 When I was a little girl I was living in Sita Ram Bazaar in Gali Kulub Din which was at a twilight zone between Turkman Gate (an all Muslim area) and the temple of Chaurasi Ganta, the 84 bells, an all Hindu area. Both the communities met midway and had lived together happily for many centuries till the partition occurred in 1947. We had moved there in 1948, when I was four months old; however, my memories of the place date back to the time when I was four and my younger brother Ravi was about to be born in the year 1952. Several Muslim properties, belonging to the families migrated to Pakistan, were lying vacant in our street, the Gali Qutub Din. However, a sizable Muslim population had also stayed back.
These properties were taken over by the department of custodian and re-allotted to Hindu Punjabi families migrating from Pakistan. The street contained a big Haveli belonging to some Nawabi family. In the centre of its huge courtyard stood the Tomb of the Patriarch. It must have been very painful for the owners of the haveli to leave their dear departed behind. We children often played around the tomb and marvelled at what was inside or wondered if the dead man would rise during the nights. We tried to imagine that it was haunted but it did not last for long as the custodian allotted the portions of the Haveli to five migrant Punjabi families. Other smaller houses were allotted to either a single extended family or one or two nuclear families.
My early memories of the post-partition scenario are that people were just about picking up the pieces of their life. Life was hard. Almost all the Punjabi families were into some business, mostly into used car tyres and other second hand motor parts. Young Sikh youth were trying to go to U.K. and Canada. Some of them made it and others did not. I remember one sickly youth who was sent back from Heathrow airport, as he was deemed too weak to work as a factory worker. If one was strong and fit he could land a factory job in England. The branch of Ford Car Company, near Oxford alone had 27000 workers from India and Pakistan at one time. When a Sikh youth had to embark on a foreign journey, all relatives pitched in bits of their savings and paid for his one-way ticket. Those were the days of poverty and struggle for the refugees. But what we must appreciate is that they were willing to help someone who could make it to the dreamland.
In their penury and hardship there was not much entertainment and leisure time activity yet I used to watch the men, women and the children, wearing their Sunday best, go on an outing, to eat out, once in a week. Their destination used to be a small Dabha (makeshift wayside eatery) called 'Kake-Da-Hotel. It was situated in Connaught Place at the Corner of Minto Road in a small temporary shed. The food was served outside on the pavement, on benches and charpais. It served all the mouth watering Punjabi delicacies at a throwaway price. Our Sikh neighbours introduced us to this place. Kashmiris have their own renowned non-vegetarian cuisine and my mother was very reluctant to eat out at Kake-Da- Hotel. But eventually my father who had spent large part of his life in Lahore and we children started visiting Kake-Da-Hotel frequently, specially, for the delicacies that our mother did not cook at home like the Tandoori Chicken and Sheekh Kababs. The towering owner used to personally cook, and supervise everything and meet all the customers and ensure their satisfaction. This was the first dabha in Connaught Place and I have never tasted a dabha food better than Kake-Da anywhere else. In 1972, after joining the Indian Administrative Service, I left Delhi for good and never got around to go back to 'Kake-Da' for another meal. The Kake-Da was left behind in Delhi like so many things connected with my life there but had remained in my consciousness.
This month I happened to be in Delhi and my younger brother Ravi who had left for England in 1978 was also around. We were in Connaught Place looking around for our old favourite Chinese restaurant 'Ginza' - incidentally the first Chinese Restaurant of Delhi. We overshot and found ourselves in front of Kake-Da. It brought back the memories of childhood and we decided to eat there for old time sake. We found ourselves sitting on the white plastic chairs around a plastic table, out on the pavement, on a pleasant March evening.
We were served promptly our favourite dishes of Tandori chicken, Seekh kabah, black dal and hot Tandori rotis with green salad by Rangeel Singh. The tandoori chicken was extremely tender and the seekh kabab, extremely soft and juicy. The taste of herbs lingered in my mouth for a long time. I missed the hovering presence of the owner, so I asked our bearer where the gentleman was. Rangal Singh informed me that he had died 18 years ago and now his son Capt. Arun Chopra was in-charge. I felt a tug in my heart since I had left Delhi in 1972. It was good 30 years since I had eaten there and food was as tasty and as inexpensive as ever. A meal for two cost us only Rs.122/-. I felt I must meet the owner's son and convey my appreciation to him and left my card behind with a message. The waiter promised to pass on the message.
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