Summertime heritage. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Citizen Nizam doesn’t think much of himself. “What is special about me?”—he asks, genuinely perplexed on being photographed. Well, good sir, you happen to be among the last flag-bearers of an almost vanished summertime tradition. Nizam is the merchant of game wali kulfi. It is a kulfi cart fitted usually with a roulette wheel. The customer pays a minimal amount of money (five rupees, 10 rupees) to try luck in the kulfi jackpot. The whole thing is very simple--toss the kancha into the spinning chakri and win as many kulfi sticks as the number on which the glass ball comes to rest. If it is the pinball setup instead, pray for the kancha to

In cold red. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Delhi’s monuments are usually made of red sandstone. One exception is a red sherbet, its origins tightly entwined into the dense tapestry of Purani Dilli’s rich history. Say salam-namaste to Rooh Afza, the Persian for “soul enhancer.” After a customary wintertime hibernation, the sherbet is again popping up across the Walled City. Here’s a brief but definitive record of its past. In 1906, Hakeem Hafiz Abdul Majeed, a pharmacist who trained in Unai medicine during a stint at the legendary Hindustani Dawakhana clinic in Old Delhi’s Ballimaran, set up his own clinic in Hauz Qazi, close to his house in Katra Sheikh Ranjha. Investing hundred rupees into the venture, he named

Taste of ramzan. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] A hand reaches out in the night sky, plucks the full moon, plunges it into a cauldron full of hissing hot oil. The moon swells up, turning brown. You may now eat it. Rustled out of maida and ghee, this is the sweet flaky khajla, which does look like a deep-fried moon. It pops up briefly each year, during ramzan, when Muslims fast from dawn to dusk. This being one of the days of the sacred month, khajla is adorning numerous eateries and stalls, especially those that surround the city mosques—the Jama Masjid in Gurugram’s Sadar Bazar, the Jama Masjid in south Delhi’s Zakir Nagar, and the historic Jama Masjid in Old

Legends of a legend. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The chef is refusing. He wants the recipe to remain a secret. Chef Vijay Kumar Thukral is a living landmark of Delhi’s iconic India international Center, and the recipe he is declining to give is of a major culinary monument. The venerable man is so possessive about the fabled delicacy that he didn’t even disclose its secret in the book he co-authored a decade ago—‘Secrets From the Kitchen-Fifty Year of Culinary Experience at the India International Centre.’ One of the most special dishes in one of Delhi’s most exclusive members-only social spaces, the fig & honey served at the IIC’s so-named Dining Hall is arguably Delhi’s best ice-cream, a fact that can be

Like a rare metal. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Gajar ka halwa is red. Because gajar is red. This is the case most of the times. Perhaps you might have heard of white gajar ka halwa. A rare specie, but available these days in Old Delhi’s Sheeren Bhawan mithai shop. Then there is super-rare gajar ka gur, which is jaggery made out of carrot. A conventional gur is of unprocessed sugar, obtained from ganna, the sugarcane. Winter is the season to spot very many street merchants hawking the ordinary gur along the city streets. A shop in Gurugram’s Sadar Bazar keeps fifteen varieties of gur. But gajar ka gur is difficult to spot. This icy afternoon, vendor Shehzad Khan is in

On the poet's birth anniversary. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Happy Birthday, Ghalib! You turn 226 today. It’s not easy to crack Delhi’s greatest poet. The most sophisticated Urdu intelligentsia find his poetry formidable, for Mirza Ghalib is said to be all ishara (allusions) and isteaara (metaphors). The Agra-born Ghalib also wrote extensively in Persian, and that part of his oeuvre is considered super-mushkil even by the hardcore Ghalib wale. That said, some of our shayar’s verses are so simple that roadside majnus swing to them. Take this (sing this!): “Ishq par zor nahīñ hai ye vo ātish 'ġhālib', ki lagāe na lage aur bujhāe na bujhe.” Whatever, here’s a trick to get intimate with Ghalib without undertaking the rigorous homework of mastering

Gaalis in the galis. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] In foggy December, one of the few consolations during the gloomy thandi can be the company of jalebi, pakori and adrak chai. Every pincode in the big wide Delhi region has its own permutations and combinations of the classic tridev, or trinity. Here is a tried-and-tasted selection curated in Gurgaon that aims not only towards the palate but also to help you appreciate the spread of the so-called Millennium City. Winter bite This snack cart in Gurgaon’s picturesque railway station rustles out the punchiest green chilli pakoras. Their fierceness verges on an almost-elusive border where you could still enjoy and not suffer from the mirchi’s soul-shuddering piquancy. The cart attendants keep the pakoras

Carrot tourism. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The Red Fort looks red from the outside. But a lot of it is white from within. Gajar halwa sports this very same red. Carrot is red after all, most of the time. But there is a gajar halwa that is white. Safed gajar halwa is found in very few places in the Delhi region. One of them is the legendary Shereen Bhawan in Old Delhi’s Matia Mahal Bazar. Among the oldest surviving culinary landmarks in the Walled City, it was established long before Partition by a man called Fayazuddin, whose descendants continue to thrive in a sprawling house nearby. Around this time of the year, the gigantic platter on the shop’s street-facing counter