Down the streets of Nizamuddin

The purpose of our visit to the Nizamuddin Basti area was to search and find the reclusive heritage sites that we had heard about a lot, but never had the chance to see with our own eyes. With a joint conservation effort on in full swing in the area, we knew that this would be the best time to see the many monuments that were in various states of conservation.

Having reached quite early on in the day, we saw the basti before the activities of the day took over. Shop owners were still washing the thresholds of their shops, while a few young boys overlooked the entire operation with keen interest. Some shops had opened already - tea stalls selling fresh creamy tea to their patrons, and various paanwallas already catering to the shoppers that surrounded them. We headed on through the narrow lanes towards a school that had been developed, as part of the inclusive heritage conservation effort which considers the people living in the area as much as the monuments and heritage sites they aim to conserve and protect.

 I saw a pair of children getting ready for the day with an eagerness - the elder helping the younger putting on a shirt. Beyond, we could see the school day had already begun. We could see glimpses of young boys and girls running within the school courtyard, all dressed in smart uniforms, running around in the warm September sunlight. We saw the two children, now all dressed up and ready for the day, run off into the small black gate of the school and disappear out of sight. Our guide showed us where they had headed off to, and took us beyond the remnants of a park - broken slides and swings littered one end, while makeshift tents had sprung up on the other - to another, cleaner and greener park. He told us that the park, maintained under the conservation effort itself, was a small sanctuary they provided to all women and children of the area, not just the ones studying in the school, to come and enjoy the swings that had become so hard to find in the area. A small wide-eyed girl, still entirely enamored by the swings and the surrounding park, patiently waited her turn by the side while a group of younger boys swung by without a care in the world. Finally, it was her turn, and the camera in my hand thrilled her.

Carefully, with poise and grace, as though a million cameras and a large spotlight was upon her, she took to the swing and gently started swaying back and forth, always seemingly aware of the camera with which I snapped her photos. As the swing gathered speed, she lost her little inhibitions, and I could see her swinging more freely than before. Once, as the swing reached the fullest height, she threw back her head, her face upside-down, her hair hanging free, and laughed out loud at the timid young ones too reluctant to try such daring games, and as they laughed back at her, she turned and smiled at me. It was an infectious smile, and I found myself grinning back at her as well, while the young ones still whooped behind her.

Just outside of the school, there was a group of kids, all of school age, but in stark contrast with the ones running inside the courtyard in the sunlight, chasing each other. Yet, the children outside were learning new things on their own. As I walked by, I found them huddled around a bright red and yellow computer, eagerly looking into the screen. The installation was part of the hole-in-the-wall initiative; the concept being that even in unsupervised conditions, if the children have an opportunity to learn new things, they will pick it up. Seeing the group of children huddled around the computer figuring out how to use it, all on their own, I could see the hunger in their eyes to learn something new and exciting, even if it was outside the supervised classrooms just a few meters beyond. The children, although outside the structure of the school, had enough curiosity to teach themselves from whatever resources they had around them. We walked away from the school as more and more children gathered around the computer, often helping each other out when they got stuck with it somewhere.

In all the years that I've spent in Delhi, I've heard a lot of mention about the Baolis that dot the city. Still, I had only ever seen one, Argasen-ki-Baoli near Connaught Place. I knew about the existence of Nizamuddin's baoli, and had heard about the importance of the place from friends and friends of friends who visited the place earlier, but never did I get the chance to see it for myself. This time, though, we were headed off to see it.

We saw the well only from behind the closed gates, but we could see the importance that the place must have had in the area. Renovation efforts were most noticeable here, with the structure of the well being strengthened from the core. A group of young boys were bathing in the water, jumping from the surrounding structures into the water, while a recorded voice all around the area kept reminding all that water was sacred, and it is our duty to keep the well clean. The preservation of this particular baoli becomes even more important when I learned that it is perhaps the only one in the city which is still connected to an active water spring. For both the residents of the immediate area and for the heritage of the city, this is an important site that needs to be preserved and nurtured for years to come.

Before heading out of the area, there was one place that still needed to be seen - Mirza Ghalib's tomb, hidden away within the winding lanes of Nizamuddin.

Nested in the midst of residences, a small white marble structure marks the place where the legendary poet lay. Restored as part of the conservation effort, the marble tomb within a small courtyard is an intricate piece of sculpture. The courtyard also contains graves of Ghalib's family, and a few words from his poems etched in marble at one end. The tomb, right next to the Ghalib academy, is a wonderful testament to the simplistic beauty that the poet used in his own poems.

With the setting sun behind us, and wrapping up a day well spent at Nizamuddin, we walked out of the narrow lanes, and into the life that we know once more. Spending a few hours in the basti, it seemed as though the place and the people were both separated from the city that trudged on beyond the lanes by centuries - we could feel the history and culture of the area up close and personal, always present but always kept preserved and nurtured within those winding lanes.

As we walked out, the sizzling sound and wafting smells of the kababs and tikkas roasting on tandoors came our way, and we had to stop and sample a few. Sitting in one of the small hovel-turned-restaurants, as we savoured the sights, sounds and the smells of the market and the bustle of the business around us, we realised that in spite of being centuries away, Nizamuddin is always happy to see new faces come its way, and hear the stories that the place has told for ages - if only we stop, listen, and know that it's something worth caring for.

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