The Adventures of Zakariah Khan: Deep in the Congo Basin

The three of us had decided earlier on, to wind up meeting at Anjoo’s it would be easier to fly out to Uganda from Delhi than it would be to go all the way back to Bombay. Besides, we desperately needed official “clearance” from the Indian government for this excursion, and Dr. Mbusa was busy elsewhere, coordinating the various schedules. He had delegated this chore to me since all of us were going to spend some time in Delhi.

Anjoo’s dad, a high-ranking officer in the Ministry of the Interior, was well positioned to expedite the multi-level bureaucratic red tape, which is inevitably precipitated by such a request. Supposedly, the normal time schedule for such a clearance is about three to six months, but that depends on the rank of your connections.

Mr. Gupta was able to accomplish this stupendous feat in less than a week.

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Delhi, or Dill-lee as the Indians call it, apart from being the nation’s capital, is a very unusual city, indeed. The harmonious and esthetically pleasing lines of the older structures and ruins, dating from the Moghul Empire, often in the midst of new neighborhoods, accentuate the poor quality and drabness of much of Delhi’s post-independence architecture.

By the mid-1600’s, Delhi was already flourishing in magnificent pomp, the 450-year-old capital of a string of empires. Each succeeding power had created its own newer Delhi and each expanded the city’s perimeter by a few more miles. Even though this urbanization has absorbed the land of former villages, the rural lifestyle still flourishes in every part of the modern city.

Cows and pigs forage in garbage heaps near upscale houses with satellite dishes sticking up from their two-car garages. Turbaned shepherds lead their flocks through main thoroughfares, ignoring traffic lights and laws. Numerous hijras (eunuchs) sashay through the neighborhoods, wearing elaborate makeup and low-slung saris, past gift-shops, chock full of western and Japanese goods.

Rajasthani women in brightly embroidered, orange and red saris and men in lungis (skirt-like wraps) work with ancient and crude implements on various construction sites, while executives work up a sweat on computerized treadmills in modern health clubs.

By day, the temples are packed with devout worshippers of the pantheon of Hindu gods and by night, hotel discotheques spin out the latest rock-n-roll tunes for the affluent elite. Sadhus, the Hindu holy-men, draped in simple orange garb, troll the alleyways begging for handouts, while the student crowds from the numerous schools and colleges zip around blasting their scooter horns, their heads concealed in outlandishly decorated helmets.

When the British moved their capital from Calcutta to Delhi, they introduced Western architecture in the form of the manor-house or bungalow. Over time, the bungalow or bungla as it is called locally, became more elaborate and hierarchical; the more important the British resident, the more lavish the house and the larger the surrounding grounds.

Some of the bungalows even took on the proportions of havelis or urban plantation homes, with their own hunting grounds stocked with exotic animals! Concentrated in the Civil Lines and in Central Delhi, these bungalows soon became a symbol of perceived class, and their interior amenities came to denote the preferred lifestyle of the well-heeled.