dirty, wide smiles on their faces or a grimace as the rocket pressure is released. They had huddled their shoe shine boxes together for safety, occupying space in the middle of the throng. These ragamuffins draw the short straw almost every-time - status, caste, snobbery whatever one calls it, they are pushed to the back. The boys persevere though and got a turn amazed at simple things that spoke of magical wonder  and fun.

The inner circle and street had yet to be cleaned and the sweepers, garbage men, move in at nine am,  before the day starts, a small army creating mounds of debris from this morning and yesterday. 

CHAWRI BAZAR - OLD DELHI

On the hunt for water colour paper takes me to Old Delhi, Chawri Bazar. This is one of the worlds largest paper, card and stationery centres in the world. A quick metro ride and I am ascending four levels into the busyness of the streets. The metro is located under Old Delhi. Separate small entrances on street corners allow entry or exit from the metro rather than the more expansive egress of other metro stations. 

To says the area is crowded is an under statement. At first glance is seems as if boxes have been stacked one atop the other held in place by gravity. The spaces, houses, businesses, offices maximise the use of minimal space. At ground level it is a challenge to walk a straight line, whether skinny pavement or crowded road. Shopfronts start with a sellers bench abutting the pavement behind which he is seated, merchandise spread across the walls or in display cabinets, dusty, ancient. Fans overhang the seller, the width between two and three metres. Shelving reaches from floor to ceiling and extends into the cavernous space, light struggling to illuminate. 

It is evident this is serious business with everyone vying for trade and specialise in stock. Some caves filled with bright colour of many and various patterned wrapping paper. Another shimmers with layer upon layer of foil wrapping paper, silver base providing reflective qualities. Cellophane sits like stained glass in thick slabs, colours alternating. Another merchant specialises in paper of all types, thicknesses, selling only A1 by sheet or ream. His sample cards rest on the bench held together by a thin round metal ring. Like a tailor enquirers walking away with a sample swatch, information scrawled on one side. Seekers arrive with their own sample trying to match exactly stock which may exist in the interior of the shops. A section of this quarter deals only with cards. Mostly hand made paper, wedding, invitation specialists, decorated with diadems, rich braid, tassels, fabric, beads. The variety is endless. Printing presses can be seen between shops or in the back where the space seems to widen. These are hand presses and electric. Domestic necessities occupy another section selling paper bags awaiting company logo and colours. Folders and school items are evident as you move further down the street and enter into stationery quarter. If you cannot find what your looking for here it is because your exhausted and given up.

The shopfronts are broken by tiny laneways with not enough space for even a cycle rickshaw. Foot traffic only, businesses are actually holes in the wall with enough space for the seller to sit and conduct business stock climbing the walls. Each alleyway houses a public urinal which you are aware of well before reaching. The laneways are dark, covered mostly overhead by the structures above and wires reaching like aerial fig roots looking for the ground. These seek the electricity poles on the main street and fight to tap into power, whether legally or illegally. I'm not sure how anyone could monitor meter use to send an account. Skulking around the alleyways are human mules looking for work. To move goods in and out of the laneways requires human labour. A donut cushion of twisted fabric to sit on the head on which a crude knock up small pallet rests and the goods, paper products, carefully stacked. It is an art watching them find the central  balance point as they move deftly, with heavy poise, through the laneways dodging everything else happening. 

On the main road, delivery vehicles line both sides of the street leaving enough space down the centre of the road for vehicles to navigate. There are stands of push bikes and motor bikes, between which small chai and snack stalls operate. The next layer consists of flat tray cycle rickshaws empty, or if laden well above the height of the cyclist. Flat tray hand pull carts are three metres long and sixty centimetres wide, low to the road with strong solid steel rims with pieces of tyre adhered to them for some bounce. Two metres are solid tray and one metre is strong slats with lengths of rope used to hold the load. To balance there is an angle stand towards the pulling end. Designed well for their purpose they are useful seats and beds for the porters awaiting custom. The motorised vehicles are variations on an auto rickshaw but designed as a small delivery truck. These green vehicles dominate colour in this area. 

The underdog here is the binding tape. Flat plastic ribbon in several hues are used to wrap, bind and stitch bundles and parcels together. Between the paper stores every now and then is a binding store. Coils of string hang from the walls and ceiling and are sold by the hundreds of metres. Parcel stitchers sit on the narrow pavement or flat trays and wrap paper or card bundles into manageable parcels. Using plastic woven hessian style cloth with six inch long needles to stitch the sides. Other parcels are created by tying string around good and making a handle to carry. The only thing you don't see is the paper maker himself. Down one of the alleyways a guillotinist accurately slices and trims paper and card to precise measurements and he did with the watercolour paper I found, from A1 to A4. 

There is a building ceiling in the area up to four storeys. One intrigues, a Harry Potter four storey stone fronted building amongst the constructs either side. It is out of place and looks to be only six feet wide top to bottom. I am very curious but it is shuttered closed and seems to have been for a long time. Windows on the upper three storeys are caged or barred; Protection from monkeys and thieves. Flashing small LED signs compete with the conglomeration of other signage fighting to advertise location and businesses. Above the paper sellers are quite a few advertising sitars, harmonium, guitars, and tablas as well as import and export offices. Air conditioners hang precariously from windows propped on sturdy, and some not so, brackets taking up the remainder of the wall space.

The local fruit merchant travels down the traffic jam selling strawberries and oranges whilst looking to the end of the street, the Jama Masjid ( mosque ) looms large. The whole area is dominated by Muslims. 

The locals try to engage whilst I am waiting for the paper to be trimmed. They speak in Arabic, establish that I am Australian and try all of their very limited English, teasing and goading each other. They have some Hindi and we communicate, though it is still very much one way and at my expense. They have fun and there is much laughter. Many signs and hand signals are used as well. I am useful as a distraction while they wile away the long wait sitting on their trolleys. 

 

EARLY MORNING TRAIN JOURNEY

Gwalior, only three and a half hours from New Delhi on the Bhopal New Delhi Shatabdi Express train, 12002. That is unless it has been cancelled. Having secured a seat last week in this chair class aircon train, trouble arose in the Capital.

For the past week the trouble has been escalating. It is concentrated in the State of Haryana, where Delhi is located, but outside of the city itself. The situation has been brewing for some time based in a University that has spread to many Universities through student unions. The papers are filled with stories though none of them clarify for me the base situation. The closest I can come is there is a question of quotas for backward castes that needs to be addressed. There have also been recent suicides over allegations of students cheating in exams, preferential treatment for those that can afford and nepotism. This seems to have reached the lofty heights of terrorism though it has been a media based hype.

There are so many twentyfour hour news channels now in India all competing for the 'scoop'. In this instance unverified footage was broadcast, which may have been doctored, raising tensions even higher about student shouting slogans at rallies. The central figure, the leader of the Uni's student union, came out of hiding Sunday and addressed the gathered crowd. In reading, it is an interesting article which talks about the role media have played in the escalation. The student union leader said he learned much about himself recently through the media and didn't realise that he had ' visited Pakistan twice recently, not having a passport'. He was called the 'Mastermind' rallying seventeen Universities behind him and accused of making eight hundred phone calls, unsubstatiated, including to The Gulf and Kashmir ( which has recently had several terrorist based military deaths during clashes ). The student relates that he has been reduced to his immediate identity, that of Muslim saying that ' for the past seven years , when I've engaged in politics on campus, I haven't thought of myself as a Muslim , I have never projected myself as a Muslim ... For the first time in seven years I have become conscious of being a Muslim, in the past ten days. They are calling me a Pakastani agent anyway.' He came out of hiding when he became fearful for his family who have been receiving death threats with his sister threatened with rape. 

It is easy to rile up the population in India. A secular democracy still very divided between Hindus, Moslems and others. Find a niche to exploit and the media, politicians and the courts seems to get on board for full political advantage. This lead to protests in the universities with students and teachers and then in the community further afield. Roads were blocked for days and hundreds of trains cancelled leaving many people stranded. Like all good capitalists, advantage has been taken, with reports of airlines gouging the price of flights, some up to five times or more the normal fare. Hotels have been doing the same. 

Other political groups are riding the unrest, pushing their agenda, and have became quite militant. There have been nineteen deaths so far. The roads blocked, reports say, thousands of trucks line the roads along with other vehicles caught in the traffic. Protestors tried to dislodge rail tracks, interfere with signals and block rail lines into and out of Delhi. The main source of Delhi's water was hijacked and parts of the Capital ran out of tap water with carriers bringing water to people. This also affected the area I was staying in but fortunately the hotel tanks were full. Not so for some of the residents who lined up in the streets on Sunday and yesterday morning with buckets or anything else that could hold water. The military were airlifted into the militant protest areas once this started. The protestors moved from one section and disrupted another. A call for rest was agreed overnight with protestors giving the Government one month to rectify the claims laid at them.

On checking my PNR status on the official Indian Railways website for today's journey, my train was cancelled. Another search of cancelled trains, bringing me to the same website, stated it was not. With nothing to lose I decided to go to the station arriving at 5.40am, twenty minutes before departure. The train was waiting at Platform number 1. I am seated in C2 carriage, seat ten, window seat, with three other passengers only. There are more attendants and inspectors for the carriage than passengers. Whilst it provides a comfortable journey, where I can spread over three seats, it does lead to forced attention. First I received all the possible English newspapers to read with a bottle of drinking water. My preference is the Times of India. Instead of bringing me a thermos and tea bag, the attendant made chai without sugar. Then lime water was distributed before breakfast. There is a choice of veg or non veg but equally more choice within these categories. I opt for the veg cutlets, potato based patties with some carrots in the mix, accompanied by shelled peas, fresh, plus four french fries, tomato sauce, two slices of brown bread and butter.  The carriage is over catered. I am offered second and thirds. 'No thanks', was not being accepted. I do accept another chai though. 

There are only a few stops on this journey. The longest is Agra. We pull in at 8.20am. It is a five minute stop. This is the train caught by those visiting Agra in one day. The return train is late in the evening giving a whole day in the city.

There are now only two of us in the carriage for remainder of the journey. The train arrives at Gwalior Junction only fifteen minutes late.

M S DHABHA

The local eating place is a dhaba. A small eatery, all remarkably the same, producing fresh and tasty food.  There is the main cook, the bread maker, servers and those that clean. M S Dhabha Pure Veg is on a busy intersection in Paharganj. The store on the corner, itself, specialises in curd and lassi. This 'hole in the wall' is three metres by ten and seats twenty. The shop front is where the cooking occurs. On one side the tandoor and the other the kitchen with just enough space for patrons to get through. Two exhaust fans over both cooking areas exhaust the direct heat. The shopfront is safeguarded by a roller door yet there is a sixty cm open ventilation space above that vents the rising heat. The floor and walls are covered in marble tiles, easy to hose out and squeegee at the end of the night.

The decor is sparse. In prime place beside the hand wash basin, in front of the cook/owner, is the deity temple box. Within, a small statue and several framed images of gods. The incense tray is well used with evidence of an industrial strength dhoop roll burned to ashes. The evil spirits would have choked on the smoke, so a certainty that none dare venture here.

The tandoor stands a metre high and radiates intense heat. The exterior is metal, interior a clay. The base is filled with gleaming orange coke. Beside is a small table used for making the dough and rolling out either chapati, naan or paratha. A cloth wrapped semi circular hand pad is used for placing the dough in the tandoor and two long prongs used to retrieve from the wall, baked to perfection. The bread maker is skilled and deft at producing quantities of bread on demand. Hanging above the table are whole sheets of newspaper speared on a metal hook; wrapping for takeaway.

The kitchen occupies about one and a half metres of space jutting into the entrance with a length of two metres. It is stainless steel and shows its age. On the street end the bench becomes an L shape and here the main gas burner sits. The cook looks out, in prime position. Atop the bench are seven very large pots, five filled with hot sauces and stocks, to make the variety on the menu, one filled with rice and the other hot water. In front of these sits an array of smaller containers filled with spice. Under the bench, vegetables and pulses have been prepared and are with easy reach. Beside the kitchen entrance is a red esky, where the butter, paneer and curd are stored on ice. Within this cooking area also sits the gas bottle. Hanging on the edge of the bench are small plastic bags and string which forms the takeaway option plus carry bags.

It is a no frills affair and the main client base consists of locals or Indians. This is fast food at its tastiest and best. A balanced meal affordable by most. The menu is limited but not without a range. A two page menu, with a column for paneer based dishes, one for breads, another for vegetables, one for rice options with a choice of thali from basic thru to special, plus drinks. Hot drinks slow up the kitchen and are sourced from the chaiwala. One of the best aspects of this dhabha is they serve, for most of the dishes, half plate options. This allows the individual to have choice. The serves are generous. The half plate is what is often served as a main in restaurants at home. The plate of plain rice, single serve, is far too much for me. 

On arrival a plate of 'salad' and water jug arrives. The salad consists of chopped radish and onions. On the table is a plate of green chilies for those who like it hot, and a small bowl of salt or namak. A menu, pad and pen arrive for you to write the order, delivered back to the cook. No errors here.  He then, with one deep, wide frypan, brings together the order. It is freshly cooked, dish by dish, steaming hot, the pan cleaned with boiling water between dishes. I don't think the pan would cool even once during mealtimes. Stainless steel spoons quickly add the spices, sauces, vegetables or paneer, mixing all together. The bread maker and cook work in unison so all items arrive at the table close together. Butter is generously dolloped into each dish as it makes its way out, for the diner to mix. 

It is fascinating watching the process. It is endless yet at no time is concentration lost even with the humour, laughter and chat between all. The smells of fresh spices hitting the pan is mouth watering. The only problem is you want to try everything. Yet that comes with repeat visits. 

In walking down the street you would not second look these establishments. There is no competing facade to attract, just honest fare and hard workers.