Peace in South Delhi

---

Who would have thought that Delhi could be pleasant?
The past week, I’ve been working frantically to finish my final papers. When I finished, tom y great surprise I was left with sixteen extra hours a day. I leave Delhi in a little more than a week, so I decided to do a few of the things that have been sitting idly on my “must see” list. Were I to stay in my apartment any longer, I’m sure my leg muscles would have atrophied. It’s too easy to order food and watch South Park all day. So on Sunday, rather spur of the moment, I grabbed my tattered Rough Guide, which had been collecting dust in my room for the past few weeks, and flew out the door around mid-day.
My first stop was Safdarjung’s Tomb. It was quite a walk from the Central Secretariat metro, but I decided it was better than taking a rickshaw. I needed the exercise anyways. South Delhi is full of very wide roads, and many intersections have been converted to roundabouts, with circular forested parks in the middle of each. It made for a nice walk, especially on a Sunday, when there were much fewer cars out. The day was terribly smoggy, but the weather was cool. After about a half hour stroll, I reached the tomb, which is one of the last Mughal tombs and dates back to the late eighteenth century.
Though its foundations are still strong, Safdarjung’s Tomb has the appearance of decay due to its peeling paint and dusty pathways. It’s not as glamorous as Akbar’s tomb, or as grand as Humayun’s, but Safdarjung’s had its own rustic kind of charm. I wandered around and then inside the tomb for a little while, taking in its fading glory. Soon, it was close to mid-afternoon, and I was hungry.
I caught a rickshaw to South Extension Markets. South Extension is one of the closer upscale shopping areas to Connaught Place, but it’s still a good twenty minute rickshaw ride away. From Safdarjung’s Tomb it was closer, so I decided that, since I was in the area, I might as well splurge a little. I had heard from a friend that there was a Mexican restaurant in South Extension. Not just a “continental” restaurant that served nachos. And not even a place like Blues in Connaught Place, which serves pretty decent fajitas and draught beer. This, my friend told me, was a legit Mexican place. In the rickshaw, I bowed my head and prayed that my friend was not lying. Then something extraordinary happened.
From my rickshaw, I saw a sign reading “Sancho’s.” The name was promising. My neck tingled as I neared the front door. I got in the elevator, which was decorated with pictures of cacti, and took it to the third floor. I could smell frijoles. Then the doors opened, and I was in heaven.
I don’t want to give people the wrong idea. Sancho’s is no taqueria. It’s not even as good as Chevy’s. But for someone who loves Mexican food as much as I, and who has been as cruelly deprived of his love for as long as I have, Sancho’s was a miracle. What’s more was that I just happened to stumble upon their Sunday buffet, which serves unlimited food (and a fair variety at that) and unlimited drinks (Sangria slushies, Kingfisher draught) for six hundred rupees. There was even Mariachi music. I was kicking myself for not having found the place earlier.
Sancho’s is fairly large, and it was peopled with desperate expatriates and wealthy Indians. The food was definitely not bad, and the Mexican chicken and refried beans were quite good. There was fish, squash, tortilla soup, Mexican rice, tacos, quesadillas, tortas, a salsa bar, and churros and flan. They even had mashed potatoes for those who couldn’t tell the difference between Mexican food and non-Mexican food. The menu had even more options, like flautas, chile rilleno, and burritos. The staff was helpful and friendly, too. I stuffed myself silly, much to the satisfaction of the head chef, who looked a lot like Uncle Fester only he had one eye. I was not sure where he was from, but he was definitely not Indian and definitely not Mexican. Either way, he was an entertaining sight as he patrolled the serving trays and yelled for more Veracruz fish. The buffet was expensive (the equivalent of $12 USD), but I felt I had never spent a wiser rupee. I said my goodbyes to Sancho’s and tearfully descended the elevator, already planning in my head how I could make another trip back. But it’s probably best that I don’t return. Sancho’s was really a much-needed cheat, a pick-me-up until I could find my way to the Mission in San Francisco and grab a gargantuan burrito.
From Sancho’s, I took a rickshaw over to Lodi Gardens. The roads were still relatively quiet. It was late afternoon, and the sun was growing darker. The gardens were free, which was a welcome surprise, and I jumped out of the rickshaw and through the gates. My pace quickly slowed, however, and soon I was walking at my leisure. This was absurd. I had not walked leisurely in a long, long time. And certainly never in Delhi. But Lodi Gardens was that kind of place.
The gardens are very big, filled with crisscrossing paths, jogging trails, and grassy lawns. Scattered throughout were huge Mughal tombs, often hidden behind trees and only visible from fairly close. The gardens were clean. There were benches everywhere, but most people sat on the lawn. As I got in closer, the sound of traffic was completely lost, and only the sounds of birdcalls and children shouting could be heard. But the best part of Lodi Gardens was the people. Families lay about with picnic lunches, kids were playing soccer and cricket and Frisbee, dogs were being walked by their smiling owners, and foreigners like myself basked in the glory of it all. Though much smaller, Lodi Gardens reminded me of Golden Gate Park. That is, if Golden Gate Park had seven hundred year old ruins strewn about.
I walked over foot bridges, around brick walls, under palm trees, through braches, past hulking tombs, up hills and near streams. It was a magnificent place, and easily the most relaxing place I had visited in Delhi. I felt I could sit there all day long, watching the Indian and expatriate families sitting and laughing, their children running about without a care. It was getting dark, though, and there were a few more places I wanted to see.
I walked out the other side of Lodi Gardens and headed towards Khan Market, which was very close. I had been to Khan Market a few times before, as it is fairly close to the National Museum, where I had my art history class. It’s another upscale shopping center, but caters especially to the foreigner crowd. It’s full of wireless cafes, Italian restaurants, French bakeries, and “American-style” lounge bars. There are bookstores, clothing shops, high-quality souvenir stands, and even a pet shop. Many wealthy young Indian men go there to get a bite to eat, courting a pretty Indian girl. Other Indians go just to shop. But the whole place has an atmosphere that is decidedly un-Indian. The only hint to remind me that I was still, in fact, in Delhi was the constant construction that was taking place on the sidewalks.
I wanted to pick up a particular book and possible get a beer, but I had forgotten that it was Sunday, and the bookstores were closed. Instead, I was inspired to go to a bakery that my roommates had sworn by. It was called Sugar and Spice, and the place was incredible: much more than just a bakery. There were French jams, packaged sliced turkey and ham, salami, brie, gouda, tapenade, pesto, olives, pickles, Lindt chocolate, and real Snickers bars. The bakery itself was also fabulous, with hearty baguettes, chocolate brownies, danishes, donuts, croissants, and fine cakes. I bought myself way too much and then walked out the door with my arms full of delicacies. The deserts were good, not great, but the baguette was terrific. I packed up the food in my backpack before leaving Khan Market.
By now, the sun had begun to set. It may have already set, but I couldn’t be sure, as it was invisible that day, shut in by the smoky air. The last stop I had planned was India Gate, so I set off in that direction. After a good thirty minutes, I reached the park. I crossed an intimidating six-lane roundabout and then landed safely within the green circle that surrounds India Gate.
There is a children’s playground that is very close to India Gate. True to Indian fashion, it is extremely crowded, and as I was walking past, there were literally hundreds of parents dragging their children out. All the children, however, just had to stop at one of the hundred ice cream stands that were strategically placed outside the playground gate. I was caught in a whirlwind of little hands and sticky ice cream. I had to get out. In the distance, I could see India Gate, lit up in the grey smoky darkness like a golden temple. I pushed my way through the barrage of children and ice cream vendors and found myself face to face with the art deco masterpiece that is India Gate.
India Gate is much more impressive at night. It’s especially impressive on a Sunday night, after all the families and friends have spent an entire day at the parks and monuments. They then come to congregate at India Gate before returning home. There must have been well over a thousand people around the huge monument. Yellow lights poured over the archway from all sides, and snack stalls lined the outer ring of the pathway. It was a grand image, with India Gate standing beautifully above all the people, who talked and laughed, occasionally turning reverentially to take in the monument’s splendor. I watched the scene unfold for a while, walking around the entire archway, before deciding it was time to head back to the metro. I took one last look at India Gate and then set off into the night, traversing Rajpath by streetlamp. I continued to stop and turn around at increments of my walk in order to see India Gate glowing in the night sky, until finally it was only a golden speck on the horizon. Then I turned right and headed into Central Secretariat metro station.
Delhi caught me off guard. I’m afraid that I may actually miss this city.

---