Back in the first year of World War I, an Indian eye surgeon called Dr Sorabji P Shroff (a graduate of the Royal College of Surgeons, Edinburgh) decided he wanted to do something to help the poor of Delhi: he wanted to establish an eye clinic, a charitable one at that. Eight years later, Shroff, along with some of Delhi’s most prominent citizens (a number of them statesmen and politicians such as M A Ansari and Hakim Ajmal Khan) set up a trust for the proposed clinic. They petitioned the government, and kept at it, for the next two years. In 1924, the Delhi administration finally approved the grant of a piece of land for the building of the hospital. In the heart of Daryaganj (what is now known as Kedarnath Road), the Shroff Charity Eye Hospital was completed in 1927 and was inaugurated by Lady Irwin, the wife of the then Viceroy of India.

We didn’t get a chance to go into the hospital building—very early on a cold Sunday morning isn’t the best time to visit—but even seen from between the bars of the main gate, this is a very fine colonial building. It’s painted a rich brick red, with the arches, windows, columns and fitted stones along the edges picked out in a pleasing cream. The centre of the building is a sort of portico; on either side of this stretch the two main wings of the hospital, double-storied and punctuated on both floors by a series of semi-circular arches. The semi-circular arch, by the way, is typical of colonial architecture in Delhi: the other two common types of arches—the pointed, which was used from the Sultanate period on; and the cusped Shahjahani arch—are both of much earlier origin. On the ground floor of the Shroff Charity Eye Hospital, the columns are walled up till just about where the arch begins; on the first floor, instead of a brick wall, there are glass panes that help accentuate the simplicity of the architecture. The gardens in front of the hospital building complement it perfectly: there’s a lawn, low hedges, and frangipani trees covered with deep green sword-shaped leaves and bunches of fragrant white flowers.

Visitors, as long as they’re quiet and discreet, are allowed in, since this is after all a hospital. It goes without saying that you won’t be permitted to visit every part of the building. Even if you don’t enter the gates, though, you can get a good view of this amazing colonial monument from the outside.

That old woman’s never going to read this review, but for what it’s worth, I’ll set the record straight. The Sunehri Masjid—the `Golden Mosque’—was built by a Mughal queen called Qudsia Begum. She did begin her career as a dancing girl, but by the time she constructed this mosque (in 1751) she was not just a queen and the mother of the reigning monarch, but also an immensely charismatic woman, generally reputed to be the power behind the throne. Qudsia Begum’s main confidant, a eunuch called Javed Khan, is at times credited with having built the mosque; other sources suggest he only carried out repairs to the building.

The mosque lies just beyond the walls of the Red Fort, and is a small, elegant building topped with three domes, each with a gleaming brass finial on top. The domes were originally of wood covered with gilded copper. These gave the mosque its name, but since wood isn’t the most durable of materials, they didn’t last long. The present domes were part of renovations carried out by the last Mughal Emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar, in 1852.

Traditionally, mosques (such as the impressive Jama Masjid across the road) were built on an elevation, to inspire a sense of humility. In the case of the Sunehri Masjid, there wasn’t a natural elevation, so the architect used sleight of hand instead: you first go down a staircase into a courtyard, and then up another staircase to the mosque. Neat! The gateway, like the mosque, is made of golden sandstone and is an ornate, pretty structure, with floral and geometric carving and rows of battlements (used purely as a decorative element) along the top.

Pretty cusped arches form the facade of this mosque, along with spare carving and a Persian inscription in white marble, giving the date of its construction. Two minarets, each capped with a little canopy known as a chhatri, with a gilded dome, stand at either end of the facade. There are pigeons around, and (except on Fridays) just about no-one else, so you can explore the mosque all by yourself. Do remember to take off your shoes at the gateway before you climb up to the mosque.

Shortly after they took hold of Delhi, the British began fortifying the city walls, and part of the task was to build bastions and mortella (at the time corrupted to `martello’) towers. These were largely built under the aegis of the extremely enthusiastic (alas, often misguided) Major Smith, the man who is most notorious for having plonked a hideous canopy—now known as Smith’s Folly—atop the exquisite Qutub Minar.

The section of the city wall near Delhi Gate and adjacent to Samta Sthal is one of the few sections that still remain. This is a solid wall made of stone rubble, punctuated by arched niches that take the weight of the wall. At intervals along the wall, you’ll see steep, broad ramps leading to the top of the wall. Covered with thin bricks known as lakhori bricks, these ramps were used to drag cannon up to the mortella towers. Walk up the first ramp, and you’ll come to the one mortella tower that still stands. The tower is a circular bastion, made of stone and connected to the wall by a narrow causeway-like structure. It juts out from the wall, about ten metres or so, and the `island’ at the end is just large enough to accommodate enough cannon to defend this stretch of wall. A drawbridge would originally have connected the `island’ to the causeway, but this has since disappeared. As a result, you can’t really get onto the mortella tower itself. But since it’s only a question of a few feet, you can get a good look at the tower from the end of the causeway.

Back at the wall, you’ll also see a quaint little domed structure made of rubble: it’s about four feet high, and only about large enough to accommodate one man. Nobody’s quite sure what this was, but it may have been used to store ammunition.

Interestingly enough, a big cheese in the army visited Delhi and saw the mortella towers in 1837. His comment? That they were a waste of money, because the real enemy lay within the city walls, not outside. A prophetic observation, really—because in the mutiny of 1857, the attack came from inside the Daryaganj Cantonment; the mortella towers never played much part in defending Delhi.

The walls of Shahjahanabad were pierced by thirteen gates (a fourteenth was later added by the British). Nearly all the gates were named for the direction they faced: Kashmiri Gate faced faraway Kashmir; Lahori Gate faced Lahore; Ajmeri Gate faced Ajmer; and so on. Today, except for four gates, none remain.

One of the gates that still stands (the others being Ajmeri Gate, Kashmiri Gate and Turkman Gate) is Delhi Gate. This, by the way, also follows the rule for other gates named after a direction: Delhi, in Shahjahan’s time, referred to the old cities of Delhi—all of which lie south of Shahjahanabad. The gate faced what was, in the 17th century, `Old Delhi’.

This is a solid-looking gate, built on what’s now an oblong traffic island on Netaji Subhash Marg. Heavy grey quartzite comprises the bulk of the gateway, which has two faceted bastions at either corner. In the centre is the arched gateway, which in earlier times would’ve been closed with heavy iron-bound wooden doors, guarded by soldiers.

The gateway has minor decorative features: it’s dressed with red sandstone, and you can still see signs of spare carving: little medallions and bosses, niches, and even a row of battlements atop the gate. The battlements have loopholes that could be used to fire from.

Delhi Gate was one of the many historic sites that were occupied by refugees from Pakistan after the harrowing partition of India in 1947. Looking at files in the Delhi Archives a couple of months back, I saw an irate letter from the Assistant Superintendent, Archaeological Survey of India, to the Chief Commissioner regarding Delhi Gate: "...everywhere here and there heaps of refuse and peelings mixed with overripe eatables stink badly in the corners; also the smoke coming out of their improvised ovens has defaced the facades spotted here and there with spitting of betels... Some of the headstrongs amongst the refugees have fitted door leaves... and raised unsightly wooden stalls dwindling and cramping upon the aesthetics about these monuments. I shall be grateful if you will kindly arrange to evict these people."

The refugees are gone and Delhi Gate is a protected monument today, but it still breathes history!

And visiting Daryaganj can be an amazingly rewarding experience, since this area literally breathes history.

Daryaganj means `the mart by the river’ (darya is the Urdu word for river; ganj means mart or wholesale market). Although the river in question—the Yamuna—has since changed its course, it originally flowed by here, along the walls of what was, in the 17th century, an important wholesale market. The Mughal Emperor Shahjahan had established his new capital in Delhi during the latter half of the 1600’s, and Daryaganj, just south of the Imperial Court (in the Red Fort) was where much of the river’s traffic docked, unloading grain and other produce from other parts of the empire. A number of prominent noblemen, such as the Nawab of Jhajjar, also built palatial mansions in Daryaganj.

By the 1700’s, Delhi had slipped into a decline, and a series of disasters—the bloody invasion of Nadir Shah in 1739; a succession of weak-willed rulers; the conquest of the city by the British after the Battle of Patparganj in 1803—resulted in Daryaganj losing its prestige. The nobility fled their mansions, and eventually the British settled in, making Daryaganj and cantonment. The major presence here was that of the corps of Sappers and Miners (colloquially, corrupted to safarmina; old Urdu maps of the 19th century mark the area as safarmina chhauni—the safarmina cantonment).

1857 brought Daryaganj into the limelight, because the Sappers and Miners were at the forefront of the Mutiny. Once the mutineers had been suppressed, the British administration decided to take steps to ensure that the local populace of Daryaganj would never again have the temerity to question imperial dominance. Many buildings (including the Shahjahan-era Akbarabadi Mosque) were razed to the ground, and others—such as the Sunehri Masjid (the `Golden Mosque’) and the Zeenat-ul-Masajid (`Ornament among mosques’) were confiscated by the British. The Zeenat-ul-Masajid, in fact, was converted into a commissariat bakery for the British troops stationed at the Red Fort.

By the time the 1920’s rolled around, Daryaganj was changing its character. The mosques had been returned to the Muslim population for worship; and the administration, in an effort to project a benevolent image, was making grants of land to establish schools, hospitals and charitable institutions, a police station.

Daryaganj today is a very busy commercial district, teeming with people all through the day. But the memories of ages past still haunt this area, and there’s plenty of interesting history hidden within the narrow lanes and bylanes of the neighbourhood to make this a rewarding heritage route. Here’s a suggested itinerary:

Delhi Gate: Park in front of the Hotel Broadway on Asaf Ali Road and walk down (about two minutes’ walk) to Delhi Gate. Straddling a traffic island at the intersection of Asaf Ali Road and Netaji Subhash Marg, Delhi Gate is one of the four remaining gates of Shahjahan’s 17th century city.

The Mortella Tower and the City Wall: Facing Delhi Gate (so that Asaf Ali Road is on your left), turn right and cross the road. A narrow path bisects a park here, leading to a road on the other side of the park. Walk down this path (you’ll see stone ramparts looming on your left, beyond a strip of ground) and walk straight on. The path joins a broad road—Ansari Road, named for a famous statesman—with posh bungalows along the left, and the squat, solid city wall on the right. Walk along the wall and climb up to see the mortella tower midway.

Ansari Road and its colonial buildings: When you’ve descended from the mortella tower, continue to walk along Ansari Road, which soon curves left and penetrates the heart of Daryaganj. This is a fairly broad road, flanked by the offices of publishers, book distributors and other corporate houses. Many of the buildings are new, but every now and then you’ll see signs of colonial architecture: pretty balconies, shuttered windows, semi-circular arches, columns. Keep looking!

Zeenat-ul-Masajid: As you walk down Ansari Road, you’ll come to Ghata Masjid Road, a broad road which you’ll see sloping down to your right. Walk down this road to the imposing Zeenat-ul-Masajid, also known as the Ghata Masjid—you can see the towering minarets and the heavy black-and-white striped domes of the mosque from Ansari Road.

Sunehri Masjid: Once you’ve explored the Zeenat-ul-Masajid, walk back up to Ansari Road and continue walking in the direction you were headed. The road curves left again, and goes past the Jain Temple and Children’s Home, an interesting colonial building dating back to 1903. A little beyond this, the road reaches a busy intersection with Netaji Subhash Marg. At this point, if you look to your right, you should be able to see the ramparts of the Red Fort. Turn right and walk down this stretch for a couple of minutes till you come to the gleaming golden minarets and golden-brown domes of the Sunehri Masjid. Turn to your right into the lane and walk on till the mosque.

Netaji Subhash Marg: After seeing the Sunehri Masjid, turn back the way you came. The main road here—which runs straight on from Red Fort to Delhi Gate—is Netaji Subhash Marg, a very busy thoroughfare that is the hub of Daryaganj. On Sundays, late mornings see Netaji Subhash Marg converted into an open air book bazaar that can be very enticing. Walk on down Netaji Subhash Marg, back towards Delhi Gate. Do keep a lookout for the facades of the buildings along this stretch too—many of them have some lovely colonial elements.

Shroff Charity Eye Hospital: As you walk down Netaji Subhash Marg, you’ll come to a broad lane going off on your left, ending at a distinctive red-painted building. To orient yourself, check that the building on the other side of Netaji Subhash Marg at this point is a large white-painted mosque with its dome lopped off: all that’s left is the drum, or base, of the dome. This also is known as the Sunehri Masjid, and is an early 18th century structure, though it’s been changed so much, it’s lost all its original character. Walk down the lane, which is flanked by some interesting buildings that combine colonial and indigenous elements. The lane ends at the Shroff Charity Eye Hospital.

Kedarnath Road: Facing the hospital, turn right and walk on. You’re now on Kedarnath Road, which runs approximately parallel to, and between, Ansari Road and Netaji Subhash Marg. You can, if you wish, return to Netaji Subhash Marg down the lane you entered; or you can walk on and choose one of the many other lanes that connect the two roads. I’d recommend walking on down Kedarnath Road; this is a quieter, more interesting stretch, with old houses down one side and the grassy patch known as Hindi Park on the other.

Daryaganj Police Station: Shortly after Hindi Park, a broad lane goes past a temple and a series of old offices—including that of a clothing company called Cantabil—off to the right. This lane brings you out onto Netaji Subhash Marg, right next to the large cream-painted, colonnaded bulk of the Daryaganj Police Station. The building dates back to 1930 and though it’s not that well maintained, it’s worth a look anyway.

Just beyond the police station is the Delhi Gate, from where you began the walk.