In the haze, Delhi reclaims its winter charm

While the air in Delhi grows heavier by the week and the drifting ash from the Ethiopian volcanic bursts inches ever closer to the city, the people of the capital seem to have reached their limit. The patience that once defined Delhiites has thinned like the winter light. They have spilled out onto the streets, not only to protest the worsening quality of life but also to reclaim their public spaces and the fragile joys of winter. The avenues are crowded with mufflers, shawls and handmade placards. The mist stirs around them like a restless veil, rising and folding into the yellow glow of streetlamps, as citizens refuse to surrender the season to a haze of neglect.

As winter chills engulf Delhi, here's what starts being put on the plate

"Our life cannot stop just because the authorities higher up are not mindful of our health," said an exasperated Anindita Chaudhary, a twenty four year old resident of Greater Kailash, as she prepared for a picnic at Sunder Nursery with her friends.

A city that comes alive most vividly in winter, Delhi is scented with chatim blossoms and wrapped in a soft, rising fog that mingles uneasily with the ever present smog. The season carries its own poetry. Roasted peanut and gajak carts line the streets, their warm aromas threading through the chill, while tea sellers become the most beloved figures in gardens, markets and pavements, their kettles whistling into the dusk. There is an undeniable romance to the winters of Delhi, a season that feels both intimate and expansive, as if the city itself leans in a little closer. 

As children, winter outings to Nehru Park and Lodhi Gardens were the highlight of the year. All the cousins and friends would gather for a long, lingering picnic, arriving with woollen caps slipping over our eyes and hands tucked into the sleeves of oversized jumpers. We spread out rugs beneath the dappled sunshine, the grass still cold beneath us, as the picnic tins opened one by one. Music floated from someone’s small radio, the kind that crackled every time the breeze shifted, and the day stretched on in golden silence broken only by laughter and the occasional rustle of a kite overhead.

A few days ago my siblings were visiting from Mumbai and I decided to take them to Humayun’s Tomb in the evening, now that it remains open to visitors until ten at night. The monument, glowing softly under the moonlight, felt almost ethereal, its arches echoing with footsteps that seemed to belong to both the present and the past. What truly caught me by surprise was the new Humayun’s Tomb Museum tucked into the basement of Sunder Nursery. It is an international calibre experience, thoughtfully presenting the history of the monument through delicate manuscripts, architectural fragments and immersive exhibits on the enduring influence of Sufism. It feels perfectly situated, given the proximity of the Nizamuddin Dargah, whose devotional music often drifts across the night air.

Even more intriguing is the open courtyard above, where coffee shops are slowly taking shape, their soft lamps and wooden counters emerging just as the weather turns perfect for lingering outdoors. I stepped into the only one that has opened ahead of the rest, Cortasso. The cafe has an inviting, almost snug warmth to it, opening out onto a patio that looks over the central courtyard and the ancient banyan trees beyond. Their thick, cascading roots twist into the earth like silent witnesses to centuries of Delhi’s story. I especially loved that the space welcomes pets and serves excellent coffee. The hot chocolate, thick and velvety, sipped on a crisp winter evening, felt like a balm to the soul.

Not far from there, Dilli Haat feels as if it has been imagined for winter alone. The entire space bursts into colour as shawl vendors from across the country gather with their pashminas, kanjeevarams, yak wool wraps and hand woven stoles. The aroma of hot soups curls through the air from the Sikkim stall, where the queue for momos remains eternal. At the Kashmir counter, bowls of delicate yakhni ladled over steaming rice warm cold hands, while the Amritsari fish, the crisp pakoras and the reliable, fragrant chai from the Punjab stall find their way to eager visitors who settle on wooden benches, their breath rising like smoke into the dusky air. In winter, Dilli Haat becomes a tapestry of flavours, fabrics and footsteps, alive with the hum of a city that refuses to dim.

Come winter, Delhi transforms into a demanding queen, and we, her loyal subjects, cannot help but give in to the quiet lure, the drama and the timeless romance of the grand old city’s cold season.