Beginning early morning was essential to reach well in time for breakfast. The semi-randomness began with realising that the regular old family favourite garment store Fabindia apparently had a ‘café’ as well. Breakfast plans at other food joints were scrapped immediately. Summarising the experience in one line: the food was adequate, the coffee average, the tea exceptionally good, and the names of the items on the menu very excessive (a kettle of tea called ‘Petrichor’ and ‘buttermilk pancakes’, for reference).
We were surrounded by three different groups of people, of which one was the most striking. This was an old couple, both of whom were dressed flawlessly on a Sunday morning. They spoke at length and in impeccable English, about politics, old friends, and fitness. The lady truly had her fashion down, carrying a cream Louis Vuitton Vavin PM making an elegant contrast with her wine-red suit.
A small detour ensued and amid light rain we left for Lajpat Nagar, with no particular destination in mind. A simple drive around the place revealed recent history. Interesting to note was the polarity between the symmetric plot sizes but different house-designs. This has roots in plots being assigned to migrant families from Pakistan during partition. Due to commercialisation, builders would buy these plots, ask for the ground floor areas to operate their own business in lieu for building the rest of the multi-storeyed structure for these families. Different business signboards can hence be seen on these tightly-packed houses on picturesque stretches of roads in this locality.
What came next was indeed a long time coming- a trip to ITO. But what was truly of our interest lay on the opposite side of the road: the School of Planning and Architecture, New Delhi. SPA, ND is deemed an ‘Institute of National Importance’ under an act of Parliament. The reason I was looking forward to visiting this place, albeit temporarily, was because I had relinquished the opportunity to study there three years ago and had always been curious to know more about what I had not chosen.
The academic and hostel buildings are surprisingly small and look rather run down. I was concerned we were at the wrong place altogether, but the guard assured us that this was indeed the premier educational institute we were looking for. Rather underwhelmingly, a simple photo of the blue signboard was taken and now suffices for the only first-hand memoir of this ‘road not taken’.
Following this was the magnum opus of the journey, the compulsory pilgrimage to Connaught Place. The universe had been uncharacteristically kind having lent us a cloudy day in the middle of June, and so we did not regret walking around the colonnade. In our whimsical quest to find a specific ‘E.D. Galgotia’s bookshop’ from my father’s time, we instead landed at another, smaller bookstore. Keeping up with my habit of buying books in every city I visit, I acquired a Haruki Murakami Vintage Mini titled ‘Desire’. It was only later at home that I realised I already owned a copy of 2/5 stories within. Nevertheless, its a beautiful small paperback and solid addition to my collection. We skipped out on lunch in this never-ending vortex of shops, even forgoing the original Keventers outlet and cancelling on a trip to Karim’s.
What for? Just to wander through Janpath. Rows upon rows of apparel, accessories and adornments; and yet we came out empty handed. It is a thrift-shopper’s dream and walking this stretch without buying anything is a testament to your will-power.
The only regret I come out with is not having enough time to pay a visit to Khan Market. Although I’ve visited it a grand total of one time, I can confidently say that the lemon cheesecake at Café Turtle is the best I’ve had. I may be wrong and have a traveller’s glorified idea of narrow marketplaces, bookshops with wooden staircases (here’s looking at you, Full Circle), and cosy cafés; but Khan Market will always have a rosy picture in my mind. I have been recommended several other wonderful eateries, and that tempts me to visit it once more, and again.
Delhi is, unsurprisingly, a city with much to offer, more in its plain old streets than near crowded landmarks, I’d assume. One or two visits could never do it justice, and so we hope more undirected plans will offer even more amusing jaunts.
Because in the end, ‘यह शहर नही, महफ़िल है‘.
The writer has observed a dichotomy of feelings towards the city of Delhi: people either seem to love it, or absolutely detest it. Considering how this city's history has been endlessly romanticised by all forms of art, the writer has chosen to sidestep it, and describe the events of an impromptu day-trip.