Delhiwale: Old darwaza’s new life

In Nizamuddin Basti, a historic doorway reopens as Vasim's bakery, Shahi Sheermal, revives the art of making traditional sheermal bread.

During sunny noons, the cobwebbed strands veiling the door-latch would glisten like silken gossamers. The door itself lay padlocked, its wooden surface laden with decades of grime. Whatever, for a long time, the arched doorway has been evoking a disappearing style of residential architecture. (Although it must be said that the hustling-bustling locals rarely pause to admire the beautiful doorway, an everyday sight to them).

Nestled within the historic enclave of Hazrat Nizamuddin Basti, the darwaza is adorned on both sides by an arched taak, itself a disappearing architectural element. (HT Photo)

Nestled within the historic enclave of Hazrat Nizamuddin Basti, the darwaza is adorned on both sides by an arched taak, itself a disappearing architectural element. The central Delhi locality in fact bears a good number of monuments that are significant to Delhi’s architectural history. The locality’s cramped alleys themselves used to showcase the finer aesthetics of the city’s architectural past. They were lined with houses bearing similar doorways, according to an elderly calligrapher who has lived all his years in Nizamuddin Basti. Many of those houses have been replaced by modern multistoried housing, he says.

And then. Some weeks ago, something unusual happened to this doorway. The grimy lock was unfastened, the cobwebbed latch was lifted, and the darwaza creaked open, leading to the darkened room within.

A UP native, Vasim began his baking career three years ago as an apprentice in “Nasir Bhai’s” sheermal establishment, nearby. “But this is my own business… I borrowed money from Ammi-Abbu to set it up… I have already returned the amount to them.” Standing by the door, he remarks that occasionally “groups of foreigners gather in front of the darwaza and stare at it.”

A few days ago, Vasim plastered the darwaza with the laminated photos of his rotis. “I make plain sheermal, normal badaam sheermal, fully loaded badaam sheermal, full pista badaam sheermal, and top badam sheermal.” Living a few lanes away, he walks every morning to the darwaza, unlocks the door, lights up the tandoor, and starts kneading the dough—using “maida, sooji, besan, ghee, dhoodh, custard powder, baking powder, elaichi dana, geeen elaichi...”

The doorway came up about a century ago as part of a mansion, a passerby says knowingly. Over the years, the mansion disintegrated into separate households. Nothing of it stands today as wholly as this old darwaza, now rejuvenated into a portal to this hopeful citizen’s enterprise.