by Sadia Dehlvi
Chaina Ram has been in Chandni Chowk since 1901
Sevpak mithai from Chaina Ram
Bedmi aloo poori from Shiv Mishthan Bhandar
Photo: Vaseem Ahmed Dehlvi
Baqerkhani roti being prepared in the old city
Dilli Dastarkhwan
Favoured meat on the Dilli dastarkhwan are goat mutton, chicken and fish. Titar, partridge, and batair, quail, once popular delicacies are no longer part of the regular spread. Except for nihari and kebab, beef is not appreciated. Apart from being viewed as a poor man’s meat, beef is considered taxing on the digestive system. When making qeema, mincemeat, I buy the mutton on the bone and then have it minced. I usually use the bones for soup stock. My mother always objects and insists that the bones be cooked with the mincemeat so that it looks like goat mutton and not beef. Beef bones are much larger and easily identified by their size.
Beef is traditionally referred to as badey ka gosht and mutton, as chotey ka gosht. These are terms unique to Muslim terminology in the subcontinent. While travelling on the road in the interiors of Uttar Pradesh, a friend recalled seeing a signboard in Urdu on a roadside kebab shop that read, ‘Khuda ki qasam, chotey ke hain!’ Implying, I swear by God, the kebab are made from mutton!
Traditionally, men of the house purchase raw meat from the qasai, butcher. Among my female cousins, I am probably one of the few who goes to butcher shops. Once upon a time in the mohallas, men left to buy gosht tarkaari, meat and vegetable, after the fajr namaz, the mandatory prayer just before sunrise. Men of our community still do the grocery shopping and most venture out in the morning. Even now, vegetable vendors in mohallas begin selling at dawn. Ever since the government’s order to move abattoirs to the city outskirts, fresh mutton has been arriving late in the markets.
Dilliwalas remain extremely particular about meat cuts, preferring portions of adla, shank, dast, shoulder, put, back, gardan, neck, seena, breast, and raan, leg. We tease others for usually buying meat without knowing and specifying the cuts. Punjabis tend to prefer chaap, chops. We don’t use chops in our curries, they are barbecued, grilled or panfried. Whenever I go to the butcher, he tells me to wait saying, ‘Aap ke liye to araam se banyenge,’ we will take time to prepare meat for you. He knows how finicky we are and that poor-quality meat or bad cuts will not be tolerated.
We always use goat mutton and never lamb, which is tough and has a heek, distinct smell. In fact, if someone serves tough pieces of meat, negative comments follow such as, ‘Allah maaf karey, bhed ka gosht lag raha tha,’ May God forgive, it seems they served lamb. Considering how Dilliwalas scorn lamb, I am amused when reputed restaurants serve it with aplomb.
We grew up learning that different parts of the goat have separate properties. Eating the neck portion gets rid of fever and paya, trotters, helps strengthen bones, particularly beneficial in healing fractures. The broth of choosa, tender chicken, will help regain vitality after illnesses. Mamoo Abdullah told me that kapoora and gurda, testicle and kidney, have aphrodisiacal properties. He said that in bygone days, these were fed to the bridegroom and his close friends at wedding parties. These meat portions are not added to regular mutton dishes.
On special occasions nargisi koftey, biryani, qorma, shaami kebab and other elaborate dishes are made. Murgh musallam,whole chicken stuffed with boiled eggs and dry fruits, was once a banquet favourite. Festivities are never complete without baqerkhani and qulcha, special varieties of Delhi roti.
It is said that the baqerkhani roti was created and patented by Mr Baqer Khan during the days of Bahadur Shah Zafar. Bread makers needed a licence from the Royal Fort to duplicate the roti. Lighter and fluffier than the baqerkhani, the qulcha roti has become equally popular. Both these breads are made with wheat kneaded in milk, ghee and sugar. Qulcha uses egg as an additional ingredient and ferments easily. The baqerkhani is flatter and the use of excessive ghee makes it slightly heavier to digest. Unlike the qulcha, baqerkhani can be stored for days. Nowadays, people tend to confuse baqerkhani with sheermal, which is from the Avadh cuisine. The two are quite different in colour, texture and taste.
A biryani degh
The layered warqi parantha, ghee ki roti and chapati are other varieties of breads made for daily consumption. What we call chapati is popularly called rumali roti. This is probably because it is as thin as a rumal, handkerchief. Frankly, Dilliwalas find this terminology obscene as what we call rumali is the small diamond-shaped piece of cloth stitched in the crotch area of men and women’s pajamas. Attached to the seams of the right and left leg of the pajama, the rumali allows free movement without causing the seams to tear. It remains a unique feature of Muslim tailoring in the subcontinent.
Chapati or rumali roti is made on what others commonly call ulta tava, a round inverted cooking utensil for roti, which for us is seedha tava. In most Dilliwala homes, a rotiwali goes from house-to-house to makes the day’s roti for them. These are so well made that the roti doesn’t turn hard and can be lightly reheated. Since it is a specialized skill, many of us, including me, have switched to eating phulka. It puffs up on a flat tava. Our phulka is much larger though, almost double the size of the phulka made in most homes.
Qalai process of tin plating on copper degh
Dilliwalas are exceedingly particular about taseer, effect of food on the body. I grew up relating to food in terms of halka, light, bhaari, heavy, garam, warm, or thanda, cold. Spices such as cardamoms, cloves, cinnamon, and peppercorns are believed to have garam taseer, warming effect. Dishes which have these as ingredients are cooked mostly in winter. Young unmarried girls were often prohibited from having egg yolk or large quantities of heavily spiced food lest the garam taseer send their hormones into sexual overdrive! These rules are not just for young girls. Ammi still advises me to keep my twenty-four-year-old unmarried son on a largely vegetarian diet for the same reason. In hushed whispers Mamoo Abdullah told me that is was said that Muslim courtesans had an edge in their profession because of their and spicy non-vegetarian diet!
Food is traditionally cooked in copper utensils with tin plating. In the old city, getting qalai, tin plating, done is relatively easy as qalaiwalas often roam from door-to-door offering their services. We never use stainless steel utensils to cook, and many in the family continue cooking in copper pots and pans. It is said that cooking in copper utensils enhances the taste and adds minerals to the food.
Interestingly, one can usually identify a Muslim-owned street side eatery by the kind of cooking utensils on the stove. They cook in copper deghs while others invariably cook in stainless steel or brass pots and pans.
Ammi tells me how food was once served in a rakabi, small round copper plate with tin plating. These had decorative frill like edgings and the depth of porridge bowls. The depth helps in holding shorba, gravy. Usually, two or three people ate from one rakabi. Earlier, mithai distributed at weddings and births would be sent in a rakabi or a copper katora, bowl, with calligraphic engravings marking the occasion.
The use of pressure cookers or easily available aluminium alloy pateeliyan, cooking pots, is now common. Earlier matti ki handiyan, clay pots, were used for dal and ghotwa saag, crushed spinach. Some clay pots had polished interiors so that oil-based dishes could be prepared in them. Cooking in clay adds a delicate earthy flavour.
Professional cooks in the old city
Martbaan, large jars of ceramic, were used to store pickles. When girls got married, they were given varieties of ceramic and copper utensils for their new home. These included seeni, large round trays, cooking pots of various sizes, and a salafchi, specially styled jug and bowl that were brought to the dastarkhwan, table spread. Someone would take the salafchi around for people to wash their hands before and after meals.
In the old days, the medium used for cooking was desi ghee, clarified butter. I remember dozens of desi ghee containers made of tin stacked in the kitchen pantry. These were purchased from villagers who came to sell ghee to their customers in the city. Those who co
uld not afford desi ghee mostly cooked in the Dalda brand of vegetable ghee. Mamoo Abdullah said many families would hide their Dalda cans as their presence suggested that they were not a khata peeta gharana, prosperous home.
Sometime during the mid-eighties, desi ghee began to be replaced by vegetable oils. Desi ghee, expensive as it has become, is largely reserved for bhagar, topping, parantha and home-made sweet dishes.
Despite her rising levels of cholesterol, Ammi cannot do without desi ghee and credits her good health to it. She loves to quote the old proverb, ‘Ghee banaye salan, badi bahu ka naam,’ suggesting that even though the daughter-in-law gets the credit for the cooking, it is the ghee that makes food delicious.
Ammi keeps experimenting with various brands of desi ghee available in the market. Each time I enter her kitchen, I see a new brand. Ammi’s friends from smaller towns know unadulterated desi ghee is the best gift for her. Now, with doctors saying that a little desi ghee is good for health, quarrels with Ammi over her obsession have ceased.
We often say that you either have haath main lazzat or you don’t! This suggests that while some just rustle up anything and it turns out to be delicious, others may work hard at cooking but just don’t seem to get it right! Ammi believes that this has to do with the condition of one’s heart. She says that God grants lazzat, taste, and barakat, blessing, to the food cooked with love and acchi niyat, good intent.
My aunts and cousins at our home for a family gathering, 1974
My cousin Farah’s birthday party at home, 1970
A Community Life
Living with an extended family resulted in some festivity or the other taking place at home around the year. Mothers were not allowed to breastfeed new-borns before the phupi, father’s sister, was rewarded with doodh dhulai, suckling gift money. The aunt then proceeded to wash the mother’s breasts and held the baby to them. In those days, childbirth took place at home with the help of midwives, which is why these customs were possible. In modern hospitals, the aunts would probably be thrown out for handling newborn babies with utter disregard for infections.
However, two Islamic traditions continue to this day. Almost immediately after birth, a family elder whispers the azaan, call to prayer, in the infant’s ear. This is to remind the child of his or her primordial covenant with the Divine. The second tradition is that a drop of honey is fed to the infant almost immediately after birth.
Usually, on the seventh day after the child’s birth, there is an aqeeqah, a ceremony where the newborn’s hair is removed. The occasion is marked by qurbani, sacrifice, of a goat. This is done as soon as the barber shaves off the hair. Most people remain particular about this coordination. In some cases, where the child’s hair is removed on western shores or in a place not conducive to animal sacrifice, a phone call is made to inform the butcher to instantly place the knife on the goat’s jugular. Some of this meat is distributed to the poor, some amongst friends and relatives and the rest kept by the family for a feast.
Another family celebration is held after the khatna, circumcision, of male children. This is usually done when the boy is a week old. When babies first eat solids at three or four months, they are fed a light rice pudding at a kheer chatai ceremony.
When a child is four years old, a Bismillah ceremony takes place that celebrates a child’s first lesson in reading the Quran. The function involves a family elder or an Imam helping the child recite a few words from the Quran. After the feasting, gift-wrapped mithai, usually balushahi, is distributed amongst the guests.
Each occasion requires a different preparation. It is a tradition that before making anything else in the kitchen, a newly-wed bride first cook kheer, or any other sweet dish. Earlier, the groom’s family tested her cooking skills by keeping both salt and white ground sugar in front of her. In jest, they waited for the shy bride to recognize the difference and choose the right ingredient.
Expectant and nursing mothers are fed nourishing sweets like panjiri and satora made from dry fruits, desi ghee and semolina. In yesteryears, the bride’s family sent similar preparations for the groom, prior to the wedding, to prepare him for conjugal duties.
On joyous occasions, a hissa, share, of the mithai, is sent to relatives and friends. The duty of distributing food, fruits and mithai was traditionally given to the kahar, who could be compared to modern day courier service. In those days, kahars went door-to-door in the mohalla delivering food. Two kahars carry a degh on their shoulders with the help of two wooden rods.
Despite most families from the Saudagaran community having moved from the mohallas, sending wedding invitations through courier is still not the norm. Cards are personally delivered by siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins of the bride and groom who come together to share this responsibility. Wedding venues still have segregated areas for men and women. One of the first few women in our biradari to discontinue wearing the burqa, my mother did not follow these old customs.
Long intervals between engagements and weddings, which were once the norm are not preferred any more. Families would regularly exchange gifts to strengthen the bond. Seasonal fruits sent to the betrothed’s house were known as samaal. Ostensibly sent for dulhan ke chakhne ke liye, a sampling for the bride, the samaal came not in kilos but in multiples of tons: mangoes, melons and watermelons, pomegranate, apples, litchis and other fruits. The samaal filled the entire aangan, courtyard, of the old havelis. This would be distributed amongst neighbours, friends and extended family. These gifts had to be of good quality as the living standard of a family was judged on their basis. I remember the elders mentioning an engagement that was called off because the would-be in-laws sent a samaal of water chestnuts. The family compared the chestnuts to the thorns of hell and felt insulted at this display of mediocrity.
Sometimes fruits such as mangoes, pineapples and apples would be taken to a barafkhana, ice factory, and frozen in blocks of ice before being sent to family and friends. This not only appeared beautiful, but helped to keep the fruit from rotting since refrigerators were not common then. Distribution on such a large scale is almost impossible these days. This activity is now more or less restricted to immediate neighbours and family.
If Eid al Azha, Feast of Sacrifice, falls during the period of engagement, it remains customary for the boy’s family to send the qurbani ka bakra, the sacrificial goat, for the girl. Ammi recalls that the goat sent for her was purchased for a thousand rupees. This was during the mid-fifties, when an average goat would cost five or six rupees. The animal came decorated with white metal jewellery, dressed in brocade cloth with gold and silver embroidery. The obese goat could barely stand and came with instructions that it should be seated on a chaarpai and fed just jalebi made with desi ghee.
In the past, wedding banquets included qorma, biryani, baqerkhani and kheer or zarda. In fact, till some decades ago, this was all that the wedding menu consisted of. These days wedding have become lavish with far too many varieties of food.
Shama Kothi
A 1954 edition of Shama magazine
Shama Kothi
My grandfather, Hafiz Yusuf Dehlvi, whom we called Abba, lived in Phatak Habash Khan. Once a gated mohalla, it extends from Novelty Cinema to Khari Baoli, the spice market. It is named after Sidi Miftah, a slave from Habash, Abyssinia, who rose to great heights during Emperor Shah Jahan’s rule. He became known as Habash Khan and was gifted vast landholdings. My mother’s family lived in Baada Hindu Rao before moving to Ballimaran during the Partition.
Zeenat Kauser, my mother, was then eleven years old. At sixteen she married Yunus Dehlvi, my father, who had just completed his masters in philosophy from St Stephen’s College. It was a grand wedding with the street lanes from Ballimaran to Phatak Habash Khan decorated with festive lights. The number of guests was exceptionally large, with over a hundred relatives and friends from outside Delhi. Dozens of cooks were hired to cater meals for the guests.
In 1938, Abba founded and edited Shama, an Urdu film and literary magazine tha
t became very popular. In 1943, at the age of thirteen and still in school, Daddy founded and edited Khilona, a children’s magazine in Urdu. He created its iconic characters, Mian Fauladi, Iron man, and Nastoor, a mischievous young jinn, who studied at Maulvi Sahab’s school and enthralled the children with his magical powers. A whole generation of children from Urdu-speaking families learnt Urdu language with Khilona. Later, many eminent people including the erstwhile president Dr Zakir Hussain were amongst the magazine’s contributors. My father made the Shama monthly Adabi Muamma, a literary crossword, that acquired an iconic status. It gave prizes worth lakhs of rupees and sometimes, in kilos of gold.
L-R: My father at his wedding with his younger brothers Ilyas and Idrees Dehlvi
Daddy, Ammi, Faheem and I
The house we grew up in was named after Shama. A.P. Kanvinde, a leading architect of those times, designed Shama Kothi. The address was 11 Sardar Patel Marg. One entrance of the kothi fell at the corner of Sardar Patel Marg while the other gate was on Kautilya Marg. The two-storeyed residence, spread over almost 2,500 square yards, had sprawling gardens, ponds with lilies, dozens of rooms, verandahs, balconies and water fountains. Having lived in a congested mohalla, Abba wanted the new house to have large open spaces.
The locals referred to our home as paani waali kothi, the house with water, because there were provisions for refrigerated drinking water for passers by. A huge Voltas water cooler stood in one corner inside the garden and its taps were located on the outside wall along Sardar Patel Marg. Abba installed this facility Fi Sabilillah, for the sake of Allah. Through the decades that we lived there, cyclists, motorists, pedestrians, taxis and buses carrying passengers would stop to quench their thirst. In those days, bottled and packaged drinking water was not easily available. When the cooling machine malfunctioned, dozens of complaints were passed on to us through the chowkidars till the problem was fixed.