55AUGUST / SEPTEMBER 2019 – DESTINASIAN.COMtypes of rock salt (black, amber, purplish ...) to asa-
fetida, a pungent, grayish-white resin that smooths
out when cooked, to kewa, an essence of screw pine
used to aromatize biryani.
“There’s no spice you can’t find here,” one vendor
tells me. When pressed for a number, he says, “A hu-
dred-plus. At least.” But that doesn’t account for vari-
eties. “You can find 10 to 15 different types of cumin.”
TO GET A BETTER view of the market, and to clear our
sinuses, Reshii and I climb to the roof. A number of
kite flyers are practicing their sometimes-dangerous
hobby. Each year people die from kite strings that
have been coated in a mixture of glue and crushed
glass in order to sever the strings of rival kites.
Godadia Market abuts Fatehpuri Masjid, a red
sandstone mosque built in 1650 by Fatehpuri Begum,
a wife of the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan. We lean
on the railing and look out over its vast courtyard.
A pair of lithe, towering minarets flank an onion-
shaped dome that rises just in front of us. “This is
the heart of Mughal Delhi,” Reshii says.
We sit and talk about her fascination with spices.
In her book, she wrote, “It is not a static subject, but
one that changes constantly from one part of India
to the next, and from one period of history to an-
ot her. I n each era, in each inca rnat ion, it cha nges ou r
palates, and our lives, in irrevocable ways.” That is
the beauty and magic of spices.
Her initial interest was twofold, she explains. One
was visual, in the sheer beauty she saw in South In-
dia of them growing and in the markets. The other
was as an inquisitive cook and eater. “There is no one
in India who does not use spices. But most people
don’t know where they come from.”
While she traveled widely around spice-produc-
ing regions to research her book, back in Khari Baoli
she had an incomparable pool of experts. Many of
the merchants are fifth- or sixth- or even tenth-gen-
eration spice traders, and offered answers to every
question she could ask.
Back down on the ground floor, we make another
loop around the market. It is afternoon teatime, and
a number of porters are sipping India’s ubiquitous
drink, masala chai, laced with cardamom, cloves,
cinnamon, and black pepper.
We exit through an arched tunnel and are soon
heading along Chandni Chowk. Authorities have
begun an ambitious project to pedestrianize the
busy 1.5-kilometer stretch between Fatehpuri Masjid
and the Red Fort. But for the moment, we inch ahead
in a cycle rickshaw, snared in a tangle of people,
carts, and assorted vehicles.
I sit back in regret that we didn’t first stop for a
glass of chai, so I’d have a palatable memory of the
market’s spices lingering on my tongue.Squeezing past sack-laden porters, groaning
handcarts, and merchants with leather
briefcases, we are hit by a wall of spice dust.
This is the market’s wholesale heart.