The Thursday that never quite ends
The smell reaches you before the sound does. Attar, marigold garlands going soft in the heat, frying oil from the biryani stalls lining the lane into the basti, all of it hits as you step off the main road near Nizamuddin West and begin the narrow walk toward the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. By the time you hear the harmonium, you are already inside something.
