Nagaland, which has become widely known for the Hornbill Festival, attracts tourists in large numbers every year, especially to hubs like Dimapur and Kohima. Yet, my recent entry into the state was far removed from the usual routes and tourist narratives.
I was travelling from Jorhat, and instead of the familiar highways, we took a quieter road cutting through endless tea gardens near Haluating. The landscape, soaked in green, felt unmistakably Assamese—orderly rows of tea bushes stretching into the horizon. From this route, one can also cross directly into Nagaland, and that moment of crossing felt almost cinematic.
Almost instantly, everything changed.
The terrain rose gently, the vegetation thickened, and the settlements began to look different. Houses no longer resembled those of the Assamese plains. The architecture felt more intimate, more handcrafted, and somehow more rooted in the hills. For us Assamese—especially Guwahatians who often travel to Meghalaya—the villages of Nagaland felt familiar yet strikingly distinct, and perhaps even more aesthetically arresting.
This stretch is known as Tuli, an important gateway town in Mokokchung district. Tuli itself comprises multiple settlements and marks the transition from Assam’s plains to Nagaland’s rolling hills. Beyond Tuli, the road winds through places like Changtongya, gradually pulling you deeper into the cultural heartland of the Ao Naga region.
What made the experience even more striking was the timing. It was a Sunday—those quiet days between Christmas and the New Year. Everything was shut. Shops closed, streets silent, towns seemingly paused in time. Except for the churches.
Every town had beautiful churches—large, well-kept, and standing as unmistakable landmarks. The doors were open. Inside, well-dressed Naga men and women gathered for prayer, their presence bringing warmth and life to otherwise still streets. Christianity, deeply woven into Nagaland’s social fabric, was visible not as spectacle but as everyday rhythm.
The contrast stayed with me. Just a few kilometres apart lay two worlds: Assam, with its tea gardens and plains culture, and Nagaland, with its hills, churches, and distinctive village life. Two landscapes, two cultural identities, coexisting side by side yet feeling worlds apart.
It was a gentle reminder that travel in the Northeast is not always about distance—it’s about transitions. Sometimes, all it takes is one quiet road through tea gardens to arrive in an entirely different cultural universe.
There’s something deeply comforting about Iftari that comes with love.
Today it was Zarda, shared by a neighbourhood aunty — soft, fragrant, and gently sweet, not loud or overpowering.
Zarda has a long, layered history. Its roots are often traced back to Persian culinary traditions, where sweetened rice dishes were prepared for celebrations. From there, it travelled into the Mughal kitchens of the Indian subcontinent, evolving into the saffron-tinted, dry-fruit-studded rice we know today. Over time, it moved out of royal courts and into everyday homes, becoming a festive staple rather than an elite indulgence.
Today, Zarda is widely prevalent across North India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and parts of Central Asia. You’ll find it at weddings, Eid feasts, community gatherings, and especially during Ramzan — often made in large degs and shared generously. In many homes, it’s less about precision recipes and more about intuition, memory, and tradition passed down through elders.
Unlike heavy, sugar-spiking desserts, this subtle sugary rice feels kinder on the body — slow, satisfying, and grounding. Maybe it’s the balance of rice, mild sweetness, and history simmered into it that makes it special.
Sometimes, the healthiest part of Iftari isn’t just what we eat, but who it comes from.
#Iftari #Zarda #HomeCooked #FoodWithHistory #ramadan2026
I have always felt the urge to write about exotic things. As writers, we often believe that stories must come from faraway places or extraordinary settings. But gradually, I realised that there is so much around us that deserves to be documented. It felt like the Urdu phrase chirag ke neeche andhera—the darkness right beneath the lamp.
That realisation led me to this market.
I often write about different places in Delhi, but why not about this one—the Community Centre market of New Friends Colony, a lifeline for the people of Jamia Nagar and neighbouring areas like Sukhdev Vihar and Masih Garh.
I came to Delhi in 2002. During my Jamia days, the Community Centre was more than a marketplace; it was an escape. An escape from the struggles of student life into a world that felt aspirational, almost unreal. For someone who had come from Guwahati, cafés like Barista or fast-food chains like McDonald’s were entirely new. Spending ₹150 or ₹200 on a cup of coffee felt extravagant when a regular coffee elsewhere cost ₹15 or ₹20.
We didn’t know about coffee beans, imported blends, or café culture. So our visits weren’t about consumption—they were about observation. We watched crowds from New Friends Colony sit in cafés and pubs, inhabiting a lifestyle we admired from a distance. The Community Centre became a classroom of sorts, teaching us about contrast.
Over the years, the market quietly entered Delhi’s cinematic memory too. One well-remembered scene from Khosla Ka Ghosla was shot in and around this part of South Delhi, including areas near The Suryaa New Delhi. Although the hotel lies just outside the core market, it has always been inseparable from the Community Centre ecosystem. For us students, it represented the peak of opulence—a five-star world standing next to our modest rented rooms costing ₹1,500 to ₹2,500 a month.
That contrast defined our relationship with the place.
Years later, while watching the recent film Sitare Zameen Par, I recognised familiar frames from the Community Centre area. Parts of the film were indeed shot in and around New Friends Colony, and some scenes appeared to feature establishments like Nathu's—a detail I noticed instantly, the way one recognises an old neighbourhood without needing a signboard.
The Community Centre, however, has constantly evolved. A pub-bistro called Dawat Khana once existed opposite Pebble Street but shut down a few years ago. The original Barista outlet that introduced café culture here also closed, followed by redevelopment. Le Marche later opened in that space, and has since shut as well.
Through all this change, Pebble Street has stood firm. McDonald's, Pizza Hut, and Domino's continue to anchor the market in familiarity.
One institution that deserves special mention is Bon Bon Pastry Shop, a bakery that has quietly fed generations of Jamia students and New Friends Colony residents alike. The offices around the market have always hummed with activity, and Nathu’s remains a cultural constant.
Equally enduring is Varsha’s Salon, one of the oldest salons in the Community Centre area. Over the years, many salons have opened and shut shop here, following changing trends and tastes, but Varsha’s has stood strong. Quietly consistent, it has served generations of residents and students, becoming another understated marker of continuity in a space defined by change.
Then there is Al-Bake—often casually referred to as Al Baik by students—which became synonymous with student life and helped popularise an Indianised shawarma culture in Delhi long before it became mainstream.
There were smaller institutions too—like Gargi, the tailor, whose shop I hope still survives somewhere in the maze. And then there was the absence that mattered deeply to us students—Batra Cinema. It had shut before my arrival, forcing us to travel to Sapna Cinema in East of Kailash or Nehru Place for films. Ironically, the cinema reopened by the time we passed out—not plush or multiplex-level, but close enough to feel like a long-overdue correction.
Beyond these landmarks are countless quieter stories—of grocery shops, department stores, and how many of them stayed open during the COVID years, serving the neighbourhood when the city felt frozen.
Stories abound.
That is what the Community Centre is for the people of Jamia Nagar and New Friends Colony—not merely a market, but a living archive. Of ambition and contrast. Of memory and continuity. Of a place that grew alongside us, even when we didn’t realise it.
#DelhiStories #NewFriendsColony #JamiaNagar #CommunityCentre #DelhiNostalgia #CityMemories #GrowingUpInDelhi #UrbanIndia #MarketsOfDelhi #EverydayDelhi
I have been sampling Assamese or ethnic thalis at various restaurants across Guwahati, but interestingly, I had never tried one in Upper Assam before. This time, while travelling towards Jorhat, I decided to stop by IORA – The Retreat, a place long known as a prominent luxury resort in the Kaziranga region, offering both leisure stays and multiple dining options. Being a Delhi resident, I rarely get the opportunity to pass through or stay at such properties in Assam, which made this stopover particularly interesting. IORA is known to serve traditional Assamese cuisine through its speciality restaurant, along with a multi-cuisine dining option, making it a convenient place for travellers to sample local food in a comfortable setting. The Assamese vegetarian thali that I tried was very reasonably priced at ₹360 and included a good variety of items, as visible in the photographs. What stood out was the balance—the quantity and quality were both just right. The portions were satisfying without being excessive, and the flavours were subtle yet authentic, lingering pleasantly on the taste buds. Apart from the thali, I also tried arri fish cooked in mustard. Arri fish, often compared in texture to sea fish, was well prepared and flavourful. I also sampled the duck curry along with several traditional Assamese preparations such as khar (the alkaline dish), fritters, fries, pakoras, and a small fish mash—each adding to the overall experience of regional Assamese flavours. Overall, the meal felt reasonably priced and rich in traditional taste. Enjoying the food at the veranda of the restaurant—located near the swimming pool and overlooking the cottages—added to the relaxed, resort-style dining experience that IORA is known for. A satisfying stop for anyone looking to experience Assamese cuisine in Upper Assam within a comfortable, scenic setting.
On a drive through Kaziranga wildlife sanctuary towards Jorhat, this patch caught my eye. My zoom lens had me convinced it was a rhino, so I snapped a few shots. Turns out, it was a water buffalo! Still, just another glimpse into the incredible beauty of Assam.
When you have a seminar on a Sunday and the quintessential chicken curry and veg pulao — the kind that once graced the stately lunch tables of Lutyens’ Delhi — brings a smile to your face.
There’s something timeless about this combination. Long before new-age cafés and buffet spreads took over, the official canteens and government messes of Delhi ran on a rhythm of their own — white rice or fragrant veg pulao, dal, a seasonal sabzi, and that rich, slow-cooked chicken curry. It was served in the cool dining halls of North and South Block, by uniformed staff who knew exactly how much gravy made a perfect plate.
For many, this meal wasn’t just food — it was ritual. The aroma drifting through tree-lined avenues, the clink of steel thalis, the quiet chatter between officers and clerks — it all added to a distinctive charm of the capital’s “official lunch hour.”
So when that same plate of curry and pulao appears after a Sunday seminar, it’s more than nostalgia — it’s a comforting reminder of the gracious simplicity of Delhi’s bygone era, when even a government lunch carried a touch of old-world warmth.
Delhi Explore
Nagaland, which has become widely known for the Hornbill Festival, attracts tourists in large numbers every year, especially to hubs like Dimapur and Kohima. Yet, my recent entry into the state was far removed from the usual routes and tourist narratives.
I was travelling from Jorhat, and instead of the familiar highways, we took a quieter road cutting through endless tea gardens near Haluating. The landscape, soaked in green, felt unmistakably Assamese—orderly rows of tea bushes stretching into the horizon. From this route, one can also cross directly into Nagaland, and that moment of crossing felt almost cinematic.
Almost instantly, everything changed.
The terrain rose gently, the vegetation thickened, and the settlements began to look different. Houses no longer resembled those of the Assamese plains. The architecture felt more intimate, more handcrafted, and somehow more rooted in the hills. For us Assamese—especially Guwahatians who often travel to Meghalaya—the villages of Nagaland felt familiar yet strikingly distinct, and perhaps even more aesthetically arresting.
This stretch is known as Tuli, an important gateway town in Mokokchung district. Tuli itself comprises multiple settlements and marks the transition from Assam’s plains to Nagaland’s rolling hills. Beyond Tuli, the road winds through places like Changtongya, gradually pulling you deeper into the cultural heartland of the Ao Naga region.
What made the experience even more striking was the timing. It was a Sunday—those quiet days between Christmas and the New Year. Everything was shut. Shops closed, streets silent, towns seemingly paused in time. Except for the churches.
Every town had beautiful churches—large, well-kept, and standing as unmistakable landmarks. The doors were open. Inside, well-dressed Naga men and women gathered for prayer, their presence bringing warmth and life to otherwise still streets. Christianity, deeply woven into Nagaland’s social fabric, was visible not as spectacle but as everyday rhythm.
The contrast stayed with me. Just a few kilometres apart lay two worlds: Assam, with its tea gardens and plains culture, and Nagaland, with its hills, churches, and distinctive village life. Two landscapes, two cultural identities, coexisting side by side yet feeling worlds apart.
It was a gentle reminder that travel in the Northeast is not always about distance—it’s about transitions. Sometimes, all it takes is one quiet road through tea gardens to arrive in an entirely different cultural universe.
#Nagaland
#NorthEastIndia
#HiddenRoutes
#OffbeatTravel
#CulturalJourney
5 days ago | [YT] | 1
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Delhi Explore
There’s something deeply comforting about Iftari that comes with love.
Today it was Zarda, shared by a neighbourhood aunty — soft, fragrant, and gently sweet, not loud or overpowering.
Zarda has a long, layered history. Its roots are often traced back to Persian culinary traditions, where sweetened rice dishes were prepared for celebrations. From there, it travelled into the Mughal kitchens of the Indian subcontinent, evolving into the saffron-tinted, dry-fruit-studded rice we know today. Over time, it moved out of royal courts and into everyday homes, becoming a festive staple rather than an elite indulgence.
Today, Zarda is widely prevalent across North India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and parts of Central Asia. You’ll find it at weddings, Eid feasts, community gatherings, and especially during Ramzan — often made in large degs and shared generously. In many homes, it’s less about precision recipes and more about intuition, memory, and tradition passed down through elders.
Unlike heavy, sugar-spiking desserts, this subtle sugary rice feels kinder on the body — slow, satisfying, and grounding. Maybe it’s the balance of rice, mild sweetness, and history simmered into it that makes it special.
Sometimes, the healthiest part of Iftari isn’t just what we eat, but who it comes from.
#Iftari
#Zarda
#HomeCooked
#FoodWithHistory
#ramadan2026
5 days ago | [YT] | 1
View 0 replies
Delhi Explore
I have always felt the urge to write about exotic things. As writers, we often believe that stories must come from faraway places or extraordinary settings. But gradually, I realised that there is so much around us that deserves to be documented. It felt like the Urdu phrase chirag ke neeche andhera—the darkness right beneath the lamp.
That realisation led me to this market.
I often write about different places in Delhi, but why not about this one—the Community Centre market of New Friends Colony, a lifeline for the people of Jamia Nagar and neighbouring areas like Sukhdev Vihar and Masih Garh.
I came to Delhi in 2002. During my Jamia days, the Community Centre was more than a marketplace; it was an escape. An escape from the struggles of student life into a world that felt aspirational, almost unreal. For someone who had come from Guwahati, cafés like Barista or fast-food chains like McDonald’s were entirely new. Spending ₹150 or ₹200 on a cup of coffee felt extravagant when a regular coffee elsewhere cost ₹15 or ₹20.
We didn’t know about coffee beans, imported blends, or café culture. So our visits weren’t about consumption—they were about observation. We watched crowds from New Friends Colony sit in cafés and pubs, inhabiting a lifestyle we admired from a distance. The Community Centre became a classroom of sorts, teaching us about contrast.
Over the years, the market quietly entered Delhi’s cinematic memory too. One well-remembered scene from Khosla Ka Ghosla was shot in and around this part of South Delhi, including areas near The Suryaa New Delhi. Although the hotel lies just outside the core market, it has always been inseparable from the Community Centre ecosystem. For us students, it represented the peak of opulence—a five-star world standing next to our modest rented rooms costing ₹1,500 to ₹2,500 a month.
That contrast defined our relationship with the place.
Years later, while watching the recent film Sitare Zameen Par, I recognised familiar frames from the Community Centre area. Parts of the film were indeed shot in and around New Friends Colony, and some scenes appeared to feature establishments like Nathu's—a detail I noticed instantly, the way one recognises an old neighbourhood without needing a signboard.
The Community Centre, however, has constantly evolved. A pub-bistro called Dawat Khana once existed opposite Pebble Street but shut down a few years ago. The original Barista outlet that introduced café culture here also closed, followed by redevelopment. Le Marche later opened in that space, and has since shut as well.
Through all this change, Pebble Street has stood firm. McDonald's, Pizza Hut, and Domino's continue to anchor the market in familiarity.
One institution that deserves special mention is Bon Bon Pastry Shop, a bakery that has quietly fed generations of Jamia students and New Friends Colony residents alike. The offices around the market have always hummed with activity, and Nathu’s remains a cultural constant.
Equally enduring is Varsha’s Salon, one of the oldest salons in the Community Centre area. Over the years, many salons have opened and shut shop here, following changing trends and tastes, but Varsha’s has stood strong. Quietly consistent, it has served generations of residents and students, becoming another understated marker of continuity in a space defined by change.
Then there is Al-Bake—often casually referred to as Al Baik by students—which became synonymous with student life and helped popularise an Indianised shawarma culture in Delhi long before it became mainstream.
There were smaller institutions too—like Gargi, the tailor, whose shop I hope still survives somewhere in the maze. And then there was the absence that mattered deeply to us students—Batra Cinema. It had shut before my arrival, forcing us to travel to Sapna Cinema in East of Kailash or Nehru Place for films. Ironically, the cinema reopened by the time we passed out—not plush or multiplex-level, but close enough to feel like a long-overdue correction.
Beyond these landmarks are countless quieter stories—of grocery shops, department stores, and how many of them stayed open during the COVID years, serving the neighbourhood when the city felt frozen.
Stories abound.
That is what the Community Centre is for the people of Jamia Nagar and New Friends Colony—not merely a market, but a living archive. Of ambition and contrast. Of memory and continuity. Of a place that grew alongside us, even when we didn’t realise it.
#DelhiStories
#NewFriendsColony
#JamiaNagar
#CommunityCentre
#DelhiNostalgia
#CityMemories
#GrowingUpInDelhi
#UrbanIndia
#MarketsOfDelhi
#EverydayDelhi
5 days ago | [YT] | 2
View 0 replies
Delhi Explore
I have been sampling Assamese or ethnic thalis at various restaurants across Guwahati, but interestingly, I had never tried one in Upper Assam before. This time, while travelling towards Jorhat, I decided to stop by IORA – The Retreat, a place long known as a prominent luxury resort in the Kaziranga region, offering both leisure stays and multiple dining options.
Being a Delhi resident, I rarely get the opportunity to pass through or stay at such properties in Assam, which made this stopover particularly interesting. IORA is known to serve traditional Assamese cuisine through its speciality restaurant, along with a multi-cuisine dining option, making it a convenient place for travellers to sample local food in a comfortable setting.
The Assamese vegetarian thali that I tried was very reasonably priced at ₹360 and included a good variety of items, as visible in the photographs. What stood out was the balance—the quantity and quality were both just right. The portions were satisfying without being excessive, and the flavours were subtle yet authentic, lingering pleasantly on the taste buds.
Apart from the thali, I also tried arri fish cooked in mustard. Arri fish, often compared in texture to sea fish, was well prepared and flavourful. I also sampled the duck curry along with several traditional Assamese preparations such as khar (the alkaline dish), fritters, fries, pakoras, and a small fish mash—each adding to the overall experience of regional Assamese flavours.
Overall, the meal felt reasonably priced and rich in traditional taste. Enjoying the food at the veranda of the restaurant—located near the swimming pool and overlooking the cottages—added to the relaxed, resort-style dining experience that IORA is known for.
A satisfying stop for anyone looking to experience Assamese cuisine in Upper Assam within a comfortable, scenic setting.
#AssameseCuisine
#AssameseThali
#UpperAssam
#TasteOfAssam
#EthnicFood
#Kaziranga
#IORA – The Retreat
#Kaziranga National Park
#Jorhat
1 week ago (edited) | [YT] | 2
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Delhi Explore
On a drive through Kaziranga wildlife sanctuary towards Jorhat, this patch caught my eye. My zoom lens had me convinced it was a rhino, so I snapped a few shots. Turns out, it was a water buffalo! Still, just another glimpse into the incredible beauty of Assam.
#Kaziranga
#Assam
2 weeks ago | [YT] | 2
View 0 replies
Delhi Explore
When you have a seminar on a Sunday and the quintessential chicken curry and veg pulao — the kind that once graced the stately lunch tables of Lutyens’ Delhi — brings a smile to your face.
There’s something timeless about this combination. Long before new-age cafés and buffet spreads took over, the official canteens and government messes of Delhi ran on a rhythm of their own — white rice or fragrant veg pulao, dal, a seasonal sabzi, and that rich, slow-cooked chicken curry. It was served in the cool dining halls of North and South Block, by uniformed staff who knew exactly how much gravy made a perfect plate.
For many, this meal wasn’t just food — it was ritual. The aroma drifting through tree-lined avenues, the clink of steel thalis, the quiet chatter between officers and clerks — it all added to a distinctive charm of the capital’s “official lunch hour.”
So when that same plate of curry and pulao appears after a Sunday seminar, it’s more than nostalgia — it’s a comforting reminder of the gracious simplicity of Delhi’s bygone era, when even a government lunch carried a touch of old-world warmth.
#LutyensDelhi
#DelhiDiaries
#ClassicFlavours
#ChickenCurryLove
#VegPulaoVibes
#BygoneEra
#TasteOfTradition
#OldWorldCharm
#ComfortFoodChronicles
#DilliKaKhaana
3 months ago | [YT] | 0
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