The case for Dastkar

Just when Dilli Haat was getting overcrowded, dirty, full of the same old, Dastkar moved to its now permanent location in Chhattarpur. It gave us a lovely three-ringed space, one inside the other, to browse and catch up with old friends as we shopped.

Dastkar takes craft and contemporises it with design. We don’t have to buy little embroidered pouches or tacky puppets-on-strings with gota. We can instead, finally, appreciate Indian craft without it screaming ‘village life’.

Design is woven into the experience (both ambience and product), so gifts for people abroad can be subtly Indian. Studio pottery with just a touch of cane, light shawls that don’t look like you’re going to be on the night watch, statement jewellery that can be worn in the city.

Yes, the prices are high, and it’s a mix of home-grown designers and artisans, but you’ll find something unique, and even if you buy just one, it’s worth it. If you don’t, there’s always some people watching to do.

You’ll also get everything from plants and planters to scarves and yardage. There’s home-made beauty, organic cotton clothing, and ragi laddos. More than anything, it’s an 'aunty' escape from college kids and the popcorn-eating crowd.

Sunalini Mathew believes even snobs have their place in the city

The case for Dilli Haat

In Dilli Haat, INA, New Delhi   | Photo Credit: Sushil Kumar Verma

Here’s the thing. A ‘haat’ literally connotes festivity. It’s for clothes and kulfi, getting your name on a grain of rice while watching the ektara man play an old Bollywood tune. It’s for children, it’s for their grandparents, and it’s also for newly romancing college kids who want to buy each other presents (or momos, if you know what your girl really wants).

And Dilli Haat at INA is all that, with a serious focus on handloom and handicrafts. Things here aren’t cheap, but they’re not snobbishly expensive. The men from Kashmir selling pashmina won’t let you bargain shamelessly — they’ll tell you a story of what exactly they’re selling instead. The women from Andhra selling their leather lanterns won’t take your “sahi daam batao, didi,” because they’ll pretend not to understand your language, all while holding their ground. Walk a few steps to the Madhubani stalls and you’ll cringe at your haggling habits from five minutes ago, because sitting at a corner here is a man painting a canvas he’ll sell moments from now, in real time.

The place is well-connected and buzzing, unlike its far away Chhatarpur cousin that hosts only a handful of uninterested, lonely stalls through most of the year. And despite its busy-ness, every little thing in Dilli Haat will slow down your Delhi brashness and make you appreciate the effort that goes into the slower and finer things from the hinterland. And in the least patronising way.

Sometimes, it is also the site for a quiet, graceful protest. In January, a campaign here had genuine craftspeople and artisans hang yellow ribbons from their stalls and on their sleeves, to sensitise customers towards a threat to Dilli Haat‘s original intent — the place that started as a way for artisans and buyers to meet directly, was slowly giving up more space to machine-good traders who could afford to offer higher bids for stall-space.

But there was no naarebaazi or bandh. Dilli Haat didn’t shut down for anyone who needed it. Because after all, that would defeat its point.

Vangmayi Parakala invariably brings every visiting relative to Dilli Haat