The Wild Madness of Shaheen Bagh

The following is a personal account of taking a stroll through the markets of Shaheen Bagh on the fifth day of the month of Ramadan with a friend. We went looking for new shoes just after breaking our fast.

After observing the duality of poverty and granduer exist so harmoniously at the same place, I couldn’t help but note my emotions. Here, I have attempted to reproduce them to the best of my abilities.

The courtship

I followed him down the dusty and poorly-lit stairway into a labyrinth of houses, above us millions of overhung cable wires and around us, howls of over-energetic kids. He led me through a series of turns and cracks that left me reeling and my memory struggling. Now, my only hope to get back home would be to have him in my sight, I thought. The noises started intensifying. A number of distant noises came near with each footstep - hawkers, motorcycles, chattering women, kids, bells, horns, gossip, conversations; the gentle humming of humanity. It felt so alien after the monotonicity of academic campus life. My body was both repulsed and excited by it. I looked down and caught myself walking on dust and straw and poop. Potholes adorned the lane like the jewels on a shy maiden. Once in a while, the road sank in to reveal the underbelly of Shaheen Bagh - a sight of muck and filth flowing underneath the bustling maze. I jumped sideways in surprise to escape a fall only to bump into a vendor selling bangles and received a cuss or two.

I almost saved myself from being run over by a motorcycle. I looked up at the driver to find a fifteen-something boy dressed in kurta pyjama and a white skullcap, evidently a madrasa student giggling and frolicking with his companion on the back. I marvelled at his skills of driving through the mass of humanity moving forward in unison.

I looked around to find men dressed in white having cups of tea and gossiping inside dimly-lit tea stalls. I observed kids half my age selling all kinds of wares - colourful neon buckets, bangles, earrings, socks, trousers, shoes, and whatnot. I looked around to find shops spilling into the street making it barely possible to walk and yet somehow wheels and feet found a way through the chaos.

I walked deeper and deeper into this carnival of sorts and looked up to notice colourful bright strings of light adorning the streets. The shops were decorated with bright lights and a sweet aroma flowed from each of them, alluring the nostrils and pulling at the strings of firm men - just like the sirens of the sea. Some sold roasted meat, priding itself in the display of skewered chicken hanging by the dozens, others sold drinks of all kinds in bright colours, some sold breads, some sold kachoris, some sold mouth-watering biryani and kebabs, and on and on. I slowed down to take in the sight of everything. Rich men and their wives were talking inside the glass walls of an expensive restaurant, slum kids rolling a piece of tyre and fighting over who would get the next turn, blind old man with pepper white beard asking for alms, hawkers screaming “Sale! Sale!” at the top of their voices - and I wondered how everyone is a performer. And how I am no different.

The crossroad was a sight to behold. It felt like the confluence of two angry rivers but instead of water there were men - of all shapes and sizes, just crashing into each other. It seemed impossible. How did it all work like a clockwork universe?

I looked forward and saw my wayfarer buried under the bodies of men. I quickened my footsteps.

The consummation

We went out once again at midnight for dinner. It didn’t feel like midnight. In fact, it was difficult to walk amongst so many people and one couldn’t help but find their pace reduced to a slow crawl. It felt like chand raat itself - that grand cacophony of a night before Eid. One can slowly move through the serpentine lanes and bylanes and take in the sweet aroma of a thousand flavours at their leisure. Anyways, somehow we entered a large restaurant which was brimming with people, dressed in kurtas and skullcaps of all colours and chattering away at their tables as they scoop thick gravy off their plates. I saw twenty-somethings waiters running around taking orders and serving plates full of some of the best delicacies humanity has to offer. I looked at their faces and saw stress and long hours of sleep-deprivation. I looked at their feet to see dusty and dirty feet wrapped in sandals. The people kept on chattering and pouncing on delectable kebabs and naans, a grand feast after the day-long fast.

I swear to God, I had the best dinner that night in ages. I marvelled at my body’s capacity to digest all that fat after fasting for a day. I waddled back home chugging coke out of the bottle in my hand and dozed off to sleep. I think my friend was trying to strike up a conversation with me as I sank into a deep slumber.