Index:

1. Let’s go to Old Delhi

Let’s go to Old Delhi! ( Delhi Chalo!) : (3 pages)

It was the first time that the animals of Janwar Dosti had travelled all the way from the forests of
Ranthambore to the bustling, noisy, fascinating city of Delhi. Dr Kamala, the founder of Janwar Dosti, had
decided that it was high time all the animals had a chance to see their country's capital city for themselves.

"Did you know," Dr Kamala trilled in her musical voice, "that in 2011 New Delhi will be one hundred years
old?"

"Oooh, can we go to the party?" said Lucky the rabbit, hopping up and down with excitement.

"Will there be cake?" said Tunnu the tiger (a.k.a. TT), who has a surprisingly sweet tooth for a carnivore.

"Pass the parcel!" yelled Bula the bear.

"Presents!" shouted Lucky the rabbit, turning backflips.

"Chow Mein!" slurped Zero the giraffe (he had a thing about noodles).

"QUIET!" thundered Dr Kamala. The animals all fell silent - briefly — as she went on, "There's no party. Cities
don't have cake - only people do."

"But I saw a picture of a beautiful temple in Delhi that looked sort of like a cake - all frosted with sugar
icing..." butted in Tunnu.

"And there's a huge tower thingy," added Bula, "that kind of looks like a candle..."

"You mean the Mutub Kittar," said Mayurdas the peacock, rather pompously. "Mutub...? Oh, I think you mean
the Qutb Minar," said Dr Kamala. "And TT, dear, I think you're thinking of the Lotus Temple - it does look
good enough to eat!"

"Pardon me," came a voice. Tota the parrot came swooping down and settled on a low branch. He ruffled his
bright green feathers. "I am a bit confused. I thought that Delhi was much, much older than a hundred."

Dr Kamala smiled. "You are right, Tota," she said. "I was only talking about New Delhi. Delhi

is hundreds and hundreds of years old... and it's not even one city: it's lots of different cities built one on top
of the other. Some people believe that in the Biblical times, when King Solomon was flying around on his
throne on a dark night, he noticed a heavenly light beaming down on Delhi. 'What is this hallowed place that
the light of the heavens shines down upon?' he asked. And the angels answered: 'It is the resting place of
God's friend.""

"It sounds wonderful!" the animals chorused.

"I have heard that now Delhi is a ruin," sniffed Tunnu, "no forests, no animals..."

"Well," smiled Dr Kamala, "there are other things - cars, houses, shops, bathrooms, museums - it's called the
'civilised world'!
Bandar the monkey burst into hysterical laughter, "Civilisation!!!! Whazzat?" "Everything that you are not,"
said Tunnu, importantly. "Ma'am tell us more ..." "I'll happily tell you," replied Dr Kamala. "But wouldn't you
rather go see them yourselves?" "YES!" chorused the animals.

They packed up their bags and hopped (and lumbered, and flew) onto the train heading for Delhi. When
they got off at New Delhi Railway Station, they could not believe their eyes! Such a hustle and bustle! Such
noise and honking! Cars and yellow-green auto rickshaws, bicycles and buses, overbridges and underpasses,
Metro stations, bus stops, and ... so many people!

"Wow!" breathed Lucky the rabbit. "This is my kind of town!" He hopped on to Zero the giraffe's back, and
they ambled off to explore. TT borrowed a scooter and went zooming off into the traffic, and Mayurdas and
Tota flew up to the top of a big building to get a good look around.

It was all so very different from their peaceful jungle- and a bit overwhelming. Dr Kamala waved her
rainbow umbrella in the air; this was the signal for all the animals to follow her to a quiet spot near the
Purana Qila.

"Is it called 'purana' because it's the oldest thing in Delhi?" mused Lucky, gazing up at the fortress walls. "No,"
said Dr Kamala. "But that's a good guess - and it is pretty old. It was built in the 16th century by Sher Shah
Suri. Some people think that it was built on the site of an ancient city called

Indraprastha - that dates back to 2500 BC. According to the Mahabharata, the Pandava brothers

built a spectacular city right here with gardens and palaces and mansions whose gateways

looked like the clouds and reached as high as the mountains."

"Oh, I would love to have seen that," sighed Zero the giraffe. "It sounds really grand." "We're not really sure
what it looked like then. But what we do know is that in the 8th century AD, the modern city of Delhi was
established by Anang Pal Tomar. He built the beautiful tank of Suraj Kund which we can visit later if you like."

And so they did.

Nizamudin : (2 pages)

Hazrat Nizamuddin is one of the many historic village settlements, about 2 km south of Purana Qila, on
Mathura Road. It is named after the famous Sufi saint, Nizamuddin Auliya. The dargah of Nizamuddin is
situated here. The saint was popular amongst people of all faiths as he advocated tolerance for all religions.
This shrine also houses the tomb of Amir Khusrau, a famous poet and the saint's beloved disciple. The area
around the dargah, popularly known as Nizamuddin, is marked by crowded lanes, tombs and mosques, and
small shops selling kebabs. Every Thursday, at sunset, the qawwals sing the lyrics of Amir Khusrau.

'Everyone knew that Ekmukhi the elephant had a spiritual side, so it led them to Nizamuddin, the resting
place for one of the most famous Sufi saints of all time.

As they approached, Ekmukhi told them a tale. "Bismillah! Once a taunting grocer harassed Bakhtiyar Kaki's
wife saying 'Ha! If I were not so kind, you and your praying husband would starve.' The Sufi heard this and
forbade his wife to buy food on credit. Instead, he told her to recite the name of God at a niche in the wall.
And lo and behold, a loaf of bread appeared. They never had to ask anyone for food again."

"That's right," said Pandit Ooo Lala. “And did you know that the name 'Kaki' is derived from 'kak', meaning
'bread'? The ruling Sultan, Iltutmish, was a devotee of Bakhtiar Kaki. And when Kaki died in 1237, the funeral
prayers were led by the Sultan himself. But not all Sufi saints received the same royal patronage. The story
of Nizamuddin Auliya is one of a struggle between the Saint and the Sultan."

Once they got to the village of Nizamuddin, the animals squeezed their way through the narrow lanes full of
tourists, children, crows, mynahs and kebab sellers and the odd bleating goat.
Lucky was thrilled to see so much action. "Like a movie," she remarked. "Oh dear! That bore Mayurdas is off
again."

Bula growled, "Gawd! The winged guide!"

"Ugh!" cawed the crows. "An insult to the Noble House of Avians."

"Don't talk rot," retorted Lucky. "He's our National Bird."

"Yes, but what is a Sufi actually?" asked Bandar, sheepishly.

Pandit Ooo Lala sat up in a tree in solitary splendour. He was the local storyteller. "Good question," he said.
"And I think that the best answer is the one that Nizamuddin himself came up with: 'One who has
knowledge, reason, love, and is deserving to become a caliph of the Sufi sheikhs'. The last Khalji sultan was
Mubarak Shah," she went on, "and everyone used to come and pay tribute to him, that is, except
Nizamuddin Auliya. The Sultan was furious and said that unless he saw Nizamuddin Auliya at the next
gathering, he would chop off his head. But do you think that scared him? Not a bit! He visited his mother's
grave as usual and went to bed, peacefully. The next morning, the place was abuzz with news: there had
been a rebellion in court and Mubarak Shah had been murdered!"

"You mean Nizamuddin's head was safe, because the Sultan lost his?" asked Tunnu.

"Yes. You know it's not just Sufis that come to Nizamuddin. People of all faiths come here, and every
Thursday night the dargah echoes with the call of the qawwal. The death anniversaries, or Urs, of
Nizamuddin and Amir Khusrau are celebrated here too."

Mayurdas, the walking wikipeacock, wanted to tell everyone what he'd learned too. "Amir Khusrau was a
poet and wrote in Persian, the court language, and the local language called Hindawi. He invented the sitar
and the qawwali. Oh, and did you know that Mughal poet- princess, Jahanara, is buried here and so is the
famous poet, Mirza Ghalib?" "That's a lot of poetry for one little village," commented Pandit Ooo Lala, drily.

Humayun’s Tomb : (2 pages)

Babur established the Mughal dynasty, defeated the Rajputs and Afghans, and lived his Indian years in Agra,
on the banks of the Yamuna. Once, when his son Humayun fell dangerously ill, Babur offered his life to God
so that his son could be saved. After his death, Humayun ascended to the throne, and he began to build yet
another city — Dinpanah. His tomb was built in 1565 by his wife, Haji Begum. The tomb stands in the centre
of a square garden, divided into four main parts by causeways (charbagh). The Taj Mahal is thought to have
been inspired by Humayun's Tomb.

Pandit Ooo Lala was narrating the story of the Mughals to a group of owlets. "Alas, Humayun lost his
kingdom to a bright young Afghan from Bihar, Sher Shah Suri, in 1540. Sher Shah moved into Dinpanah and
completed the city. His short reign was most productive and Indo-Afghan architecture bloomed as never
before. In the Purana Qila area, erstwhile Dinpanah, owlets, you must fly off and see some beautiful
buildings: Qila-i-Kohna mosque, Lal Darwaza and Khairul Manazil.

"Humayun stayed in exile at the Persian court and there he learnt the imperial style. With the help of his
general Bairam Khan, he won back the throne of Hindustan and returned to Dinpanah. Alas, a year after he
returned, in 1556, he fell to his death by falling down the high stairs of the Sher Mandal, his library at the
Purana Qila. His widow, Hamida, built a tomb for him set in a magnificent garden. It was the modest-walled
garden tombs of Sikander Lodi! This was no mere Sultan's tomb, but that of an Emperor." quite a jump from

It had begun to rain, so the animals took shelter under the arches of Humayun's tomb. Mayurdas, quite fed
up that Pandit Ooo Lala was getting all the attention, and decided to tell them stories about Emperor Akbar
and his clever courtier, Birbal. He was mid-way through his second tale, when they were interrupted by the
sound of hooves. Two horsemen trotted around the corner.

“Hai Ram!” exclaimed TT, "those are ghosts! Mughal ghosts riding past in broad daylight!” They were
certainly Mughals and one even sported a falcon on his hand!

"Bad hunting," muttered Ghost One.

"Very bad," replied Ghost Two. "The river's filth and bird life is getting scarce."

"I wonder what the Shahenshah is doing about pollution. Last evening, the dust and fog was so

thick and I couldn't find my way home," commented Ghost One.

"Too many carts and carriages on the street," responded Ghost Two. "And what's worse," said the falcon,
joining their conversation, "it's getting warmer, too."

Bandar chortled with delight. "Problems never change! Pollution and global warming! We should ask the
environment minister to invite these Mughal ghosts to his next conference!"

Nearby, more tourists disgorged from buses and auto-rickshaws. More people, a flowerpot seller, and two
Sikh mechanics all converged on Humayun's tomb and amidst all the chatter and honking was a lone Sufi,
swirling and twirling and singing loudly, "Ha-re Raa-ma, Ha-re Kreesh-na."

Tota took off into the skies screeching: "India is Great! Jai Hind! This is composite culture for you!"

Chandni Chowk: (2 pages)

Chandni Chowk is one of Delhi's oldest markets. The historical accounts of the market detail the times of
trade when merchants from Turkey, China, Holland and other distant lands used to come here, with exotic
weapons, exotic birds and tapestry. It is said that it was once lined with beautiful fountains and canals. The
moon reflected in the main canal was said to have given the place its name ('chandni' means 'moon').
Although it is now a busy, crowded market, much of its old-world charm still remains. Here you'll also find
the massive Jama Masjid, the 17th-century mosque. Chandni Chowk is one of the narrowest, busiest and
most prosperous trading centres of Delhi - a fascinating maze of shops and eateries, most of which are no
more than two by five feet..

'unnu hired a cycle rickshaw to drive down Chandni Chowk, from the Lahore Gate of the Red Fort to
Fatehpuri Masjid, the heart of Shahjahanabad. Her guide book was a mine of information, and she read it out
aloud as they pedalled through the crowded, noisy streets.

"Shahjahanabad, built according to the Hindu architectural principles of Vaastu Shastra, is shaped like a bow
and fronted by the river. There are coffee shops here, where once swashbuckling noblemen and princes
flocked to hear the latest couplets by great poets such as Bedil, Dard, Sauda and Mir Taqi Mir. On a moonlit
night the central canal, Nahr-i- Behisht (Canal of Paradise) was liquid white gold, redolent with the perfumes
of Hindustan! Try going there today: it is pure chaos and its aristocratic days have slipped away into history."
That was a bit rude of the guide book, but Shahjahanabad in its heyday, was more beautiful than Baghdad
and Constantinople. Over the centuries, it has been destroyed and looted by the armies of Nadir Shah and
Ahmed Shah Abdalli, by Jats and Marathas and ruthless mercenaries.

Sunil, the rickshaw-wallah, was a resident of this part. "Sir-Madam!" he said, addressing TT who, although
she was a female, had formidable whiskers, "The British were the last of the marauders and in 1857, when
Bahadur Shah Zafar was sent to his Rangoon jail, this great city was totally destroyed. The palaces and
gardens were laid to waste. A railway line cut through the city and the whistle of the engine drowned the
songs of the dancing girls..."

Pinky sold chhole-bhatura near Fatehpuri Masjid at the end of Chandni Chowk. Pinky was a romantic and, as
he mixed chickpeas and squeezed lime juice, he yearned for the days when caged tigers and leopards were
sold to princes and horsemen who rode up and down the street; when covered palanquins conveyed a
Mughal beauty to her prayers at Fatehpuri; when the itr- wallah's street would be fragrant with the perfumes
of Hindustan — jasmine, gulab, maati and guggul; when storytellers sat on the steps of Jama Masjid and told
fantastic tales of Amir Hamza and... "Ah well," sighed Pinky, "now all this is one large slum!"

"Where's Zero got to?" said Lahorimal looking around from his rickshaw. He hadn't seen the giraffe for quite
a while and was beginning to worry. Suddenly, Tota swooped down and landed on his back. "There he is!" he
cried, pointing up with one bright green wing. It was quite a sight to see Zero! While watching the skyward
leap of kites, his long neck got entangled with the lamp post! And he was having such a good time that he
had not yet thought of disentangling himself. "Wow!" he exclaimed to the lamp post. "That must be TT. She
looks most stylish with her sunglasses!"

TT, lounging in a rickshaw, was an incredible sight - all the passers-by goggled at a gorgeous tigress wearing
goggles!

"Hai Bhagwan!" said Pinky, "what's happening here? Are we seeing the effects of globalisation? First there's a
giraffe wrapped around a lamp post and now a tiger in a rickshaw!"
"Never mind globalisation," said Mayurdas, "just look at all this litter. I can't imagine that once upon a time
this place was full of magnificent havelis. It's all been downhill since Nadir Shah of Persia and Ahmad Shah
Abdalli invaded back in the mid-eighteenth century. Then there was the terrible time of the Mutiny.."

"You mean the Uprising?" chipped in Lucky.

"...well, whatever you call it, in 1857. When Ghalib wrote, 'An ocean of blood churns around me. Alas! Were
these all! The future will show what more remains for me to see."

Well," sighed Pinky again, "now there are only memories in the names: in the kuchas, which were
occupation-specific zones; in the katras, which were the workplaces and homes of craftsmen; and in special
markets like the spice market of Khari Baoli, the glitter and gauze shops of Kinari Bazaar, or the paper market
of Chawri Bazaar. But some famous eating places are still around, of which the earliest are the Ghantewala
Halwai, the paratha shops of Parathewali Gali, and Karim's, famous for its Mughal cuisine."

At the mention of all that delicious food, our friends realised they were very hungry, and eagerly set off in
search of the delicious eateries of Chandni Chowk.

New Delhi: (3/4 pages)

The skyline of Delhi, once famed for its minarets, domes and battlements, is now dominated by office
blocks and flyovers. The horrors of Partition and large-scale migrations created problems in decades
following Independence. Connaught Place was completed in 1933 and was intended to be the showpiece of
Lutyens' Delhi. It is built in two concentric circles, with a garden in the centre-underneath which now, there
is the metro station. CP (as it is known) was named after the Duke of Connaught, and most people still call it
that, although its official name is Rajiv Chowk after the late Indian Prime Minister, Rajiv Gandhi. Just south of
CP is the grand boulevard of Rajpath, with the parliament buildings and the President's House, Rashtrapati
Bhavan, at one end, and India Gate at the other. Delhi's population has always been very mixed, with people
streaming in from all parts of India and from other countries too. Delhi has survived and has, in the
twenty-first century, boomed with a population of almost 14 million! The pace is fast as the city hurries to
catch up with the world.

Lucky the rabbit had found a cyber café and was chatting online with his American e-pal, Chocolate Moose
of Yellowstone Park. "We're having a great time in Delhi," he typed. "It's amazing how much history has
happened here! I just met some British travellers who are here for a holiday - but 150 years back, the British
were the rulers here! They established their own city in what is now called Civil Lines - up near Delhi
University. After 1857, all the heroes of the Hindu epics and all that Islamic heritage were kicked out and
replaced with King Arthur and

Robin Hood!"

"That's what happened to us, too," Chocolate Moose replied. "Instead of Cherokee and Choctaw myths and
the whispering winds of the prairies, we got the English language! I learnt in geography that Delhi was the
capital city of India. Is that true?"

"Yes," replied Lucky. "But it wasn't always. In fact until 1911, the capital was in Kolkata (which used to be
Calcutta). But King George V decided to shift the capital to Delhi and that's when it became 'New Delhi'."

Tunnu the tiger came sauntering into the café and peered over Lucky's shoulder. "Hey," she said, "why are
you telling that ol' moose about old New Delhi? All that British architecture and Raj stuff? Tell him about
New Delhi, the metro, the malls, the flyovers, the..."

"Oh shush," said Lucky. "I'm trying to type!"

TT decided to leave him to it. She sauntered around the beautifully renovated circular shopping centre
called Connaught Place. It was built by the British just like the Rashtrapati Bhavan and the two Secretariat
buildings and all those glorious gracious avenues and roundabouts of what's called 'Lutyens Delhi' (named
after the main architect).

TT bumped into Dr Kamala who was also out for a stroll. "When did British rule end?" she asked.
"Delhi was only British India's capital for about 17 years. The Union Jack came down finally at the stroke of
the midnight hour, on August 15th 1947..."

“... and when the world slept, India awoke to life and freedom. Well, here we are democratic, and even I, a
bear, can speak!" chipped in Bula who joined them on their walk. free and

"Yes," said Dr Kamala, "and every year there's a huge parade of Republic Day all the way from Vijay Chowk to
Lal Qila. At the end of Rajpath is India Gate, a memorial to all the Indian soldiers who died in World War I."

"Sounds rather sad," said Tunnu.

"Not at all!" piped up Lucky, who had finished emailing and had caught up with her friends. "In the evening,
it's great fun to go there — and eat ice-cream and play. Shall we go there now?"

"Sure!" Everyone chorused, and they headed off to India Gate.

It was like a small-scale businessmen's meet, where every creature was an entrepreneur.

Zero had started selling cold drinks with extra-long straws. Imagine sitting on a tree and sipping Coke from a
bottle lying on the grass. Wow! What an idea!

Ekmukhi had restyled himself as Jumbo from Jambudwip with Bandar as his mahout. For tourists it was a
royal ride down Rajpath and the two had made oodles of cash. Inspired by their success, Tota had brought
her siblings.

"Hi there!" they chorused. "We are Parrotinterprets Inc. - English, Spanish, German, Japanese...pleased to
help you...welcome!"
Pandit Ooo Lala aloofly perched on the lamp post, muttered, "Well, what can I do? I can't change the world.
I guess I'm just an old-fashioned, endangered, outdated bird."

Bula and TT had joined the anti-GM Foods rally.

"I am thirsty, and there's not a single homemade eats stall anywhere here,” he retorted, “except for those
yucky paneer burgers. Ugh!"

Zero was happy having his hooves polished. "So glad the shoeshine boy and the balloon seller still have a
place here... at least some things haven't changed..." he mused.

The cars and buses and autos whizzed around India Gate, adding to the din and chaos and colour and noise.
With the swanky new shopping malls of Saket, the expressways to Noida and Gurgaon, the flyovers and the
metro trains, Delhi really seemed to be zooming ahead.
"But you know," said Dr Kamala, trying to cross the road, "New Delhi is not all noise, pollution and pushing
and shoving. There are some lovely calm spots other than the picturesque stones of the past. There is the
Baha'i Temple - the Lotus Temple in Kalkaji: it's a beautiful building, set in lovely gardens, and such a
peaceful place to meditate.

"Then there's Buddha Jayanti Park, along the spine of the Ridge, where you can see a golden Buddha resting
under a Tibeto-Saracenic chhatri. It was gifted to India by the Dalai Lama. In May, when the markets are gold
with mangoes and the trees red with gulmohar blossoms, Buddha Jayanti is celebrated in front of the golden
Buddha. Ducks, geese, monks and others gather to pay homage to the Enlightened One while butterflies
and bees dance in the heat. Even the snails come out."

Pandit Ooo Lala, swooped down on silent wings, and while all the other animals listened, quietly, recited a
Buddhist saying:

"For as long as space endures And for as long as living beings remain Until then may I, too, abide To dispel
the misery of the world."

-Santideva: Bodhicaryavatara