Haleem Happy Zakir Nagar

So what do I do when I want to eat Mutton Haleem in the middle of summer in the Northern plains of India? I wait for the monsoons to arrive.
I hope that the monsoons will wash away the searing heat, leaving behind a fresh earth to trot. When monsoons finally come and the hopes of adventure are raised, how does one predict that it shall be accompanied with hot and humid spells?
The hot and humid periods without rain are not any better than the hot and dry ones of summer. They make you sweat so much that soon you find yourself turned to fluids, draining down the sewers.
But the human brain is a unique piece of machinery. It gives form to the mind, an intangible entity that believes anything is possible.
Thus when the mind decides that it is time to eat Mutton Haleem, the weather hot or humid, it is time to eat Mutton Haleem. Little does the mind know that it must pay the price for being a tyrant to the body that houses it.
But I never said that a little sufferance never pays. As believed by all religions, and professed by all philosophers, it is the only true guarantor of the fruit that the mind seeks to attain, short term gains excluded.
Thus, hoping for the Gods to show some mercy, I venture out towards my destination in Zakir Nagar.
Zakir Nagar is a small locality of Muslims in South Delhi, very similar in nature to the settlements around Jama Masjid. History has given us evidence about the exquisite taste of food demonstrated by the Muslim rulers of Indian. And even though they have left our shores centuries ago, their exquisite gastronomy has remained, lingering often on the taste buds of the modern Indian.
But most of the eateries at Zakir Nagar are not open until evening. Thus, lunch could not be planned. “A little evening snack on Haleem and Nehari wouldn’t hurt anyone,” we thought as my friends and I boarded an auto-rickshaw to take us there.
Purani Dilli was our destination. It was suggested to me by food geeks and news articles on the internet. It could be a good start. After having some difficulty finding it, we finally made ourselves comfortable inside the restaurant. It was dimly lit, had an up-market feel, but the sole air-conditioner hanging on its wall did not work.
But it seemed not to matter as long as we had Mutton Haleem on our plates and an insatiable hunger in our stomach. Our order consisted of one plate each of Mutton Haleem, Mutton Nehari, Chicken Changhezi and Chicken Biryani, with tandoori rotis as an accompaniment to bountiful gravy.
Mutton Haleem did not disappoint. It was stringy with meat mashed well into the dal (lentil soup). The Mutton Nehari and Chicken Changhezi were both winners and should have been tasted individually and with more respect than we had on offer. The meat of the Nehari was expectantly soft, and contained strong cinnamon flavours, while the sharp notes of the Chicken Changhezi with its distinct aroma of garam masala took it to the level of distinction expected from the hype surrounding it. The cooks may or may not be aware, but to the taste buds of one tired of hashed chicken dishes, Chicken Changhezi was a change refreshing and truly appreciated.
The meat sweat could not be avoided, as also an unavoidable disappointment with the biryani. Once again, Delhi failed to impress with its rendition of the famous rice and meat admixture originating from the nearby city of Lucknow.
Leaving behind all physical impediments, the opiates of a mentally satisfying day left me buoyed and happy. I thought, maybe life is all about these moments of achievement, and to be able to experience them from time to time is what provided the fuel to urge our physical, tangible form to gripe less and live happily.

Dwaipayan Adhya

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