Into the heart of Amritsar

Yesterday was the first time I ventured into Amritsar all by myself.

I hailed a cycle rickshaw and asked the rickshaw-wallah tot ake me to
the famous Kesar Da Dhaba (An Amritsar institution – the oldest dhaba
there, henceforth abbreviated as KDD). But apparently, its not quite
so famous, since the guy had simply heard of it but didn't know the
way there.

So I approached an old, old Sardar policeman at a street corner as to
what area of the city should I ask for, to reach KDD. And I came
across yet another example of Amritsari warmth – his first reaction to
my question was a sweet smile and the comforting words – "Main aapko
rickshaw kara deta hoon ji!" Then old Uncle Ji (I cant call him a Surd
anymore) hailed a rickshaw, asked the guy to take me to KDD, told him
which route to take and also haggled with him over the fare. And
courteously handed me into (rather, onto!) the rickshaw! There's
chivalry for you!

Riding atop a cycle rickshaw is quite an experience. You proceed at a
leisurely 10 kmph through the crowded city streets. As you clutch the
seat when the rick bumps over a particularly uneven street of road
(and there are many such stretches in good ole Amritsar!), you get the
uncomfortable feeling that the whole world and his neighbour are
staring at you. And all the time you are conscious that another human
being is lugging along (albeit with mechanical help!) your lump of a
weight……and as though all these sensations weren't enough, Amritsari
traffic rushes in to add some excitement.




The traffic here is UNBELEIVABLE….. all the people, whether they are
atop ancient creaking cycles, even more ancient cycle rickshaws,
roaring motorbikes or smoke-spewing cars – all of them AMBLE on the
streets. There is no other word to describe them. The traffic moves at
max 40 kmph, people take wide looping turns, keep drifting from lane
to lane (probably the word 'lane' does not exist in the lexicon of an
average Amritsari ) And every single person thinks that he is the only
person on the whole road. So there is no right-of-way, people just
shove their vehicles (or themselves) into whatever space they find on
the road, without caring that the car/bike/rickshaw/truck just behind
them was a hair's breadth away from squashing them out of existence.
In this way, I found myself nearly embracing a Punjabi lady out
shopping atop another ricksaw, nudging a dashing Punjabi munda on a
hunkster of a bike and air-kissing the cheek of a soni Punjabi kudi
who was riding pillion on her friend's Scooty.

All through this socializing, the roads were transmogrifying – from
roads to lanes to alleys to almost-unpassable narrow walkways. Old
Amritsar was closing in. All around me were shops selling food – yes,
this was the true spirit of Amritsar! There were halwaais with mounds
of creamy mithai piled high, tiny thelas serving samosas and pakoras,
dhabas with a tandoor outside to welcome hungry wayfarers……this was
Khau Galli with a literal twist (several, in fact) There were also
shops selling gorgeous textiles – from printed cotton that Amritsar is
known for, to dazzling, sparkling lehengas and sarees – myriad colours
in chiffon, all glittering with mirror-work, jardozi work…all in a
multi-hued glory….



Finally after twists and turns (rather like the Nokia Navigator ad)
when I was deep in the heart of Amritsar and beginning to think that
the lane ahead was too narrow even for a cycle rickshaw, the rickshaw
stopped – in front of 'Kesar Da Dhaba , Estd 1916'



Inside, the marble-topped tables, wooden stools (painted black for some reason),
marble partitions to create a few booths (no doubt the 'family' or
'ladies' sections) and bright white tubelights was almost a luxurious
setting for me.(In the past week, my calibration on the luxury scale
has changed. I have seen (and eaten at) such holey, dusty, nameless
places that my luxury scale has hit a new low)



The menu is almost Spartan with 2 types of parathas, and 4-5 types of
subzis being served. But everything is cooked in "Shudhdha Desi Ghee"
as a board proudly proclaims. And true, my lachchha paratha came
glistening with ghee and the Shahi Paneer came with a film of red
'tavang' floating on top – but it wasn't oil, no! Such travesty would
never be tolerated here. It was true-blue ghee. It took me an effort
to finish that solitary paratha – even though it was not overly large.
The ghee does the job as effectively, you see.



I was persuaded to try both the lassi and the phirni after the meal – and both very nice. The phirni especially was yummy – rice-flour thickened milk cooked slowly
with sugar and dryfruits, and then cooled in shallow earthenware bowls
till the concoction sets –and served covered with silver varkha and a
dash of chopped nuts. Simple and sweet. :P



The lassi was not as good as the one I'd had in Delhi though – but
apparently the best lassi in Amritsar is the one sold outside the
Golden Temple. So I'll reserve my judgment on Amritsari lassi….

On the way back I resolved to walk my way out of the tangle of alleys
till the main road. And predictably, I lost my way. But I enjoyed
loitering about the bazaar, taking in the sights and sounds and
smells…..and was not worried a bit – after all, I had enough faith in
the people here to guide me – and they did. :) I rode home in an auto
rickshaw – oh how comforting was the steady roar of the engine under
me rather than the rickety clicks of the cycle rickshaw's pedals! The
auto I'd picked was slightly larger than usual and could have seated 5
people – but I sailed hotelwards in solitary glory. All around, people
peered into the auto, apparently surprised to see a lone occupant. And
I looked at the crowds – at times with regal aloofness and at other
times with a benevolent smile. It cost me 50 Rs (more than double the
cycle rick fare – that too, after haggling) but what is 50 Rs for
feeling like a Queen? :)