Delhiwale: This way to Katra Gokul Shah

It is five in the morning, and the sky is still black

It is five in the morning, and the sky is still black. A crescent moon is visible in the narrow wedge of sky between the house roofs. Lamplight is falling on the shutters, leaving stretches of the Old Delhi street in shadow. No crowd fills the silent passage at this hour. The houses are shut, the shops yet to open. Even so, the street feels crowded, being dense with wires, balconies and signboards.

Delhiwale: This way to Katra Gokul Shah

At the street’s mouth, where the street meets Matia Mahal Bazar, packets of double roti are heaped on a folding table. Behind it stands Aslam, a dweller of the street. He sells breakfast bread at this hour every day. A municipal board behind him identifies the street as Katra Gokul Shah.

In the traditional city layout, a katra is a courtyard surrounded by houses of people sharing an occupation. Today, this street certainly isn’t centred around a courtyard. Besides, Aslam says nobody in the area remembers who Gokul Shah was. He believes the man must have been someone of importance, referring to him respectfully as “buzurg”.

This is the latest dispatch in our weekly series on Old Delhi’s streets, their names, their past and their present. On this pre-dawn walk, the world here is all shut doors. And what doors! One wooden double door has panels bathed in gold by the street lamp opposite, with a grilled opening above showing a white glow within. Another stands beneath a carved lintel, its wood dark with age. Elsewhere, three weathered doors stand side by side beneath arches traced into the wall plaster; they bring to mind Chekhov’s Three Sisters. A pointed window, fitted with curling ironwork, is glowing green. On other doors, fliers are advertising tuition from nursery to Class 10.

Deeper into the street, beyond a turning, a house stands without a door. It is in ruins. The bricks lie spilled in a heap, mixed with scraps of plastic and other debris. A cat stands among them. See photo.

At Masjid Hussein Gadariya, a woman in a black burqa is sleeping on the steps outside. Inside the mosque, the rounded vazu pool holds water. Farther inside, scalloped arches rest on columns, outlined in pink and gold.

The gali also has Anar Wali Masjid, its name referring to an anar tree. The tree no longer exists, confirms a man standing inside. He is preparing for morning prayers. Farther down, a dog is barking. The man says that the dog might bite. It is probably wise to turn back towards the mouth of the street, where the double roti seller is standing behind his folding table.