Culinary update

 

Parval Masala w/ Paratha and Dahi (curd)

Now well into our second month working together, Pushpa and I have reached cruising altitude. Sure there are still moments of misunderstanding, but when she shows up on her daily rounds and asks, "kyaa khaoge" (what will you eat) I no longer look at her like a deer in the headlights. At first I defaulted to the familiar, which typically meant asking for some type of stuffed paratha (potato, onion, or both). But a fresh batch of paratha, while delicious, will only take you so far in this world. With time, I've gained a sense of what she likes to cook, based on what ingredients she can find, and started to accumulate a list of staples.

As with anything there was a learning curve, heightened in this case by the fact that some of the vegetables she procures don't have American equivalents. I already knew the basics, including bhindi (okra) and baingan (eggplant)--both of which I enjoy--but when Pushpa first showed up with the likes of parval and ghiya I didn't even know where to start. Now they are two of my favorites. The parval masala and ghiya kofte pictured both fall squarely into the category of "dishes you will never find at an Indian restaurant," at least in North America. Pushpa's inclination is to make all food exceedingly spicy, a tendency she tempers when Kyle is around (sometimes by making us two separate versions), but when he's away in Rajasthan I encourage her to let loose with the masala. The results are quite pleasing.

At the request of our landlords, Pushpa continues to cook only vegetarian fare in the house, though on occasion she sneaks in non-veg offerings cooked at home and delivered in discrete packaging. This week she brought a container of Kashmiri-style palak ghost (spinach and mutton), which I devoured in a single sitting. She generally arrives to cook and clean in the late morning and her daily labors thus provide substantial lunches. With Kyle away I can usually stretch each batch of food into two or three meals. Needless to say, having Pushpa around has taken a big chunk out of my food delivery expenses, even factoring in her monthly salary. While I resisted the present arrangement, primarily out of frustration with the way our landlords thrust it upon us (and the anti-Muslim overtones of their actions), I'll be the first to admit that having someone show up to cook for you upon request is not without its charms.

Ghiya Kofte w/ Basmati and Dahi

Tufaan

When rain began hitting the metal air conditioner above my third-floor window just before dawn this morning I didn't know what was happening. I've grown accustomed to the regular sound of pigeons shuffling in the mornings and vying for a sheltered perch during my afternoons naps, but this was the first morning rain since I arrived in India back in February.

As the sun rose the wind gathered intensity and the thunder drew steadily closer. Then the power cut out without so much as a flicker. Without AC, or even a fan to move the air, I decided to try my luck and open the window facing our covered balcony. In an instant, a fresh gust rushed in to replace the stale, warmer air trapped in the bedroom. The power outage, the refreshing breeze, and the sound of morning rain punctuated by occasional thunderclaps provided ideal conditions for blowing off any aspirations to rise early and get to work.  

The power was still out when I finally pulled myself out of bed around 9 am, so I opened other windows to induce a cross-breeze. It's hard to describe the elation at having cool, clean air moving through the apartment again after keeping the place hermetically sealed for weeks on end. Even now, as temps climb back into the high 80s, the windows remain open and shades of the coming monsoon have replaced the interminable heatwave. But it will not last. By the end of the week we'll be pushing 110 again here in Delhi. Through Wednesday, however, overnight lows will fall into the high 70s and daytime highs will stay in the double digits. A few precious moments before the heat and dust return.

Three Months

And just like that, a third of the grant is behind me. Three months ago I landed in Delhi with a bunch of hopes, a few fears, and little sense of what to expect in practice. Despite occasional hurdles, and intentions yet unrealized, it's safe to say the first three months went remarkably well. I have many people to thank for that (and I'll reserve a little credit for myself) but probably no one more than Anirban Bhattacharya, who proved catalytic in setting my Delhi life into motion back in March. Today we'll meet for lunch at Khan Market to discuss the coming months, including his departure this fall for a Fulbright grant in the U.S. 

The next big event on the horizon here is Allie's arrival on May 31. I've fallen into a sort of tunnel vision as of late, and having her around will shake that up for the summer months. Once she sleeps off the jetlag and we've had a chance to visit some of my regular Delhi spots (mostly restaurants, let's be honest), we'll head up to Himachal Pradesh for five nights to beat the heat. Upon returning to Delhi, she'll fly to Lucknow for her summer language course and I'll get in the habit of visiting as often as possible. Lots of music and dance opportunities there as well, and since she'll be working with dancers we should be able to share contacts in both cities to some extent.

For now, it's more of the same. Lessons most every day, excessive heat, delicious food, regular naps, watching cricket, lots of practice, and basking in AC whenever possible. The flow will change soon enough; no need to force anything.

Mehrauli

Tarbuz (watermelon)

Thursday means a morning commute to Mehrauli for my weekly tabla lesson with Utpal Ghoshal. If it's not too hot, I walk the ten minutes to the Green Park metro station and hop a southbound yellow line train five stops to Chhatarpur. This morning was already too hot by the time I walked outside at 8:45, so I hired an auto to the station for 30 rupees. Of all my regular metro commutes, the Thursday morning rush-hour train is reliably the busiest. Each time it stops bodies press into the car, regardless of how full it is, leaving little room to move. Today wasn't too bad, and now I'm seasoned enough to know that after boarding at Green Park on the right side of the train, there's just enough time to let the tide of bodies push me to the left side of the train, where the doors open at Chhatarpur.

From the station, I cross a busy four-lane road (once daunting, now automatic) and make my way into Mehrauli, one of seven medieval cities nested within the limits of present-day Delhi. Mehrauli is home to the famous Qutub Minar, the world's tallest brick minaret (completed 1220), among numerous other ruins and historical sites from as early as the 11th and 12th centuries. The road into Mehrauli is narrow and rough, lined with vendors and craftspeople of all kinds. You can find everything--cheap mattresses, bathtubs full of live fish, butchers, various building materials, ornate stone engravings, furniture, haircuts, piles of charcoal, fruits and vegetables, metal locks, biryani, mango shakes, athletic clothing, footwear, and discount iPhone cases--along the half-mile stretch I walk each Thursday morning.

Given the rich Islamic history of Mehrauli dating to the Delhi Sultanate, it comes as no surprise that it remains a heavily Muslim area. Masjids (mosques), both functional and historical, line the route. As you can see from the first photo, some are even covered with watermelons these days. Based solely on the dress of shopkeepers and passersby, I estimate the neighborhood hosts closer to an even split of Muslim and Hindu residents than the city of Delhi as a whole, which splits six-to-one in favor of the majority religion. That's not far off the national average, with the highest concentration of Muslims in North India. The religious fault lines of post-partition South Asia are not a topic I have the strength to tackle here, but suffice it to say that in today's India Muslims cluster in specific areas, Old Delhi being among the most well-known. Mehrauli is nowhere near as frenetic, narrow, and crowded as Chandni Chawk, a famous bazaar near Jama Masjid in Old Delhi, but it hints some of the same flavors. There are countless Indias to behold, even just within Delhi, and my thirty-minute commute to Mehrauli takes me wholly from one into another.

Qutub Minar (photo from 2017)

Dagar Dhrupad

    

Wasifuddin Dagar and Mohan Shyam Sharma

Video quality took a hit as a result of the recent iPhone theft, but I still want to share clips from Ustad Fayiz Wasifuddin Dagar's recital at India International Centre last night. Wasifuddin traces his family lineage back twenty generations to the Mughal courts of North India, and the Dagars are regarded as hereditary dhrupad specialists par excellence. For those unfamiliar with this vocal genre, it can be an acquired taste. Dhrupad emphasizes lengthy alap expositions--sometimes as long as an hour or more--and subtle microtonal nuances in raag development. The first clip shows the beginning of Dagar's alap in Raag Darbari. The second shows Mohan Shyam Sharma, my first pakhawaj teacher, accompanying the fixed composition that followed the alap. "Fixed" may be the wrong word, as the composition serves as the basis for further improvisation and exploration. Here Dagar employs gamak, a vocal shaking effect, which creates an otherworldly timbre. Love it or hate it, there's nothing quite like it.

When it rains it pours

Humidity set in earlier this week but broke yesterday with a surprise afternoon storm. Air quality improved drastically and for a few glorious hours temps dove into the 70s, hinting at the monsoon season to come. Here you can see a few young ladies chatting and dancing in the rain behind Kathak Kendra. Yesterday I went there to meet Probir Kumar Mittra, a retired dance accompanist and tabla teacher, following an introduction from Margaret Walker. I met Margaret, a prominent kathak scholar, at a conference in Bloomington back in 2019 and reached out to her after beginning my Fulbright. She graciously put me in touch with her key Delhi contact. Probirji is a delightful man and we sat together and sipped chai for well over an hour in the canteen. In addition to offering to teach me tabla accompaniment, he introduced me to Shashi Kant Pathak, yet another pakhawaj player and teacher, who I may start learning from soon. That would make five teachers in Delhi--six total including Loren back in the states. Quickly approaching the saturation point. There simply aren't enough days in the week.

After another great session with Ashish Gangani last night, I boarded the metro at Rajendra Place to begin the journey back to Hauz Khas. I exited a Blue Line train at Rajiv Chowk, fighting through the usual bumping and congestion, to make my way to a southbound Yellow Line train. Upon boarding, I reached in my pocket to find my phone had disappeared, snatched by a skilled pickpocket in the commotion. Heeding the prescient advice of the lovely Allie Berger, I had brought a backup phone with me to India. I also had the foresight to purchase full protection from Apple on my new iPhone 13. With any luck they'll ship a replacement to Syracuse in time for Allie to bring it with her at the end of the month. For 25 rupees, Airtel in Green Park issued a new SIM this morning with the same Indian phone number. Despite the inconvenience, it appears any potential crisis has been averted. According to the "Find My iPhone" app, my stolen device was moving around Paharganj in North Delhi as of 10:37 pm last night. Since the location is no longer active, I don't have faith in the ability of the Delhi police to recover it. It's a great phone. Someone will be thrilled to have it, assuming they can unlock it. 

So it goes.