Football introduced me to nahari

The first time I had heard of nahari was in 1996 when I had come to Delhi for my new job. Before I left my home in Calcutta, I was told to stay close to my family friends at Idgah Road which is at the confluence of new and old Delhi. It was peak and strong winter. Yet I was enjoying every bit of it because Calcutta hardly has its winter seasons.

Let me be very honest. I am happy to be a football journalist. You know why? Because it brought me close to the historical purani Dilli and its people. There are no pretensions. There are no egos. They are simple and down to earth who simply loved football and nahari.

A visit to the Ambedkar Stadium for Durand Cups and DCM Trophy's (in those days both these events used to be held in thick foggy winters) introduced me to some great football lovers who were from the Walled City. One of them, I was told if I had to beat the Capital's cold, I should have a plate of hot, mirchi nahari with crispy tandoori roti.

So after every match got over, we used to head straight for Kallu’s shop. Shop No. 80, Chattan Lal Mian, Jama Masjid. This is exactly the address where you would find a thick presence of nahari lovers. It was 5 pm. And the modest, small shop of Kallu was teeming with people. Men in skullcaps and pajamas are supping on nahari. I alongwith some club officials placed our order. I was told nahari gets over quickly in the space of 30 minutes. So, it's better to rush.

Kallu in his thin physique sits on the main kursi (chair) from where he instructs his men to take orders. There is a huge deg and his staff were busy scooping the thickest portion (the best part) of nahari . It was glistening in a pool of oil. Kallu, in his typical purani Delhi dialect, shouts out instructions to his men. “Oye, kya kar reeya hai. Sahab logon ka jagah de de.” (Give space to these gentlemen). Minutes later we hop into the small space which also houses the tandoor (oven). Sitting near it meant that our foreheads glistened with sweat. Already felt the warmth even before the nahari arrived. The roti is fresh off the tandoor and the extra plate of lime wedges, chopped chillies, and slivered ginger completed the meal.

The boneless mutton nahari is supple and succulent. The garlicky gravy, liberally spiced with javitri and dhaniya, is hearty. I was told the delicacy originated in the dastarkhwans of Old Delhi before it percolated down to other classes after the decline of the Mughal Empire. In my portion, the chunks of meat have already parted from the bones. As I reach the end, I used the last piece of roti to polish the plates!

I am happy to be in Delhi!