Study date

On Thursday at the Bangalore airport, I was so busy perusing the glorious Duty Free that I nearly missed my flight back to Delhi. The excitement did not stop there. I arrived, left the airport, and arranged for a pre-paid taxi to take me back to Civil Lines – only to find, upon sliding into the cab, that there was another person in the back seat: Z., who had flown in from Kabul that morning. Quelle surprise!

We spent an excellent three-day weekend together, appreciating the precious spring weather and sitting for hours at my favorite café in Khan Market, furiously typing away at our laptops. There were long dinners and long discussions – the best of which we shared with my friends L. and A., who invited us over for homemade spaghetti and meticulously-washed salad. We visited Haldiram’s twice, once for Sunday brunch (a fantastic New York diner substitute, it turns out, especially given the superior food) with C., who’s back in Delhi on business.

Haldiram’s. I wish I had a picture. I’ve written about how, to me, the Old City—and Chandni Chowk in particular – represents everything I love about Delhi. It was where I looked bleary-eyed upon the gray and the poor on that first memorable morning in India, and since then, it’s always where I go to remind myself why I’m here. Haldiram’s, which is a three-story restaurant, take-away, cafeteria, and dhaba all in one, is, for me, the taste of that memory. Everyone has his or her palate triggers: Proust had his madeleine, and I have the food at Haldiram’s. If you can make it past the lobby and its glass-enclosed displays of permutations upon permutations of snacks and candies, the second floor is where you’ll find the real masala of the Old City. There, you can order 15 different kinds of chaat, fresh dosas and uttapams, full-on North Indian meals, and the puffiest bhature in the world. The best part of the cafeteria is that it’s made for sharing: the only way to go is to order everything you possibly can (especially foods you’ve never had before, with the Haldiram’s guarantee that they’ll be delicious) and try to beat your dining companions in scooping up large, dripping spoonfuls of each gorgeous dish. There’s nothing like it.

That morning on Chandni Chowk, highly satiated by hours at Haldiram’s, I looked around me and saw India’s great beauty once more. It was laced into the sight of a golden-domed gurudwara standing next to a minareted mosque, the hordes of eager cycle-rickshaw drivers, the clang of temple bells, the endless arrays of sweets and snacks in the lobby of Haldiram’s, and people’s honest expressions (smiles, frowns, grunts, smirks, boredom, desperation, annoyance!) all bared for the world to see. I saw them, and I was again convinced – as I believe I have to be convinced every day, in order to survive – that this is the country for me.