In the depths of the Delhi lockdown, ancient monuments were one of our only entertainments. And they fully delivered. Anirudha “Hoody Aurangzeb” Vaddadi, Mallika “Razia Tash Sultana” Sobti, and I (nickname: Chota Akhbar) formed an expedition force capable of tracking down the most obscure 500-year-old bathroom stalls in this impossibly complex city.
Our final monument hunt was the most difficult, and the most revealing of the modern state of Delhi’s heritage. We bumbled through an impenetrably maze-like urban village in search of a mysterious structure called a Baradari. Our bizarre thirst to pushed us deeper and deeper into the alleys, reluctant to admit that progress might have already swallowed it up.
Delhi: the world’s most important city
But to tell that story, we first have to go back to the 700s AD. At that time, humans had not yet reached New Zealand; the Vikings were regularly plundering England; and Delhi was already the capital of a major empire. Over the next thousand years, successive invaders captured the city and built a new capital in their own image, a few miles from the previous one. This pattern left a string of forts, tombs, and mosques across 15 miles of the Yamuna River plains.
By the 1500’s the famous Mughals swept in, led by a badass named Babur who had walked through ten feet of snow in the winter passes of central Afghanistan to get there. They put up awe-inspiring monuments whose beauty matches up with anything in the world. Unfortunately, they may have blown all their money on monuments and their emperors started doing things like falling down the stairs to their deaths. The Marathas conquered them, then the Brits smashed and grabbed for 150 years, and finally India became a nation in 1947. The incredible urban development since 1947 has filled in every possible nook and cranny between the existing remnants of these ancient cities.
Modern Delhi, then, is not only the soon-to-be world’s biggest city (by 2028), and capital of the world’s soon-to-be biggest country (by 2027), but a mind-bending tapestry of all the cities that it used to be. Amazingly, you can go see all of them. You can ride your bike on fort walls built a thousand years ago; climb on top of 500-year-old tombs; stand at a single spot, and see where people 200 years ago built a house overlooking a 400-year-old palace which was itself put built to be close to an 800-year-old shrine.
Delhi Monument Hunters
The most impressive of these old monuments get a lot of respect. They sit in well-loved public parks, have useless but official-looking signs, and can even command entry fees.
Many monuments, though, are tucked away in the back alleys of densely packed neighborhoods. People store motorbikes and construction materials in them. Trees grow on their roofs. Sometimes a family occupies an ancient tomb and makes it their house. The alleys around monuments can be so narrow and winding that, even if you know their location to within 50 meters, they can be impossible to find. All the google satellite snooping in the world won’t help you in the slot canyons of Delhi’s urban villages.
Mallika, Anirudha and I became fascinated with seeking out these pieces of heritage. Part of the fascination is the sense of connection to history. Another part is the power that monuments have to create pockets of peace and dignity in today’s hectic world. For me, there is also a feeling that by seeing and remembering them, I am somehow keeping them alive even if the threat of modern development destroys them. A final part is the thrill of the chase and sense of discovery, which drove us to seek ever more deeply hidden monuments.
We hit all the big-name spots, at first. Delhi has UNESCO sites littered around it like San Francisco has poké bowl places. Humayun’s Tomb, Jama Masjid, Purana Qila, Qutub Minar, Lodhi Gardens, Safdarjung’s Tomb- all heartily enjoyed. We quickly progressed to a second round, lesser-known, quieter, but still fairly accessible: the transgender cemetery called Hijron ka Khanqah, the decaying walls of Lal Kot, the stark beauty of Begumpur Masjid, the scattered tent-like domes of Khirki Masjid. We even mixed in more recent but intriguing pieces of the cityscape like the Gadodia Market rooftop at Khari Baoli and the burned-out Uphaar Cinema in Green Park.
The Elusive Baradari
As his time left in Delhi wound down, Anirudha started targeting a third level of monuments: the truly hidden ones. He worked his way through a bible-like book cataloguing hundreds of lesser-known heritage structures. By his last week, he only had one left: the Shahpur Jat Baradari.
Existing information on the Baradari was intriguingly scant. Sources disagreed on its age and purpose. It might be 600 or 800 years old. It was not a mosque or tomb, but could have been a resthouse. Everyone agreed, though, that it is nearly impossible to find. Only one wall is visible because neighbors have built houses right up against the other three sides. The Baradari is deep in the alleys of Shahpur Jat, but very few locals have even heard of it. We set off aware of the real chance that the city had already swallowed it up.
Our first stop in Shahpur Jat was the Tohfewala Gumbad, an ancient mosque distinguished by the steps someone has cut into the dome, which allow the intrepid visitor to climb to the very top. The Gumbad is big enough that we could see it from the village entrance. The visibility made it a nice warm-up, as we only took a few minutes to find the right alley to reach it.
We took our leave of the Gumbad and went in search of its more elusive comrade. The alleys narrowed as we passed the high-end clothing stores that dominate the front of the village on Gora [Foreigner] Street. We talked about the eclectic mix of worlds that Shahpur Jat hosts, and the recent history that caused such a medley. This was a farming village no more than 50 years ago, until the government bought up the fields to put up residential neighborhoods for the ballooning city. The farmers, newly flush with cash, built new houses four stories high on nearly every square meter of their small remaining lands. They became landlords almost overnight. Cheap rents and the South Delhi location attracted the clothing shops, which then multiplied to establish an upscale market. There must be old residents living in the crowded concrete jungle who remember when fields stretched off in every direction.
The only resource at our disposal was a vague map that showed about 10% of the building and alleys that actually exist in Shahpur Jat. After doing our best to follow it, and finding nothing, we started asking locals about the Baradari. No one had even heard the word before.
The busy street life made the search fun, even as it felt increasingly fruitless. Veg-sellers shouted out their wares. Neighbors talked to each other across balconies. People bough spices from huge multicolored piles. A single resting buffalo confidently blocked up a whole passageway.
We broadened our interpretation of the map, and walked countless streets looking for any hint of ancient stone. The whole neighborhood covers less than half a square kilometer, but its layout is so complex that it feels much bigger. Nor are there any vantage points. From street level, we could only see ahead to the next alley curve, and buildings pressed so tightly above us that barely any sunlight could get through.
Defeat?
Asking everyone we could for a hint, we finally struck pay dirt when a middle-aged man pointed us down a wider lane. We strode off with great energy but his voice floated to us one more time:
“Khatam ho gaya” [It is gone].
The news crushed us. It seemed that the Baradari had gone the way of so many others before it, overwhelmed by modern needs. It was never famous, but there is a distinct sense of loss when a connection to the past disappears. No one can replace such a connection once it is lost.
We still decided to see if any bit of it remained. The lane led to a sizeable clearing, and we stumbled on an old single-story, single-room brick house. We climbed to the roof, in the shadow of the newer four-story blocks, and a neighbor told us no one lived in the house anymore. It must have been one of the original farmhouses; a different level of history than the Baradari, but a miraculous survivor nonetheless.
Finding no trace of the Baradari, we decided to fuel up with some paranthas. One aloo and one pyaaz, both big and hearty, set us back 30 rupees total. Inspired by the urban village prices, I bought a flat of 30 eggs. We confirmed that the shopkeeper had not heard of the Baradari, gave up our last glimmer of hope, and started lugging the eggs back to the main road.
Perhaps this was the most appropriate ending for the final Delhi monument. The city has been in flux for a thousand years. While we are lucky to have some surviving remnants of bygone days, the present trumps all, and the most beautiful aspect of the city is its people. Maybe, by its absence, the Baradari was trying to remind us of this.
Victory!
Not fifty steps later, we looked down a side-alley and there it was. A massive pile of construction materials did not quite hide the unmistakably old wall. A large tree grew down from the top, and a clothesline hung across a well-built arch. The buildings on both sides had actually used the other Baradari walls as part of their construction, leaving no space around the structure at all. We could not have dreamed up the timing of the discovery- literally minutes we gave up.
Climbing over bricks and metal ties, we explored the wall and found that we could actually get inside. The inner structure had at least nine separate rooms, with windows and arched doorways between them. The floor was covered with dirt, rubble, and amazingly, one ancient water-pitcher. The pitcher had no ornamentation, but looked like it should be in a museum because of its very age. We left it there to whatever fate it has in store.
The discovery was a genuine rush. A few locals looked at us quizzically, and we snapped a few pictures, and that was it. There was no other way to explore the Baradari, no different angles from which we could get a view. I do not think the Baradari will survive the next decade. It will live a little longer, though, in our memories.