Delhiwale: Sudama, at Turkman

A kiosk that holds its own in a cluster of formidable landmarks.

The legendary Sudama of the ancient age was an impoverished childhood friend of Lord Krishna. He didn’t have enough money to feed his children. But the Sudama in contemporary Delhi is well endowed with namkeens, biscuits, barfis, toffees, rusks, and many varieties of mouth freshener. The pavement kiosk bearing this celebrated name is even more rich in its GPS. It stands directly across the road from Turkman Gate, one of the only five surviving gateways of the Walled City of Delhi. Its rear faces the historic Ramlila Maidan.

Cocooned in calmness, Sudama (the shop) is exuding friendly indifference to the surrounding bedlam.

Nonetheless, the shop occupies a very little place in the world. The green-painted tin cabin looks like a papier-mâché artefact. Inside, sits the gentle owner as tightly as a pea in its pod. Everyone calls him fondly as Bhai Sudama.

This evening the traffic is chaotic beyond belief. The air is numb with the cacophony of car horns. Cocooned in calmness, Sudama (the shop) is exuding friendly indifference to the surrounding bedlam. A dozen men—area’s rickshaw pullers and labourers—are gathered about the stall. Sitting quietly on their haunches, each person is holding either a barfi or a biscuit.

Ensconced within his beloved kiosk, Bhai Sudama is feeling too bashful to talk of the tiny landmark that heroically holds its own in this neighbourhood of famous landmarks (Haj Manzil, Delhi Stock Exchange, Faiz Elahi Mosque, Ramlila Maidan, Holy Trinity Church and of course the Turkman Gate). “I opened it more than 20 years ago, no… may be 30 years,” he laughs, shaking his head, surprised by his confusion about the timeline.

Moments later, he silently shifts on his cramped seat to “adjust” Muhammed Shamshul, a “lorrie driver” and a stall regular. Both men start to talk about the forthcoming wedding of Bhai Sudama’s daughter that will take place in his village in Madhubani, Bihar. The chitchat gradually shifts to gossiping about the personalities of Turkman Gate locality. These are no idle moments, though. Bhai Sudama is simultaneously handling ”hurry-hurry” customers who are continually showing up at the counter—one of them desperately wants a change of ₹500 (he is obliged).

By now the sun has dipped behind the Civic Center, the multi-storey that stands on the other side of the Ramlila Maidan. The sky swiftly blackens. Bhai Sudama turns on the lamp.