The Delhi of Dehlvis traced through food and memories

Once through this ruined city did I pass
I espied a lonely bird on a bough and asked
‘What knowest thou of this wilderness?’
It replied: 'I can sum it up in two words:
‘Alas, Alas!
― Khushwant Singh on Delhi

The Delhi one hears of and reads in books is not the Delhi one lives in any more. The stories are of a Delhi which evokes a train of emotions – happiness, peacefulness, longing, bereavement and leisure. But, alas, alas, that is not the Delhi of today. But there are those who have lived through some of it and have tales to tell. Sadia Dehlvi is one of them and she attempts it through her book Jasmine and Jinns.

Taking off from her memories is also the title of her book, Jasmine and Jinns. It was one of the fragrances of her childhood. “Chameli was always growing around and it defined Delhi summers. My grandfather loved it and he planted it on my grandmother’s grave,” said Dehlvi at the launch of her book at India International Centre earlier this week and Jinns because, “I’m sure they were always around. There were voices and noises which were attributed to the children of the house, but once we grew up, we understood it could only have been jinns.”

The book twines memories of growing up with food. “Food played an important role in our lives and it evokes memories; childhood memories. These are memories of a time long gone but you yearn for it. We grew up in a large extended family. Food was always being cooked in degs (huge utensils),” said Dehlvi, whose book traces her growing up years through seasons and recipes.

“It’s fun to tell stories and these recipes have not really travelled out of the community, and I believe it should. We really have the best food in the world. Apart from some recipes in the book, most of it is about everyday cooking; nothing exotic,” added Sadia, with a degree of contentment lined on her face.

With food, it was all about the taseer of each item. It would be shabdegh, nihari, haleem and paya during winters because they are of garam taseer; sharbat, barley water and aam ki qeema during summers; hari mirch ka qeema and fresh aam chutney during monsoon; kachanar ka bharta and gular ka bharta during spring; and for dessert it would be andarse ki goliyan, said Dehlvi.

Having grown up in a family which published Shama, a literary and film magazine, and Killauna, a children’s magazine, everything was always larger than life for Sadia. Raj Kapoor, Nargis, Dimple Kapadia, Rajesh Khanna, Gulzar were among those who would regularly drop in. Lunches and banquets were the norm at her house Shama Kothi on Sardar Patel Road. “There would be mushairas, qawwalis and films would be screened in the garden. Food was always an essential part of these gatherings,” added Sadia, while noting that her father Yunus Dehlvi used to distribute films too.

“Delhi used to be a city of leisure. When it rained, everyone would shut their shops in Chandni Chowk and head to Mehrauli. The Jains, the Kayasths and the Muslims would all do it; it was the culture of the city,” said Dehlvi.

“Times were different then,” said Dehlvi with a tinge of sadness ringing in her voice, “Urdu was prevalent. As the language died in the city, so did our way of life.” She reminisces that when we she was growing up, it was mostly just the original Delhi residents and Punjabis. They had come after the partition and they were here to build their lives from scratch. “Food on the streets became Punjabi, then in a few years it became south Indian with dosas and vadas, then Chinese and now momos,” added Dehlvi.

The Delhi of Dehlvi is hard to find and mostly no longer exists. It comes alive in memories and stories from those times. It is a place one can only hope to be a part of.