Morning prayers were over, people were getting ready to start their day, shops were being set up with attractive items and mannequins draped in glittery clothes being placed at the entrance of the shop to lure the customers, birds lined up on the thick electric wires hanging low on the streets, the halwaiwalas were  their respective food outlets, the small and damp lanes had started pulling crowd, the hustling-bustling streets and lanes of Chandni Chowk were ready with their arms open to welcome a new day.

Acquaintance with the history of the Sikhs
I had imagined such a start of the day in these lanes even before I reached this oldest part of Delhi. The sun was at its peak; it was around 1 pm when I visited the museum that had been built opposite to the beautiful Sheesh Ganj Gurudwara. Upon entering the museum, my eyes fell on the paintings lined up on the walls in the correct historical sequence, narrating the stories of Guru Nanak and the ten other gurus who propagated Sikhism among the masses.

The paintings established the sacrifices and equal participation of women like Bibi Nanaki, Mata Khivi, Mata Gujri and women warriors like Mai Bhago in the struggle to establish Sikhism. The paintings in the basement hall boasted the courage of warriors like Maharaja Ranjit Singh, and the warfare, bloodshed and sacrifices that took place in their struggle for freedom and Independence. Through the paintings I could clearly see the animosity and hatred that had been between the Mughals and the Sikhs, which over the years had taken the form of mass killings in the pages of the Sikh history.

We stepped out of the museum, to continue our exploratory journey of Chandni Chowk, however this place left me with one question – are we being subjected to very specific and limited history of our nation? With this question I walked further, continuously finding my way through the congested roads and paralysed traffic. My friend sulking over the commotion said to me ‘this is our Chandni Chowk’.

Dropping by the dilapidated ‘Havellis’
As we walked in the lanes of Chandni Chowk, this old city appeared to me a saturated concentration of Hindus and Muslims, where both the sects resided with each other, forming a mass in which their religious identities were dissolved. Our next destination was Chunnamal Ki Haveli, which was owned by a very famous and rich merchant Rai Lala Chunnamal.

Very few people had any idea of this 128-room grand havelli, which has been built in the centre of the Chandni Chowk. Those who knew kept on correcting us with the pronunciation as we asked them the way to this havelli, some calling it Chunnamal, others calling it Chunnalal.  After walking for a good distance, we were finally standing at the door of Chunnamal ki havelli, a small green painted door with carvings on the walls that surrounded it and shops lined on both the sides of the entrance. As we climbed upstairs we were welcomed by a beautiful and enchanting mirror which dazzled under the sunlight.

I always felt while walking through these lanes of Chandni Chowk that every lane looks as if it’s just meant for Indian masses, who are trying to track the ‘real India.’ Also loading and unloading of goods seemed to be taking place all day long, as the customers flock these lanes of Chandni Chowk. The shops of savouries and sweets give the visitors an understanding of the Indian delicacies.

Fatehpur Sikri Masjid
Fatehpur Sikri Masjid was no different from any other mosque; it was just a little big, with beautiful carvings in the dome and a peaceful pavilion, on the sides of which one could relax. Sitting there I could see men performing namaz and offering ibadat (prayer). Though the ground was getting hot, making it difficult to walk, we managed to reach the exit of the mosque barefooted.

Chandni Chowk, was not just a place of cultural amalgamation but also a place of beautiful union of the people of different castes, creeds and religions – even in the hustle-bustle of these lanes.

Revisiting the memories of Ghalib
Crossing the various lanes, one intersecting the other at some place, I had lost the track of the lanes we were coming through; fortunately we finally reached Ghalib Ki Havelli. It was not very huge and had a museum on the right which displayed the clothes of Ghalib and his wife Umrao Begum.

It also showcased the book containing his shayaris along with the statue of Ghalib placed in the centre. Inside the havelli was a hall with a huge painting of Ghalib and his shayaris adorning the walls. The passage on the left of the hall narrated the life and creations of Ghalib. It was sad to see that in our present times, the art of that period got lost somewhere and somehow during the whole process of development.

The ‘galli’ of Indian delicacies
It was the time to have our lunch finally at 4 pm in the Paranthewalli Galli and so we headed towards it without losing our pace. Having food in the famous Paranthewalli Galli had its own charm – sitting on a white bench with a steel thali of Indian delicacies like pickles, sweet chutney, two subzis and a parantha of your choice along with a lassi served in the clay pot or kulhar.

After Paranthewalli Galli, we were finally left with two places – the Red Fort and the Jama Masjid, although the Red Fort was not new to me, I thought that since I had taken pains to come to Chandni Chowk, I must visit this place for sure. We were tired but determined to reach our destination. I could see the Red Fort shinning in the sun rays; it was five by the time we reached there. It always appeared huge to me and never failed to enchant me with its architecture.

The great Mughal history
The Meena Bazaar today appears to be the market for elites and the foreigners who come to visit the Red Fort; it no longer carries the cultural essence that it had during the Mughal era. However, the fort even today reflects the perfection which the Mughals were known for. After crossing the pavilions we first encountered the Diwan-e-aam, where the daily proceedings of the court were held. The throne of emperor made of white stones has been sealed with net to protect it from any damage.

From there we headed to the Diwan-e-Khas, Rang Mahal, Hamam and Moti Masjid, the beautiful carvings in these structures made me think about the architecture of that era. It was not just the carvings that had attracted me, but also the systematic structure – the outer walls of the fort were at a huge distance from the land surrounding it and only the bridge to Lahori gate was the passage to enter the fort, hence making it difficult for the army of the enemy kingdom to attack the fort; the buildings were built in a sequence keeping in mind their importance; the pavilions were huge so that one could freely stroll and relax; the pavilions that were located behind the Hamam and Moti Masjid had small channels or ‘nahar’ from which the water could be easily channelled to the various corners of this huge pavilion. The Red Fort truly appeared as an amalgamation of royalty, systematic structure, luxury, leisure and beauty.

It was 6 pm and now we were heading towards the Jama Masjid, crossing the lanes where all I could see was bicycles. It didn’t look and feel like the busy Delhi I knew, this area appeared like some small town of our India, and being in such a place brought me immense joy, especially for being able to escape the metro city.

In the name of Allah
Huge stairs, built in red stone, Jama Masjid stood in the middle of the glittery market of the Chandni Chowk. After climbing the stairs, we could see the whole of the Chandni Chowk. Devotees thronged the various corners of the huge veranda; some offering prayers to Allah and some enjoying the serenity of the place, in the middle of this veranda was a small pond which contained the holy water. It was the time for the evening namaz, the men flocked towards the mosque, a huge golden chandelier could be seen from outside, all I could here was the azaan, and the air was filled with the name of Allah. The minaars and gumbads of the mosque with beautiful carvings appeared escalating in the ‘godhlibela’ (evening hour) and the surrounding was filled with sacred chants.

I stared hard at the Red Fort, visible at a distance from the Jama Masjid and then at the whole view of Chandni Chowk, and all I could think was “how blessed these lanes of Chandni Chowk are, where roots of our cultures and traditions lie, and to find the ‘real India’ all we have to do is come to these lanes and give ears to these forgotten stories before they are lost forever.”