Peppered with tiny cafes and eateries, there has always been something different in the air there. The uneven pebbled street, hawkers spreading their territory onto the pavement faster than they could convince a customer to buy their colourful trinkets or fake designer shoes, narrow stairs tucked away behind a dilapidated door but opening into a quaint bookstore - the charming middle lane of New Delhi’s Khan Market has never been easy to describe.
Perhaps, its familiarity adds to the comfort, I have seen it grow and transform since my days in college when I first came to Delhi, joining a teeming population who leave home to make a life in the big city. Those days though I stared from the outside. Since then, just a couple of iconic bookstores and toy shops are still fighting to keep their legacy.
Where glamour met the Tibetan art of momos
Khan Market isn’t an ordinary place - and this has nothing to do with it being one of the most expensive retail streets in the country or the address for Banoffee (banana and toffee) pie that is unlike any other dessert I have tasted. Named after the Indian freedom fighter Khan Abdul Gaffar Khan (some claim it is actually named after his brother Khan Abdul Jabbar Khan), post India’s partition in 1947, it was a refugee market with shops and land allocated to those who migrated from the North-West Frontier Province. History unfortunately is tenuous today and this market too is a witness.
Despite it all, before the pandemic, Khan Market was where high-end glamour met street fashion, where the journalist met the source and where the unsatiated, had an eye. But nothing stopped us from remaining loyal to a place that over the years re-discovered itself as a culinary paradise. If there is one place that will not get nervous if you have a sudden craving or a mood swing, it this market. Seek and thou shall find it here.
Of friendships, shared meals and those who stay on
It was where we went when we had time, no time or all the time in the world. This is where friendships were made, and friendships stayed the course. But time is a misnomer today, we never quite know who has it or when we will meet again.
Fortunately, there are memories and as another year merges into the previous one, when it all seems more of the same and sometimes even more bleak, recollections of my ‘Khan market gang’ keeps me going.
They say friends are the family you choose. Mine are a tribe, and the way to most of our hearts was through a good lunch - girls who could not think on an empty stomach.
They say friends are the family you choose. Mine are a tribe, and the way to most of our hearts was through a good lunch - girls who could not think on an empty stomach.
Yet, food for us never meant just a meal, we didn’t take it for granted as we did those friendships, only realising as we stare at the endless journey apart that both are equally special.
Yet, food for us never meant just a meal, we didn’t take it for granted as we did those friendships, only realising as we stare at the endless journey apart that both are equally special.
It has been a tough lesson to learn, the birthday zoom calls at the beginning of the pandemic have fizzled out like a bad drink. The last year has also taught some of us that not all friendships stand the test of time, as Covid-19 variants evolve so have relationships. Perspectives have changed, emotions have chartered their own play. Those who stay, were always meant to be there.
Dim sum, sushi and pizza – all in one meal
“I want to eat dim sum,” I would always say. One groaned, the other shrugged resignedly but they marched alongside me. We always ate with our eyes, some days we went big and chased the dim sum with thin crust pizza or sushi. But most of the time the girls stopped asking what I wanted.
On the rare occasion that it was mind over matter, the dim sum played second fiddle, other times we couldn’t decide between the chicken Bao or the spicy soup wanton that released a fountain into the mouth requiring more than a little talent to come out looking respectable. As an aside, I don’t ever remember us ordering a salad!
Now and then we bumped into acquaintances - it is almost impossible to come out unscathed from here but most often than not, we squeezed into the corner seat of the restaurant, heads bent low knowing, but not looking - this was always our time out. Those days now seem far away - surreal and yet clear as the day.
The rhythm of a fox trot from the past…
Chinese food and I - the Punjabi version that is - we go back a long way. Growing up my love for the cuisine started in my hometown, Jalandhar in Punjab. Down the road from our house was a restaurant called Fox Trot. With its bright lighting and opulent seating décor, this cosy place had the best Chinese food in town and during my childhood was both our outing and socialising. The desi chowmein, sweet and sour vegetables and dry chilli chicken - things were simple then and dim sum as a dish was unheard of.
It all began during my first job in Delhi, when work was more and salary less. Tibetan colleagues introduced me to ‘momos’ at the famous Dilli Haat in the capital - a place that is like an open-air emporium representing the culture, handloom and food from different states across the country.
Today, when we are in the midst of a moment in time when conversations have slowed down, when there isn’t much to share apart from the obvious, sometimes I wonder what it will be like when we finally meet again.
Stalls of the North-East Indian states were always packed, the food was reasonable and the momos were served hot with an even hotter sauce. To this day, I have not tasted the same sauce in the best of restaurants.
Over time as momos gained popularity, small vendors started selling it by the roadside and we often ordered it at work. It’s a love my younger daughter has more than inherited and although I did try and make it once at home, I realised soon enough that this was not my thing.
The price of the pandemic in relationships
I have not visited Khan Market all of last year and this, the cost of pandemic separation is felt not just in terms of relationships but also the loss of the old and the familiar. Dim sum no longer is just some food, it reminds me of much more - of a time when nothing threatened the old order. Today, when we are in the midst of a moment in time when conversations have slowed down, when there isn’t much to share apart from the obvious, sometimes I wonder what it will be like when we finally meet again.
Maybe I will be different and so will they, but not for each other. There will be more seasons in the sun and somehow, I think much will be said and even more will be eaten in a small bustling lane that we made ours.
