Sitting at The Lalit’s Baluchi restaurant, my eyes fall on the evening traffic on the age-old Maharaja Ranjit Singh flyover that connects Delhi old and new. Vehicles slowly enter the flyover on the way to Barakhamba Road. A little later they reach the highest point of the flyover, stop not for a bit, and steadily head down. Sitting with my confidant Aslam Khan, I remind him of something I read many years ago at a Mughal monument near Agra. “The world is a bridge, pass over it, do not build upon it. He who hopes for an hour may hope for eternity. Life is but an hour, spend it in devotion, the rest is unseen.”
Nostalgia seems to be my abiding emotion for the evening as my mind goes back more than a decade when I had come down to Baluchi with Zafar Iqbal, amenable former captain of India’s hockey team. On another occasion, a heavily pregnant Santosh Yadav kept me company over an elaborate dinner. I was on tenterhooks that evening at the lady’s obvious discomfort never mind that she had scaled Mount Everest twice. Today, there are no such worries. Aslam can aspire to reach neither the Himalayan heights nor anything remotely close to motherhood. So, we begin a leisurely, really leisurely meal overlooking the traffic on the flyover with kababs, all kinds, shapes, sizes. We begin with Kakori and Shikampuri, the latter is a finely pounded lamb preparation; the former too a lamb delicacy. Both are really, really well done. Is Kakori better than Shikampuri, I ask my friend. He is too busy cleaning up his plate to bother to reply. Why choose, have both of them, I tell myself. And dig into some more.
The chef soon orders burrah and lehsoni tangdi. Now, I am not a great fan of burrah, but here I am in a mood to surrender. See, that is what a good start does to a man! The tangdi, a chicken preparation is mildly spicy. Surprisingly, I quite like burrah. The meat is soft. It does not stick too hard to the bone. The masalas do not overpower; it tastes just right. However, it is the seekh kabab that is clearly the highlight of the first round. The consistency of the meat is admirable, the fat shreds are down. The kabab holds together well. Slightly more robust than a sutli kabab, yet soft enough to have a helping, then another one.
We have lingered over our appetizers and the chef smartly suggests we try out his special murgh balti yakh. Not quite keen to let go off our kababs, I remind Aslam of a couplet made famous by Pankaj Udhas. “Ae gham-e-dil kuchh to de mashvara, ek taraf uska ghar, ek taraf maikada.” He politely advises me to concentrate on the food for in the present forget drinks, even the beloved is not within earshot. So, we do the best we can and take to the balti. Not with as much relish though. The chicken preparation with Kashmiri spices has a nice aroma. However, it loses out in comparison to Dal Baluchi. It is really special, giving away that scent of the soil after the first rainfall. Both of them go well with an array of breads.
Not too bad for main course after the high point of appetizers, I tell Aslam. He nods. And I get a chance to quickly revise my opinion. The mutton nahari preparation that follows is disappointing, if one must be polite on an evening of interchanging couplets and endless nostalgia. It lacks good garnishing; it is low on the spice level; a sure compromise for those with a tender palate. Much like the Lucknowi gosht biryani where for some entirely obscure reason, green chilli is added. It reminds me of Bengali biryani, even Hyderabadi. But Lucknowi? Ah! Give me the aroma of a yakhni, the coriander, the bay leaf any day, not a chilli please!
The biryani and nahari dampeners aside, the food at the revamped Baluchi has the taste of the old world. It is served with warmth too. And I quite like the long, leisurely experience. In fact, by the time, Aslam and I are through, the traffic on the flyover facing the restaurant comes down to a little more than a trickle. Yet some cars, some bikes still have to make the journey. And we head out with some memories, ready to take a step or two together.
