We lived in Laj Pat Nagaar, right near the market. We had a wedding hall on one side working at the rate of about three weddings a week and on the other side there was a clandestine factory. The factory would only switch on its machines at night. The best Vegetarian meals in New Delhi were in the Lodhi hotel and there was a Tandoori restaurant near Connaught Circle. You could watch as the cooks slapped the dough onto the inside of the large clay ovens at the back and the sweet tasting beer was served in teacups, flouting the anti-alcohol law. Monahar, an elderly man, the former cook to a British general, made every meal into something of a performance. There were swans from mashed potato and huge pink blancmanges. He made sure there was always cold nimbu pani and lemon and barley water in the fridge. Near the house, now a government office, the large school bus would come out from a side street onto the main road and we would see pigs rooting around in the rubbish tip. We all suspected
Left wing commentary from the heart and the head