[Reader-list] Delhi: The City of Itrs

[Lehar ..]

fyi..a recent piece..

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Phool walon ka shaher: The City of Itrs
by Lehar


Delhi, the oldest of cities knows the power of
flowers..

Phool khile bagiyan mein..

Flowers bloom in the garden..
The harvest of spring is here..
- Hazrat Amir Khusro, saint poet of Delhi.

At beginning of a sultry September, Delhi will soon be
filled with the fragrance of the phoolwalon ki
sair..the procession of the flower people..albeit
muted under the weight of its dusty roads and CNG
buses. 
I can smell their itrs.. and they trigger a seeking of
their roots and this rite. 
The rite of thousands of Delhi walahs carrying flowers
from the Red fort, all the way to Mehrauli-  to shrine
of Hazrat Qutubuddin Kaki and the Yoga Maya Mandir, 32
kms in all. 

As we travel with the flowers, I realise that the sair
had to be in Delhi, the city of the phoolwalahs/ the
flower people. The term long invented before the
1960s’.

For Dilli is indeed like one of its itrs, distilled
and blended over centuries. No one could said it
better than her own, Ghalib:

'In this city, is a festival called the flower men's
festival. Everyone from the nobles to the artisans
goes off to the Qutub Minar. All the shops in the city
of Muslims and Hindus alike stay closed throughout
this time'.

Another eminent Delhi wallah echoed him:

The tableau of Delhi depicts phool walon ki sair with
a procession of people guided by Shehnai and drum
players. It is accompanied by beautiful floral
'Pankhas', fresh flowers and garlands..heading to the
dargah of Khwaja Qutbuddin Bakhtyar Kaki and the
Yogmaya temple next to it. Devotees offer silk Chadars
at the Temple and floral Chadars at the dargah.’

How did it all begin? A Mughal noblewoman’s gratitude
at the shrine of a Sufi saint became an pilgrimage and
celebration for the entire city, transcending all
barriers. For 200 years from the time of Akbar Shah II
to Bahadur Shah Zafar - till the British banned it
in1857, every King of Delhi went to the tomb of Khwaja
Bakhtiyar and to the Jog Maya Mandir 

The Devi and the Dervish. Yogini Maya and Hazrat
Qutubuddin Kaki. He was Guru of Baba Farid of Lahore,
whose is the first bani in the Guru Granth Saheb. Baba
Farid was the Guru of Hazrat Nizamuddin, the patron
saint of Delhi.
She is the unknown primordial power..the Great
Mother.. ancient as the Universe and the source of
Delhi herself.. An astounding alchemy.
 
And this alchemy hovers.. breathes in us.. When the
Indian PM speaks from the ramparts of the Red Fort,
he/she is only paying tribute it..For in the same
glance the Indian PM can see the Gauri Shankar temple,
the Gurudwara Sheesh Ganj and the Sunehri masjid, next
to the Jain Mandir, Beside the St. James church. Near
Sarmad’s red coloured dargah. It is the circle of
itrs.. the heart of Chandni Chowk, where one of the
country’s oldest alchemists/itrwalahs dwells. 

Remember see Shyam benegal’s Junoon? Who can forget
Naseeruddin Shah’s freedom fighter Sarfaraz Khan
riding alongside his Hindu comrade.. Saffron and green
flags in hand as they charged toward the British army
with the cries of Allaho Akbar and Har Har
Mahadev..martyred together for Delhi.. Where the roots
of the tricolour lie. 
She knows the secret of blending. Look up to the Red
fort.. and see it flying up there. 

---
We can read Delhi’s soul in this journey of 32 kms
from Chandni Chowk to Mehrauli.

All the way along this highway are scattered, life
giving baolis and sarais quenching the thirst of
travellers..built by kings and commoners.. an act of
piety.  Arab ki sarai.. Qutub ki sarai... Parsi Meher/
fire temple ki sarai..Yogi ki sarai.. Sheikh ki
sarai..Kale khan ki sarai.. Badli-ki-Sarai.. Bade Khan
Chotte Khan, Jamaali Kamaali, the Sufi and his
beloved..

Badli ki Sarai is on G.T. Road, it means the sarai of
clouds...It was here that a big battle was fought on
June 8,1857 between the Indian sepoys and the Gordon
Highlanders. Just imagine Scottish Highlanders
fighting in Delhi during the hot scorching months of
June! Maybe that’s why they called it cloudy.. 

Coming back to the start, Chandni Chowk is the most
historic street in the world, say scholars. It is here
that Dara Shikoh, Sanskrit scholar and the future King
of India was dragged in rags through thronging crowds
..who loved him..so much so that one of them cursed
his throne grabbing brother, Aurangzeb to leave Delhi
forever ..and Aurangzeb never returned(He is buried in
the Deccan)

It is here that Sarmad, the digambar (nude/ skyclad)
Sufi fell in love with Abhay Chand, the Hindu
merchant’s son.. and renounced the world. It is here
that Aurangzeb ordered his execution.. apparently for
‘insulting Islam’, but essentially for befriending
Dara and influencing the masses of Delhi with his
blending message..
Three executioners tried unsuccessfully to behead
him.. till Sarmad himself handed Abhay Chand the
sword..singing’ Come my beloved, in whatsoever garb
thou come, I recognise thee well’..His severed head
walked the steps of the Jama Masjid before thousands
of Dilliwalas and had to be restrained from destroying
the whole city..the legend says. He was followed by
the Sikh Guru Tegh Bahadur, who he and Dara Shikoh
loved dearly- beheaded at Gurudwara Sheesh(Head) Ganj,
again in the heart of Chandni Chowk. 

The Mughals were never to regain their glory..and
Dara’s grave was never found.
But then, this is Dilli..

But we are digressing.. and are back in in Chandni
chowk, street of moonlight, origin of the sair ..where
the itrs are made.

-------

‘Gulabsingh Johrimal: Itr Manufacturers & Exporters.
Estd. 1816’, Chandni Chowk. 
He is the oldest surviving itr maker in the city of
Delhi.
Ram Singh Gundhi, (i.e. fragrance) is the descendant
of the original Gulab Singh and recounts a tale of his
grandfather’s times..  Of the Nehr-e-Bahisht (River of
Paradise) which flowed down Chandni Chowk, watered by
an underground aqueduct.  Covered by the Brits in
1916.

Chandni Chowk was built by Princess Jahanara, the Sufi
daughter of Shahjahan, who also practised Kali worship
and Christianity, like her eclectic elder brother,
Dara Shikoh. Jahanara was forbidden to marry by an
unwritten rule for Mughal princesses.. and spent her
life in prayer and exploring different religions. And
building schools, sarais and astronomical
observatories. She is recounted to have swept the
floor of the Hazrat Nizamuddin’s dargah with her own
hair and inspired her mourning father Shah Jahan to
continue his ‘karma yoga as King’ by recounting the
Bhagwad Gita.

She even inspired Aurangzeb’s scholar daughter
Zebunnisa to build an astronomical observatory.. near
the current St. Stephens college.. gathering Persian,
Jewish, Zoroastrian, Hindu and Armenian scholars from
all over the world..in the tradition of her liberal
family..where the likes of Aurangzeb were always a
misfit..
He was a misfit even in Delhi. When he banned mehfils
of music, Shia processions, Sufi mehfils and ordered
Muslim men to grow their beards 4 inches long, along
with his other regressive practises..Accounts record
Dilliwalahs carrying the bier(or janaza) of music past
his palace..wailing in mock despair..a tradition of
sarcasm and wit carried on by the likes of Ghalib..
and our very own, Khushwant Singhjee.( Dilli lover..)

----

Something similar happened in the shop of Gulab Singh
Johrimal. His recounts the time when the people of
Delhi, Hindus and Muslims alike, blended in the sair
crowds like itrs.
When the daughters of Akbar Shah, the founder of the
phoolwalon ki sair came down in palkis to buy itrs.
Nobles - nawabs, rajahs, subedars, Hindus and Muslims
alike ..sat around, sniffing and choosing the perfect
blend.

But now things are different he says. The market for
itrs began to decline five years ago..as the younger
generation drifted away to fake western scents.. As
did the market for many things Indian..
 
So what are these itrs?  We ask..
Says a text: 
‘It is held by all races from the beginning of time
that Flowers hold the secret power.. the al chemie.(
Arabic word from which ‘chemistry’ is derived). It is
the Great Work of nature that perfects chaotic matter,
from metals to our souls. ‘

Another brochure says: Itrs are sought after as the
centuries-old Indian art of blending fragrances.. They
are evocative of a time of grandeur and No chemicals
are used in them. They are pure scent, distilled from
fresh flowers. The flowers must be plucked at dawn and
used before sun rise..’

Other Ancients speak of the myraid flowers used in
ittars: the roses, bela, malti, champa, maulasree,
Hinna, khus and ketaki.. names of maidens..blended
with the roots of vetiver and ginger. The Oils in
their base are powerful healers. Three drops of sweet
marjoren with jaggery cure migraines and hangovers..
petitgren oil controls nausea and vomiting. 

Try Rubbing chameli on your wrists, bottled in cut
glass decanters, smelling of a summer evening. The
most expensive one of them all is the Rooh gulab,
'soul of roses' Rs. 3,500 for a tiny vial.  It was
discovered by Queen Noorjehan, floating in her morning
bath above the rose petals. 

Ittars are not just classified according to their
content but also the time of the year. The spicy Hina,
 a blend of saffron and green musk, smells different
on each wrist. Ghalib dabbed it on while going to meet
his beloved during the winters. 

Champa, chameli gulab.. jhoom rahe daar..
Champa jasmine rose.. bloom on every branch..
Come.. Dear one ..swaying..Come..
Khusro’s reached his Beloved’s door..

*****
My beloved never ceases to amaze.. Khusro
sings..beloved disciple of Delhi’s patron saint..
As we walk along 32 kms of the sair, Delhi’s continues
to reveal her many faces..
Where else can you find a place called Majnu ka Tila
(Majnu’s hillock) or Bhooli Bhatiyari ka mahal? Majnu
ka tila is a Sufi’s hermitage, who was blessed by Guru
Nanak with the name ‘Majnu’( Mad for God) and has a
lovely Gurudwara.
Or Mirza Chappati near Adarsh Nagar, where tandoori
rotis are made to qawwalis and served by a dwarf? 
Burhiya's mosque is in Mori Gate. James Skinner's
house is in Ganda Nala Bazar, Kashmiri Gate. Bu
Halima’s doorway is in Humayun’s tomb . The Moghul
period mandirs are to the south of Rao Tula Rao Marg
and are occupied by the Indian Navy. And the Kharbuze
ka Gumbad is in Sheikh Sarai, Phase 1 –shaped like a
melon. 

No wonder the Victorian Brits had a culture shock and
redid the whole place...cleansed of crazy things like
itrs, Majnus and love struck Pathans. 

Imagine, poor Sir Metcalfe comes to this place and
goes slightly Majnu himself.. he built Metcalfe's
Folly - a lighthouse in the middle of the Aravalis. 

They did have a jolly tough time getting used to
Dilli. Going about their business, trying to unmingle
itrs.  Quite impossible old chap, without breaking the
bottle. Delhi was badly bruised in this process.
Thousands of her citizens wiped out.. and Hindoo and
Muslim became two distinct entities for the first
time..with separate taxes to pay..and mixed rituals
getting banned.. including the sair.

'For the Hindoo Mohameddan communal amity; is a
dangerous threat to our interest in the India
subcontinent’ said Lord Lithinglow(?) in 1857.
The sair was thus banned. And not held for the next 90
years till 1947 and the Indian govt. restarted it.  By
then, the damage had been done.
The Brits couldn’t really help it. It was a rather
dangerous proposition, imagine another Sepoy Mutiny
rising from its ranks and likes of Sarfaraz Khan and
his Hindoo pals. The flower sellers fair was a threat
to National security. So they banned it.
And unbanned cow slaughter at the same time, which the
Mughals had outlawed in deference to Hindoo
sentiments. And the jinns began to come out of the
bottle..

************
They say Delhi never dies- she renews herself again
and again. For above hover her djinns..devs... who
love Her much. Ask William Dalrymple, another Delhi
lover, author of the city of djinns..

The Brits tried the TNT (two nation theory) bottle
breaking experiment to unmingle the itrs.. round about
the Chandni Chowk Jhandewalan area..at the height of
their rule in the 1920s. It culminated in the grand
bottle breaking of 1947. Now of course things are out
of hand..saffron and green djinns have escaped out of
the bottle and unleashed havoc..
 
Hindus Punjabis from Lahore have come..leaving behind
verandah-ed homes, record players on Mall road and
memories of Amrita Shergill.. You can recognise them
in a second..those eyes which have never left Lahore-
50 years after..
They built the refugee city..
In Malcha Marg did Mr. Bahl, A stately pleasure dome
decree..
Reads a popular poem..on the bizarre architecture of
post independence Delhi.

Scattered like birds, Sikhs from their Frontier
homeland are here too. And out there in Karachi.. they
have roads named on Delhi poets and Sufis. A Khusro
road..a Dara Shikoh boulevard. The mohajirs
(‘Pakistan’s Delhi refugees’) pickle like fermented
lemons in her angst and live under the mullahs they
loved to mock.

But the phoolwallahs know, This is Just What Happens
when itrs are unmingled. So they continue to preserve
them, each time they take out the sair.

Preserving itrs is more than healing. Flowers have a
power, which if not respected can anger the djinns..
and they don’t like being brought out of the bottles.
But, the phoolwallahs say.. it ultimately doesn’t
matter. For whoever tried to break the bottle, didn’t
last. From the Kauravas to the Tughlaqs who troubled
the Sufis.. to Aurangzeb and his head chopping
sprees.. to Brits who moved to Delhi from Calcutta and
hung its citizens from its trees..
To 1984.. and Gujarat 2002.

And the Mongols.. Dilliwallas attribute the sudden
retreat of the Mongols to the prayers of Saint
Nizamuddin Chisti. There are several stories about the
miracles performed by the saint including one in which
he commanded the Yamuna to behave itself when the
river flooded half of Delhi.. He continues to be the
Mehboob e Elahi(Beloved of God)..and protector of
Delhi.. of Hindus and Muslims alike.. while the
worldly kings come and go.. His darbar still resounds
with the sound of qawwalis and the fragrance of
itrs..800 years after.

So the flower wallahs say when they reach Nizamuddin .
and many of their itrs are sold near the saints
doors..They rest here for a while and move..despite
the Media not covering them- for the want of masala
like film stars weddings et al..

The fragrance hovers above the earth..As the master
itr wallah..Gulab Singh says:
Itrs are truly like flowers - as old as them but as
fresh as tomorrow's dew drops..

He distills Delhi’s in these words.. blended over
centuries, where the Nehr e Bahisht flows..and the
saffron and green hina itr rises..

By the time you reach Mehrauli via Nizamuddin.. you
can almost hear a voice humming like a thousand bumble
bees, of the Chandogya Upanishad:

As bees suck nectar from many a flower
And make their honey one, so that no drop
Can say, 'I am from this flower or that,'
All creatures, though many 
know not they are One...

---
The phoolwalas do.


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