I
It is the place where things in contradiction come together to have a fleeting love affair. It is easily the most posh 'village' you could ever find. People smoke. People smoke up. People cuddle. People chat up. People jog on the beaten tracks, trying to beat their last record. People saunter holding hands pushing every second to its maximum duration.
It is the place where things in contradiction come together to have a fleeting love affair. It is easily the most posh 'village' you could ever find. People smoke. People smoke up. People cuddle. People chat up. People jog on the beaten tracks, trying to beat their last record. People saunter holding hands pushing every second to its maximum duration.
II
Hauz Khas Fort: It is the unofficial hub of numerous band practices and
countless love stories every few steps. Quietly embracing Sufi, Rock or even
Indie-pop together; the old, humble Hauz Khas Fort practically lives as many
dreams as each of the members in those bands, all of those couples.
Trying to find the right note with them. Trying to have
their love, their music etched onto the partly ruined walls here.
A cat just has nine lives to live.
III
“But why do I always have to go along with someone or to meet someone? What’s wrong with wanting to go hangout by yourself?” complained Little Wench.
“But why do I always have to go along with someone or to meet someone? What’s wrong with wanting to go hangout by yourself?” complained Little Wench.
“Why do you always have to ask questions that have no answers?” fretted her mother.
As she passes the barricade, an impish grin fights its way to her lips as Little Wench tries rather hard to suppress it. This is not the first time she’s coming here, after all. She’s been here on a date. She’s covered an interview here. She’s bunked office to just be here. She’s worked here. Heck, she’s even had a life-is-finished day here. So today, deciding to spend some time with Hauz Khas, herself and a rustic copy of The Journals of Sylvia Plath on a last minute whim doesn’t sound fancy at all. And yet, she’s excited.
“Walking is too much madam. You so thin! Give me only Rs. 40 and I will take you to Hauz Khas village in a jiffy.”
IV
I see this dog having claimed what’s possibly the best spot
in the entire fort/lake area. It’s a beautiful pedestal just beyond the iron-rod boundary
set for ‘common’ people. It’s an olive-sized spot facing the warm sunshine,
balmy lake and a sharp edge on a substantial height.
And the dog is there. His indifference is appealing to the point of becoming a masochist. Just for that instant when you gaze at him, waiting to be ignored. People amusingly walk past him; photographers try to find their ‘the shot’ in him. And he overlooks them all. Like a dude!
V
“Excuse me?”
“Yes?”
“What is best to visit/do in hauz khas?” *pause* “I am a
tourist, you see.”
“Ermm. You really wanna know?”
“Yeah, of course!”
"Well, I suppose I could tell you a couple of things; like how Elma’s Bakery, one of the most popular eateries is to be savoured for its interiors and crockery, not the menu. Or how despite the quality food, the best thing about Naivedyam still remains the free rasam drink ritual as soon as you settle down."
"Or how not many people like to visit/maintain the sanctity of the beautiful-in-ruins Hauz Khas Fort accommodating the entire lake; but are more than willing to pay overpriced rates for usual menu at a restaurant having a section ‘facing the lake’. Or rather, a tiny part of it."
"I could also show you that it’s easy to spot a
self-contained, happy junkie and a tight-holding-by-the-waist, happy couple in
the same blink of the eye. How the dogs here know more than they show. How food
here is some of the most soul-fulfilling activities (yes, it’s more of an
activity here). But I would rather tell you to go ahead and find out for
yourself."
For one main reason why you keep coming back to Hauz is
because it offers a unique piece of its own to you. And to each of its
visitors.
 |
| A new concept cafe to try while on your way back from Hauz Khas Village! |
 |
| Their feedback wall! :-) |
You wouldn’t even notice that construction worker until you
look too closely. A highly ordinary, reedy body rhythming with the
circular motion he was making on the wall using his heavily tanned left hand,
while balancing on the conspicuously wobbly stool. He’s humming a folk tune as
he pastes the freshly prepared pastel coloured cement solution his wife is
holding standing next to him.
Adjusting her ghunghat
every now and then while holding the stool in between every time it shakes
a little. Next to her, stands their child, hardly 3 years of age. Holding her pallu, the kid stands there while watching
bunch of kids play in the heap of sand and cement couple of steps away. He has
a bandage tied on his forehead, with blood stains on one side.
How did the child get hurt? Is this a frequent occurrence whilst at the site? Do they pay the wife too for spending half her day working with him or is that a complimentary service for the contractor? Does the family live here as well? If they do, is this a safe environment for the child? But then, can they afford to even think about it?
The wall is not even half done as yet.
