“I have come across many, many people in my life. I’ve seen Nehru ji; Indira Gandhi’s husband, Firoz Gandhi; Atal Bihari Vajpayee; Advani; so many important people walking this street,” says Dhruv Shankar. The next moment, a customer walks in and he’s on his feet, ready to welcome her with a warm smile and a servile demeanor.
Dhruv Shankar, the friendly face that owns and runs Adarsh Store at Janpath, is the quintessential Delhiite. Not the kind that people of my generation come across that often, though. He is a man who has built a kingdom of heartfelt connections, and furthered an empire of honest business. He has seen flooding sunlight and a blue Yamuna. Through years of hosting experiential shopping for his customers, Dhruv has learnt of cultures, habits and stories, which today mingle with his own retrospect experience as a resident of the once open-spaced capital city.
Dhruv, one of the main market’s many shop owners, identifies it as a melting pot of Delhi’s varied breeds. He explains to me how Janpath, formerly known as Queensway, is one of the many radial roads leading outwards from the inner circle of Connaught Place. “Adarsh was set up here in 1950. Initially it was placed on the main road. We were shifted to this building in 1970. Before that there were British barracks in this building,” he says.
His eyes seem to be set on a distant memory, a few imaginary miles away. His voice is full of a languid joy as he begins narrating the stories he has seen woven on these roads, right from his seat at the innermost end of the shop. “There were fewer cars [back then]. Janpath was known for people walking straight down to the Imperial hotel. Everyone would be relaxed, with no tension, no noise. Winters were especially beautiful — the sky would be blue,” he says.
As a spectator, Dhruv must have learnt more about the city’s people than anyone else. For when the weight of listening and responding is taken off one’s shoulders, they observe. And it is in observation that a man’s greatest secrets are revealed. Hinting at the possession of this wisdom, he reveals that many arranged marriages were fixed on Janpath itself. “Suppose that a girl’s family wanted to meet a boy’s family — they would meet them here. The girls and boys would walk together, the families would talk. You could see those who were to be future brides,” he says with a chuckle.
Relating his own experience, he shares, “My father was a yogi and a fitness enthusiast. Every Sunday we would take an off from work, and he would bundle up the kids with the family for a walk to the Jamuna (sic). We used to walk around the railway station, across the Ring Road. Standing at its end, we would see the river — the blue Jamuna.”
A fictional image begins to form in my mind, as Dhruv talks about the clear water, equating it to the drinkable elixir that flows through Har ki Pauri in Haridwar. Back then, the silver streak of water horizon would be visible from miles away. These stretches of land between Dhruv’s family and the river would be covered in greenery and agricultural land, while the sky would give it all a radiant blue blanket. “We would take peanuts with us, and enjoy walking through the fields. It was a very easy journey. We would stroll around the back of Humayun’s Tomb, cross the railway lines, and there were fields,” he says.
In those days, a few decades ago, all it took was a stroll to get to know the city. No wonder he absorbed so much of it.
Tune back in next Sunday to read about Gita didi, and her unusual relationship with the season.
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