Old Delhi, founded in 1639 and adjacent to Jama Masjid, the country’s largest mosque, sits as a stubborn throwback to an earlier time. From the outside looking in, it’s a collection of some of the region’s worst squalor and one of its most vibrant marketplaces.
Visitors walk or ride into the site underneath a frightening jumble of electric wires and cables that snake off telephone poles and building corners. It’s an awesome and somewhat frightening sight.
“But in spite of that, this place has never had a fire,” Rathore told us at the time.
Eventually our trishaw came to a halt near the narrow entrance of an alleyway in the heart of Old Delhi. As we climbed down, beggars snatched at our shirts, wailing softly for money — a scenario that would become familiar during our visit. Rathore led us into the restrictive corridor and around a corner, where we came upon the celebrated Karim’s, a restaurant that has operated in the same location since 1913. It is well known to locals and to the more knowledgeable visitors to Delhi — and for good reason. Our meal, which included mutton-and-chicken curry, roasted chicken, flatbread, and bottled water, was superb.
After we spent a few days in Delhi’s teeming confines, Rathore offered us an unexpected respite that also turned out to be the perfect showcase for the areas that the Archeological Survey of
India, which oversees the country’s historic sites, hopes to improve and eventually open to the general public.
It happened a few hours after Ryan and I had visited the
Taj Mahal. We were halfway into a six-hour drive to Samode Palace on a dangerous stretch of road traversed by oversize, garishly painted trucks blaring their horns and pinballing from one lane to another. Motorcyclists — some with children, women, and even monkeys clinging on the back — jousted for position with bicycles and pedestrians.
Rathore, noting our squirming in the backseat as Swaroop, our driver, navigated the mess, directed Swaroop to turn off the paved road, which bisected the small, dusty village of Abhaneri. As we traveled down an unmarked lane, residents, many lounging in whatever shade was available because it was a searing afternoon, stared after our bouncing white SUV as if it were a landing spacecraft.
Eventually we came to a stop before a dilapidated, low-slung gate with four-foot stucco pillars on either side. As we exited the vehicle I noticed that in contrast to the other sites we had visited, there were no admission windows, no security checkpoints, no lines.