Bahubali Thali At Ardor 2.1

Bahubali Thali at Ardor 2.1

I have been reading about this thali, on various platforms. So, last night my friends and I head out to try the Bahubali thali at Ardor 2.1. We ordered the non veg one but the three of us couldn’t finish it. Not because it was delectable but due to the number of dishes, which included, Butter chicken, Tandoori chicken, Malai tikka, Dal makhani, Kadhi, Palak, Paneer, Korma, Rohan Josh, Biryani etc.

It’s definitely not for four people, as the number of dishes are a lot but the helpings are tiny. At three grand, you would expect the food to be more appetising but one found the thali overrated. If you are vegetarian, you might enjoy the food. But for just the experience and the fact that the restraunt donates food to an ngo, people should put it on a bucket list.

Ghalib and I

Zulmat kaday mein meray shab-e-ghamm ka josh hai: ik shama hai daleel-e- sahar, so khamosh hai.’
Self portrait for my final portfolio in college ( 2003).
The inspiration for the entire project was Ghalib.

Yesterday, was Ghalib’s birthday and all the heritage walk leaders/ historians, I know shared nuggets from his life. Today I saw a lovely video by Aditya Pathak, about Ghalib and seeing that I thought I should write something about the man, who other than Harivansh Rai, Kaifi Azmi and Javed Akhtar and much later, Pablo Neruda, got me through many turbulent nights.

Bikhre huwo ki aah, he Ghalib.

Ghalib was in another league, of course. One does suffer from existential angst, for unrequited love, separation and heartbreak, one found solace in Mirza Asadullah Beig’s poetry. Hum bikhre hue, bigde hue, sharab peene wallo ko, jo khudda he woh to mante he, magar duniya aur mazahb me nahin, unke liye Ghalib mian, ek humnawa he. Ek humsafar, jo Janat ki hakeekat jaanta he. Ghalib, may be a passing fascination for the pious, religious lot but for us cynics, he’s our fellow traveller, who has experienced unbearable loss and who died without an offspring. Unke baare me padh kar lagta he, yeh jee liye to hum bhi, jee hi lenge!

‘Shama bujhti hai tho uss mein se dhuuan uththa hai: Sholaa-e-ishq seaah posh hua meray baad.’ Self Portrait 2003.
‘Nafas na anjuman-e- arzoo se baahir khainch: agar sharab naheen intezaar-e- saghar khainch’ . (Final college portfolio/ 2003)
‘Naghmaa-hua-ghamm ko bhi ae dil ghaneemat jaaniay: be-sadaa ho jae ga yeh saaz-e hastee ek din.’ (2003)

The Fine Lads of Delhi

Delhi and its fine lads

With their turbans and twisted beards

Openly drinking lovers’ blood

while secretly sipping wine.

Wilful and full of airs

they pay no heed to anyone.

So close to the heart, they rob

your soul and tuck it safely away.

When they are out for a stroll

rosebushes bloom in the street.

When the breeze strikes them from behind,

See how the turbans topple from their heads.

When they walk, the lovers follow,

Blood gushing from their eyes.

Their heads puffed up with beauty’s pride,

Their admirer’s hearts are gone with the wind.

These cheeky, simple Indian lads have made

Muslims into worshipers of the sun.

Those fair Hindu boys

Have led me to drunken ruin.

Trapped in the coils of their curly locks

Khusrau is a dog on a leash.

Poem by Amir Khusrau translated by Sunil Sharma