Delhiwale: Day 1 scenes from a Vista that blends familiarity and newness

The eternal fire of Amar Jawan Jyoti has been taken from under the monumental arch and merged with the fire at the National War Memorial. There are no ice-cream carts, no chai-sellers with kettles in buckets.

Changed, yet unchanged...

ittle Rashika is always ready to break into a dance; she has her own YouTube channel, after all. But here, she is as frozen as a statue.

People in funny hats. Selfie snappers. Photographers pestering visitors to get souvenir photos clicked, their prints guaranteed in 10 minutes flat. Everything around India Gate feels exactly the way it felt before it was closed for the big Central Vista redevelopment. But, at the same time, it is profoundly different.

The eternal fire of Amar Jawan Jyoti has been taken from under the monumental arch and merged with the fire at the National War Memorial. There are no ice-cream carts, no chai-sellers with kettles in buckets. The empty space in the grand canopy that once had the statue of a British monarch now has the statue of Netaji, his right arm in a salute, his visage staring at India Gate, at Kartavya Path (formerly Rajpath), and at Rashtrapati Bhawan.

This afternoon, two young labourers, Basharat and Danish, sweating under the sun, are standing there (see photo), reciting aloud manmauji shayri (fun verses) to each other. Close by, a man is sitting with his sketch pad, drawing the canopy and the statue. Amitabh Deshpande is a native of Pune visiting Delhi for a few days. He shows his pad, each page depicting a Delhi monument that he drew during the ongoing trip. “I’ve been to India Gate before, but this time too many barricades are here, too many soldiers with guns… maybe because it is the first day of the new Vista.” He goes back to his sketch pad, his eyes continually shifting to the statue.

Posing in the subway

Gentleman in a white mundu, pulled up to his waist, like Shah Rulh Khan’s lungi in the movie Chennai Express. The hat on his head is knocking against the hat of the woman he is talking to. Elsewhere, a woman walks in a blue salwar, so shiny that she seems to have jumped straight out of the disco age. A little girl in red boots and toy revolver sleeps on her dad’s shoulder. Farther away, a middle-aged couple is holding hands, walking quietly.

This might be an unlikely place to do some serious Central Vista people-watching: the underpass that goes under the busy radial road, and connects the India Gate grounds to the lawns towards the Rashtrapati Bhawan. The long corridor comes as a soothing relief after the new extravagances of the sun-warmed grounds above. Its two walls are plastered with photos of the Vista. Visitors are ambling, looking relaxed as they pass the panels. The shade is welcoming. The panels might interest those who are serious about updating their knowledge of the area, but you should come here to see the crowd. Many visitors are posing against these panels for formal portraits, and their faces are inadvertently showing the same profoundness that one encounters in black-and-white photos of yesteryear.

Now a bunch of five women and one child from GTB Enclave sombrely pose against a frame titled: “Refurbished gardens at Kartavya Path.” The only male member in the group snaps their photo from his mobile phone. Then they walk on, followed by two foreigners, their arms heavily tattooed with butterflies and eagles.

YouTube baby

So frustrating. Little Rashika is always ready to break into a dance; she has her own YouTube channel, after all. But here, she is as frozen as a statue.

“Come on, Rashika, do one step please beside India Gate,” urges mom Manju Gautam, a “tuition teacher” who gives lessons in political science to graduate students. Rashika refuses to budge. Snuggled in the baby stroller, her younger brother Viraat, in extraordinarily spunky glasses, sees this as an opportunity to gather all the limelight. The family has been in the spanking new Central Vista for an hour, and is not minding the afternoon heat. “We are primarily here to see Netaji’s statue,” says Manju. The Mayur Vihar resident came with her kids by the Metro. Her husband is at work at Lodhi Road. The family was excited since morning, and Manju had cooked chhole chawal for their “new India Gate picnic” but “the guards stopped us from eating on the ghaas (grass),” she says, laughing. They then went to the parking, sat on a bench and had their special meal. “Now we are looking for ice-cream, and can’t spot any ice cream walla.”

Meanwhile, little Rashika overcomes her shyness and boldly breaks into a brief ballet-like jiggle. Her mom quickly makes a video, with India Gate as the backdrop.

The eternal Sufi secret

This Sufi shrine tucked in the Central Vista lawns, close to Janpath, used to be a little island in the pond. Circled with trees, it had four graves. Following the Vista’s redevelopment, it has been altered, but only slightly. It is no longer an island. This is perhaps a good thing because you no longer have to risk a fall by jumping across the slippery rocks on the pond water. A tiled track connects the pathway to the gentle mound that makes up the dargah.

And yet, the shrine continues to feel as secluded as before. This evening, the place is cloaked in solitude. A painted sign on a painted stone slab identifies it as the burial place of Hazrat Shabbir Shah Baba. There is no knowing about this mystic, but then Delhi is full of small and big Sufi shrines. The patron saints of a few of these shrines are known across the world, while the biographies of a great many have been lost to history. Several such shrines are also believed to have disappeared over the years, as the expanding metropolis added more buildings to its already limited space.

The absence of a substantial architecture makes it impossible to determine the age of this secretive landmark. Perhaps it’s 500 years old; perhaps 50. The mystery makes the shrine truly enigmatic.

In a furiously changing city, this spot of land has managed to survive under the radar. It doesn’t figure in any noteworthy guidebook. Nobody might have noticed its passing if it had been lost in the makeover. But it lives on -- as a part of our city’s undocumented history.