One of the many things that Sher Shah Suri had in mind while building the Grand Trunk Road was the safety and convenience of his people. It was with this vision that he built inns for travellers and shelters for their animals along the road. These inns, built at every kos (2.25 miles), were marked by a tall brick tower called kos-minar , which could be spotted from a distance. Kos-minars served as milestones as well as a sign of comfort and safety for weary travellers.
As we drive along the legendary road, almost 600 years after it was built, we can still see signs of Sher Shah Suri — the kos-minars . Some stand majestically along the highway, some can be seen guarding crops. What we cannot see, however, are the inns: unlike the kos-minars , they seem to have given in to the ravages of time.
Pit stop
It has barely been a few hours on the road, but the December chill and blinding fog have already made it difficult to drive. Even though we had originally planned to drive non-stop from Delhi to Chandigarh, our chattering teeth and growling stomachs have compelled us to stop at one of the many dhabas along GT road. At 10 a.m., the place is already packed: large families, groups of youngsters, bikers and the odd solo traveller.
What seemed like a depressing December morning until now, suddenly seems cheerful.
Speed is the name of the game at the dhabas along NH1.
With so many mouths to feed, and everyone in a rush, no one has the time to stand and stare, not even the boy serving you.
The boy (actually a man) serving us is in a rush too, and rattles off the morning’s menu in seconds. Our parathas arrive in minutes.
Not what they seem
The funny thing about the parathas here, as I find out later, is that they are not parathas at all. Made in the tandoor, with a filling of your choice, they are actually stuffed rotis; the choice to add butter or not remains with you. I choose to douse mine with dollops of white butter to compensate for the lack of fat.
Crisp on the outside and soft inside, the parathas, or rotis, come with various fillings: potatoes, onions, cottage cheese, cauliflower, radish. I expect each one to taste different, but soon realise that they taste just the same — but for the texture you cannot tell a gobi paratha from a muli paratha. The culprit, I suspect, is the generous dose of kasoori methi (dried fenugreek) common to all; it leaves a uniformly bitter after-taste.
As I get ready to leave I notice the crowd. Looking at the multitude of people eating, drinking, or just stopping by to stretch their limbs, it occurs to me that these dhabas by the highway are nothing but a modern reincarnation of the inns of Sher Shah Suri.
They may not give you exemplary service or fancy cuisine, but they do provide the weary traveller with comfort and safety. Which, really, is the precise purpose of their existence.
