Chapli kebabs to Afghani samosas: Smells of Iftar waft through Delhi’s Zakir Nagar

A blaring siren rips through the street, marking the break of the day’s fast. The lanes, which were empty minutes ago, begin filling up with a trickle of people. A little girl, barely eight years old, stands behind her cart heaped with glass bangles while chomping down on a slice of watermelon. The glittery bangles twinkle and wink, catching the light of the lights strung overhead.

A pineapple seller beside her chews a mouthful of his ware, wipes the juice from his mouth, and gestures at the fruit, “Take them. They’re sweet, I promise,” he smiles.

As one peeks inside shops and restaurants, owners wave away customers. “Come back after we’re done,” says one, sitting on the floor of his shop in a circle and breaking his fast with a few other men.

“The real action starts after 8 or 9 pm,” says Mohammad Faizan. “People finish eating at home and go out with friends or family… that’s when they usually stop for a snack or buy some clothes for Eid.”

Faizan stands behind a steaming hot tawa, oil bubbling in the centre. His hands deftly knead the meat into balls before he coolly flattens it on the pan. His fingers don’t flinch when he dips them in oil as he drops the kebab in. “I don’t fast. If I have to serve good food, I have to taste it,” he says, as his fingers jump in and out of the oil.

Mohammad Alam Khan stands in front of a massive chunk of meat being seared at the broiler. Next to them, piled high, are samosas made with naan and stuffed with cabbage and meat. He calls it Afghani Samosa. “It’s light and easy on the stomach after fasting all day,” he says, squeezing a grill shut over a dozen samosas to reheat them.

Next to him, his boss, Ahmed Amir is frying a few chapli kebabs. “This kebab is not like what your ammi, bua or khala makes, filled with mirch masala. It’s eggless and without spices… easier on the stomach,” Khan says, emphasising the latter.

Amir smiles politely, as he presses the kebab against the hot pan. The fat sizzles and the aroma is buttery and earthy. It clings to the air, swirling through the cramped alley, almost stopping anyone who happens to pass by in their tracks. An invisible invitation, impossible to ignore.

On the opposite side, almost as if competing with Amir’s shop stands Anwar, who is from Katihar in Bihar. His cook is grilling fish on coals. “You haven’t seen anything like this on Iftar, eh?” Anwar asks smugly.

The Tilapia’s skin, charred and crackling, glistens with a thin sheen of butter, releasing a smoky, almost caramelised aroma. Beneath the crisped exterior, the delicate white flesh flakes apart at the slightest touch, its juices pooling underneath it. A faint briny sweetness rises with the steam, mingling with the scent of roasted spices – coriander, a whisper of turmeric and chilli, and the sharp tang of lemon that has been squeezed over just moments before. The coals beneath glow a deep, smouldering red, crackling softly.

“Come back at midnight, you won’t find a place to keep your foot,” says Anwar, barking out a laugh. “We’ll be here till 5 in the morning… come back and see. There are only celebrations.”