For generations, winters in Delhi were a sensory feast defined by a unique culinary calendar. The season's arrival was marked by the comforting aroma of makke ki roti and sarson ka saag, the sizzle of hot samosas, and the sweet promise of gaajar ka halwa and daulat ki chaat. These were more than just dishes; they were the essence of a Delhi winter, enjoyed without guilt under the rationale that the body needed extra calories for warmth.
The Lost Aromas of a Pristine Winter
The experience was holistic. The sound of a halwai's kalchi striking the tava in Bengali Market, the sight of perfectly golden chhole bhature, and the whiff of roasting peanuts from earthen pots in Connaught Place's Inner Circle defined the season. Heavy meals were concluded with kadahi ka doodh, and the annual feasting cycle began with Diwali melas. The food was deeply connected to its method of preparation, often cooked over coal and firewood, imparting a distinctive smoky flavour to tandoori items, kulchas, and naans.
Smog Replaces Fragrance: A New Winter Reality
Today, the winter narrative in Delhi-NCR and north India has been rewritten by deadly pollution and toxic smog. The all-pervasive burning smell that lingers until mid-December stifles the appetite-inducing aromas of seasonal delicacies. Widespread wheezing, coughing, and throat irritation have made gargles, inhalers, and steamers the new winter essentials. Medical advice often mandates avoiding the very fried delights that once symbolized the season.
Regulatory changes have directly impacted food preparation. To comply with the Graded Response Action Plan (GRAP), many eateries have shifted from traditional firewood and coal tandoors to gas or electric alternatives. This move, while environmentally necessary, has robbed the food of its signature smoky taste and texture. The Delhi Pollution Control Committee has now formally banned the use of coal and firewood as fuel in tandoors, permitting only electric and gas options.
The Die-Hard Foodie's Pilgrimage in the Smog Era
Despite the health hazards, reminiscent of a protagonist walking into trouble, Delhi's die-hard food lovers continue their gastronomic journeys. Armed with inhalers and masks, they navigate the city in a contemporary homage to tradition. They take the metro to Chandni Chowk for daulat ki chaat, to Gole Market for bedvi aloo and jalebi, and to Bengali Market for chaat.
They stroll in CP's Inner Circle for street food like masala mooli and dine at dhabas on the Outer Circle. Pilgrimages continue to Kamla Market, Tilak Nagar, and Lajpat Nagar for chhole bhature. Often, a hoarse throat post-indulgence leads to puzzled questions about ineffective medicines, a situation many hide from loved ones to avoid scolding.
The ritual of paan, particularly the famous spot outside a central Delhi five-star hotel, persists. Friends gather around bonfires, now discussing pollution instead of politics, waiting for their Magahi, Banarasi, or desi patta paan. The classic act of stuffing a large sweet paan and exhaling vapour like Amitabh Bachchan in 'Don' remains a quintessential Delhi experience for old-timers. The paanwallas, adapting to the times, often offer a scoop of mulethi (liquorice) powder to soothe sore throats.
Partings now come with promises for future outings, like "Get well soon, we have to go to Pahar Ganj for chhole bhature." The spirit of Delhi's food culture endures, but its context has irrevocably changed, framed by pollution alerts and a longing for the sensory winters of the past.
