The Red Fort-Delhi

In December, I want to visit places in the city that I never went to before just because I knew they would always be there for me to get to them. Now, when time in Delhi is shorter, suddenly some urgency kicks in. I have a long list, but I can only do so much, saving the rest for another time.
So as I announce my plans for the day, a visit to the Red Fort , the universal reply that echoes back is "why would you go there?". The question mark is a combination of bewilderment and disgust. I think about fabricating another destination as an excuse.
Undeterred, with an equally enthusiastic accomplice, I catch an auto rickshaw from Connaught Place . A bit of haggling and the driver agrees on Rs 40 (less than $1) to take up into the depths of the Old City.

In my mind, nothing describes organized chaos better than Old Delhi. Narrow streets jammed with bicycles, auto rickshaws, cars, DTC buses, pedestrians, cows; lined by dilapidated sagging old buildings, propped up by newer structures. Human activity! Everywhere! I think about taking a picture as we navigate the streets. But thoughts of loosing my camera to the street as we hit yet another pothole, or to a wily snatching hand, makes me change my mind. There is a good reason why Old Delhi is snubbed by the yuppies of South Delhi. I have been to one fort in the U.S., expecting what I have always seen in Indian Forts-a mini city, a magnificent imposing structure, filled with embellishments, reveling in artisan craftsmanship. Twenty dollars poorer, in a ferry on the South Carolina shore, I look at the squatting greying mass ahead and realization dawns. How naive of me to think that in the land of *efficiency* a fort could be anything but a fort, a place to launch ammunition from.

Thankfully, the *efficient* phenomenon hadn't perpetrated to this side of the world.

The Lal Qila (literally translated as Red Fort) has adopted many roles over the ages, the palace that was the ruling power of the seventh city of Delhi (built by Shah Jahan who is also credited with building the Taj Mahal) , the headquarters of the British Army in Delhi, the stage for Independence Day speeches.

We enter through the Lahore Gate. A motley crew lines up to get in; sunburnt firangs (foreigners), families carting boatloads of wailing children, teenagers decked in their very best Sunday outfits. While the upper middle class thronged to swank malls in the upper-end South Delhi for a weekend outing, the lower middle class lines up to visit the Red Fort in Old Delhi.

We pass through a covered bazaar, lined with aggressive hawkers, an assortment of souvenirs and goods of dubious quality.

Inside, the Fort is somewhat of a disappointment. Spoilt by previous visits to the great forts in Rajasthan, I am expecting a huddle of structures, exquisite workmanship and mazes of corridors. However, the Red Fort's history has been more traumatic than others. The symbol of power in Delhi, it has been ravaged in the past by bloody wars, looters and the British (the pairing of words intended), many of its original structures destroyed.

We first head to the Diwan-e-Am or the hall of public audience where the Emperor would listen to the grievances of the common man. A couple of curious children try to jump the rope to get to the marble stone but are quickly shooed away.

The vistas created by the distinct Mughal arch, the proportions of the columns, the timelessness of the structure. Now, THATS what a fort should be like!

Most forts or even most historical buildings here are like a layered fruit that you slowly peel away. The sequence of structures, from public hall to private space is clearly delineated and the progression is an architectural expression in itself. So, we start peeling. We move on to the Diwan-e-Khas or the hall of private audience and the Rang Mahal or the palace of colors.

Looking the other way, I notice some ugly concrete structures marring the sandstone and marble around. It wouldn't take too much guessing as to who those unimaginative efficiencies could be attributed to.

I try and find quiet corners to frame my photographs but onlookers find a way to sneak in the frame and pose their way to anonymous photographic immortality.

The Rang Mahal with its walls like fading parchment, is one of the zenana halls or the residence of the ladies of the royal family.



To one side of these rectangular buildings is the Moti Masjid or the Pearl Mosque.

Its locked solemn door urges us to move on our way.

A large proportion of the Red Fort complex is still a stronghold of the Indian Army. I jump on a plinth surprisingly devoid of the curious fellow tourists, to get a photograph. I am quickly shooed away by an Army man. A bit exhausted by this bit of adventure, I debate whether to extend the exploration of Old Delhi and venture into Chandni Chowk or the Moonlight Square, across the street from the Red Fort. Chandni Chowk, once a boulevard with reflective polls and channels, today is a flurry of retail activity. Alleys lead off the narrow crowded street. One alley called paranthewali gali boasts the best paranthas (a type of bread) in the city. The gastronomical delight beckons but how was I ever going to make it across the street! I decide to save that adventure for another day.

Raj Path-Delhi

The Raj Path or the Imperial Path in Delhi is the crown jewel of the Edwin Lutyen's New Delhi, the eight city of Delhi. Lutyen's was commissioned by the British to design a city to replace the port city of Calcutta as the seat of the government in India in 1912. New Delhi lies southwest to the Old City and the Red Fort. At the transition from the Old Delhi to New Delhi lies the grand columned market of Connaught Place.

One rather overcast and foggy Delhi morning, I decide to undertake the exploration to Jan Path. As the morning progresses, the fog clears up a bit and off we went.
In contrast to the narrow streets of Old Delhi, the boulevards of New Delhi are grand tree lined avenues. British and Indian architecture approach public space differently. Traditional Indian houses or havelis are inward looking, the spaces of the family opening into a courtyard, a layout designed for protection from the brutal summer sun and to facilitate natural ventilation, as well as to provide privacy for the women in purdah. The British bungalow in contrast sits on a large plot with the open space or the garden in front. There are no real suprises or unfolding of layers.

The yearly Independence Day parade takes place along the Raj Path.

The vista of the Raj Path terminates at one end with the Rashtrapati Bhavan, a palatial building with 340 rooms, that was originally built to be the residence of the British Viceroy in India. After Independence, it became the house of residence of the President of the Republic of India.

There is no parking for inquisitive tourists at the Raj Path. So, I was dropped off to click away in the time span that it took for the driver to circle around a block or two and pick me up.

Outside the Rashtrapati Bhavan, autorickshaws acted as conveyer belts for some brightly clothed firangs as they deposited them at the gates and sped off.

The movement towards the Rashtrapati Bhavan is up an incline, the Rai Sena hill, representative of the British ladder of power. On two sides are the mirrored North and South secretariats, bastions of government bureaucracy. Lutyen's buildings in Delhi are representative of the coming together of the Mughal and British architectural styles.

A hoard of white ambassadors, the governments vehicle of choice, were lined up outside the buildings.

At the other end of the Raj Path is the India Gate, another one of Lutyen's designs, a war memorial and popular picnic spot for the residents.

India Habitat Center-Delhi

The first time I visited Joseph Allen Stein's India Habitat Center in the heart of Delhi on Lodhi Road, it just blew me away with it simple yet formidable lines. The inner courtyards, created a space protected yet not severed from the elements.

These pictures were taken last year when I returned to visit it yet again.

There are are slew of Stien's buildings in this part of Delhi, sitting comfortably alongside the tombs of the Lodhis, so much so that it is informally know as Steinabad (inside architectural circles only I would think).

The entrances remind me of the magnificent gateways in the Red Fort and other Mughal buildings I have visited where they serve as transitional spaces-from one realm to another, outside to inside, private to public.

Lodhi Gardens-Delhi, Part 1

A hop and skip away from the India Habitat Center are the *infamous* Lodhi Gardens. That's what is so great about Delhi-there is a whole layer of history to it, while new layers are being continuously added.

The Lodhi Gardens are indeed somewhat of a green haven in the midst of prime real estate in the city. However, its not just the greenery that attracts people to it. It notoriety is derived from the furtive love birds that can be found in corners of dark tombs and behind the ample shrubbery. That doesn't mean that avid joggers, yoga enthusiasts, cane wielding old timers don't flock to it in equal numbers.

On the same evening, after visiting the IHC, we decided to head towards Lodhi Gardens. I had been there on prior occasions but only in the daytime.

The dusk was gathering around the young badminton players, the families sprawled on blankets admist picnic leftovers, the civil servants marching along their daily walkathons, the occasional peddler hawking warm peanuts, the determined housewives in their tied up duppattas and Nike sneakers.

As it grew darker, I expected the tombs to transform into formidable dark masses against the sinking sun. But surprise oh surprise! Previously silent flouresent lights flickered on to attention.

On our way out, we got lost. Seeing us confused and wandering around, a lingering walker gave us some directions. Thank heavens!

Lodhi Gardens-Delhi, Part 2

Imagining being able to walk down to Lodhi gardens whenever a walk fantasy strikes, I'm jealous. Another morning K. ,after awaking at his usual unusually-early-hour, wanders down to the gardens. So all the proceeding photographs are credited to him.

A bit of a history lesson in red sandstone there!

It is December in Delhi. In the mornings, the sun battles through a heavy fog. The morning air is crisp and dry. The sounds of the city, which know no season, remain the same.