When I went to Delhi a few days after my arrival,to collect references from the National Medical Library,Nevil,my room-mate,had asked me to take a cycle-rickshaw when I am hungry and ask for Karim's.He insisted not to eat at any other restaurant because,he said,he's sick of seeing me crying when they bring those saltless rotis and kaddis in the Doctor's Hostel Mess.So,no bookseller in the Sunday pavements of Paharganj could distract me from taking the risk of catching a rickshaw before the Railway Station.Moving through the flood of dispassionate mob on the busy streets of Delhi,like on a boat in a swamp in the storms,the rickshaw turned onto a gali,with its bells ringing in harmony with the curses of my pedalist,who,it seemed,is possessed with the ghost of a Fire-engine driver.Numerous galis and nonchalant vendors..and finally the smell of motton being fried with garlic came from the heavens,if only to wake an indisciplined appetite in me.Eating kebabs and half-mutton biriyani to keep space for the Noorjehan-Kheers,I knew,I am making plans to wander through the streets of Delhi for some more time so as to eat dinner there at the Karim's before catching a night-bus back to Rohtak.
