Just the crumbs3 min read . Updated: 01 Apr 2011, 08:57 PM IST
Just the crumbs
Just the crumbs
It’s cramped and dark, except for the orange glow from a hole in the wall. Two men in lungissquat in front of the wood-fired oven. Blackened iron trays are stacked against one of the cell’s sooty walls. Ten minutes later, one man inserts a long iron spatula into the oven and brings out a tray of paape. This golden-brown bread and the Dickensian world in which it is made has vanished. Well, almost.
Opened in 1942, Sikander Bakery is in Kucha Faulad Khan, a congested mohalla in the Walled City named after a Mughal-era kotwal. It is one of the few traditional bakeries of Old Delhi which have survived the onslaught of factory breads and industrial biscuits. Spot them in neighbourhoods such as Matia Mahal, Ballimaran, Pahari Bhojla and Farash Khana. A few exist in central Delhi’s Nizamuddin Basti and some are in south Delhi, in the Muslim localities of Okhla.
The workers in these bakeries are called karigars, or craftsmen. However, they are essentially treated as unskilled labourers. At Sikander’s, three karigars in the room adjacent to the bhatti work exclusively to prepare dough for the two most fast-moving products—rusks and paape, while the rest work on the other side of the bhatti, kneading dough for the other products (see box). The karigars’ world is invisible from the street that, unlike this 69-year-old landmark, has transformed completely.
“Before 1947, this lane had only half a dozen stores," says 75-year-old Mohammad Ahmad, a neighbourhood elder who has been starting his mornings with Sikander’s paape and fen since the pre-independence days. Today, the lane teems with tea houses, butcheries, clinics, groceries, biryani kitchens, bead stores and cellphone kiosks. The old Sikander patron, known as Chacha Ahmad, spends his afternoon sitting across the bakery, reading Urdu newspapers. “This mohalla belonged to the rich. But most were (Muslim) League supporters who went to Pakistan after Partition. The educated Muslims who worked as bureaucrats, teachers and police officers too migrated there after the bureaucracy was divided between the two nations."
Pointing to the bakery, Chacha Ahmad says, “It attracted more crowd during the time of Haji Sikander, the bakery’s founder."
Jalaluddin, Sikander’s 64-year-old son and current owner, knows the customers by their first names. He has an extra rusk for those who have a parrot at home—parrots like rusks. “Most old bakeries have shut down. Some new ones have opened but there are no longer as many as there were in the past," he says. Jalaluddin’s father, who died in 1967 aged 70, came from a UP village.“There was nothing there," Jalaluddin says.
The story of Sikander’s exodus from poverty is replicated by the successive generations of labourers in his bakery. Manzoor, the oldest employee, came from Bihar 35 years ago. “In my village, half the year there was drought, half the year there was flood," he says. Shripal, a senior karigar, came 30 years ago from UP “to escape from hunger". At 18, Ashiq is the youngest worker. He came from Bihar two years ago. “There’s nothing back home," he says. Like the unchanging profile of its employees, the quality of Sikander Bakery’s products too hasn’t changed. “Good then, good now," says Chacha Ahmad, dipping a paapein his chai.
Sikander’s paape dough is made of refined flour mixed with water, yeast, sugar and aniseed; each piece is sprinkled with poppy seeds. After about 10 minutes in the oven, as the paapes grow light brown, the position of the trays is changed for uniform heating. Ten minutes later, the trays are taken out. If eaten straight out of the oven, golpaape is warm, sweet, soft, chewy and a little greasy. If eaten later, it is hard and crisp. Serve with tea.
• Fen: Made of refined flour, flaky and light. Some say it is so named
• Rusk: These double-baked slices of bread are hard, dry and crisp. Another variety called cake rusk, made with eggs, is softer. ₹ 70 for rusk; ₹ 120 for cake rusk
• Tabarakh roti: Made of semolina and refined flour, it’s a dark brown flat disc dusted with aniseed and poppy seeds. Hard and crisp. ₹ 110
• Chaiwalla samosa: There’s no filling inside. Instead of being triangular like a regular ‘samosa’, it is shaped like a rhombus. ₹ 75
• Biskuts:Salty and flavoured with different spices, the ‘biskuts’ come in many varieties. Try ‘jalebi ajwain walle biskuts’. Twirl-shaped, they carry the delicious pungency of carom seeds. ₹ 100
*All prices are per kg