“Every time I come to Delhi, I find it completely changed”, wails a childhood friend who has lived away from the city of her birth ever since she got married. Indeed, she has reason to lament. Her annual, long visits to the capital are enlivened by manic shopping excursions to all the main markets of the city. However, by her next visit most of the old shops are gone without a trace, so she first has to acquaint herself with the new market configuration before she can start her shopping frenzy. Well, Delhi is like that!
However, what is worse, according to her, is the disappearance of good eating places—and I couldn’t agree more! An eating place that is conveniently located and easy on the pocket, and that gives you delicious, hygienic food when you are out battling shopkeepers and fellow-shoppers in the unending quest to buy the maximum stuff with minimum possible outlay, is a treasure—and then, to find it gone one fine day, replaced by the offices of an insurance company or the ATM of a bank, is provoking, to put it mildly.
So, this time when she was here, shopping in Kamla Nagar market and bewailing the demise of the Coffee House on Bungalow Road near Delhi University (it vanished a number of years ago, but she has never ceased to lament its loss), I took her to one of our favourite old-time haunts that is still around and doing brisk business—chhole bhature at Chache di Hatti! The eatery serving possibly the world’s most delicious chhole bhature—the popular street food from North India that originated in Rawalpindi—has been around for more than 40 years, looking exactly the same as it used to in our college days—and probably the same as when it started. It has stood the test of time—neither growing, nor giving way under the onslaught of change and still attracting foodies in droves.
I remember my own initiation into Delhi University, and among the other pearls of wisdom from mom, the low-down on ‘good’ and ‘safe’ eating places accessible from North Campus whenever there were a couple of free classes—among others, LMB (Lakshmi Mishthan Bhandar) for golgappe, and Chache di Hatti for chhole bhature. Making new friends in college, I realized that those whose parents/ aunts/ uncles/ elder siblings had studied at DU had also come primed with this knowledge. Our five years at DU were enriched with frequent visits to the joint, with standing instructions to get the goodies packed for the folks back home. And this time around too, when we went, I had instructions to get it packed for the folks back home (both my parents’ and my in-laws)!
A tiny shop at the corner of the first right turn as you go from Bungalow Road to the Kamla Nagar roundabout, you can’t miss the mile-long queues that snake around the corner, spilling out onto the main road. The ladies’ queue extends from the shop counter deep into the gully in the other direction. The shop is open from 11 am to 3 pm every day (except Mondays) serving top quality food at rock bottom prices, and does record business despite limited timings.
As we await our turn in the queue, I take stock of the joint, mentally comparing it with the way it was 20 years ago, and find little difference, except that I’m 20 years older. The customers are a little more orderly, thanks to the two queues that are now strictly enforced. The tiny, eight by four shop is the same, except for the marble tiles on the wall, and the professionally painted price list. No expansion of space or branches, no new seating arrangement or fancy ambience, no marketing (not even a hoarding on the main road—just a modest pointer to inform the fans where to turn in from the main street)—not even longer hours, in spite of the fact that literally hundreds have to go away disappointed if they are delayed by traffic hold-ups or long shopping lists.
The aficionados thronging the shop are the same eclectic mix of old-timers from near and far, current university students and people from all classes living in the locality. The ‘Chacha’ at the counter, taking your orders, passing them on to underlings, and handing you your stuff (be it a plate of freshly prepared chhole bhature, a packed order, or simply packets of his famous chhole masala) is the same, albeit older—a large gentleman right out of a black-and-white movie featuring respectable immigrants from partitioned Punjab—an island of calm and self-possession amidst the chaos of more customers than anyone can handle.
And the masala! With real generosity of spirit Chacha chooses to let his loyal customers have his special, secret chhole masala, which he prepares himself, for a very reasonable price. Indeed, his chhole masala even figures prominently on the ‘must buy’ list of old Chacha fans, living in far-flung areas of the country and the world, whenever they pass through Delhi!
Soon our steaming, aromatic plates are handed to us. We balance them on our palms and manage to find a place to stand at the single round plastic table that is provided in the gully to accommodate those who wish to eat on the spot. The first bite tells us that the magic is still alive. We polish off the last melt-in-the-mouth morsel with voluptuous sighs of repletion and wish the exigencies of growing years and weakening digestion did not deter us from going back for a second plateful.
I have a question for Chacha, but he is fully occupied with his customers. So, I wait for him to wind up for the day. As he is closing, I ask: “Uncle, why have you never ever enlarged your establishment?” He smiles in understanding, reading all the things I have been unable to articulate—why in this era of commercialization, when it supposedly makes good business sense to milk every minute advantage and ‘leverage’ it via marketing techniques and fancy add-ons to play in the big leagues, are you content to remain in this little shop, attending to the shop counter yourself and never exploring the many avenues that could open up for you?
His answer is typical of the man himself and his product: simple, humble, grounded in reality and with true worth in every syllable: “God has given me enough for my family’s needs, and there is no limit to desires”!