‘Nothing has changed’: Inside an Old Delhi stall serving one dish since 1953

Back in 1953, his grandfather started the small food business and there was only one dish on the menu – haleem. But the lack of variety was no handicap – customers loved the robust, deeply satisfying flavours of his slow-cooked mutton-and-lentils stew.

Haleem in the process of being transferred from one pot to the other. (Express photo by Reva Thakkar)

More than 70 years on, Naimuddin continues to sell the only dish that his grandfather ever cooked. “Our work is dada ilahi (ancestral),” Naimuddin told The Indian Express. “Dada ji sold a portion for chaar aana (25 paise).”

Naimuddin sells his haleem for Rs 50 a plate. But he turns away no one – those who can’t afford a full plate, like daily-wage labourers, can have a small portion for less, even Rs 10.

And it is not merely something that he sells for profit, Naimuddin said – it is a blessing from his grandfather and father. His shop bears his name, Naim Bhai Haleem Wale, but also that of his father – “Bundu Haleem”.

He makes 25-30 kg of haleem six days a week, Naimuddin said. “I don’t open on Jumma (Fridays) and during Ramzan.”

A recipe that’s stayed the same

Dressed in a pale mustard-and-white striped shirt, full sleeves cuffed at the forearm, grey pants, his beard streaked grey, Naimuddin stands behind a wide copper pot of haleem simmering on a coal chulha. A second pot sits to his left, ready to feed the first once it runs low. Plates are stacked at an arm’s length, and on a small table are kept the essential toppings: coriander, ginger, green chilli, chaat masala, lemon.

His day begins well before 4 am, the haleem is ready by 11 am, and is over by 4.30 pm. “Some days, the pot runs empty by 3 pm,” he said.

The recipe hasn’t changed much from his grandfather’s time: pounded wheat, broken wheat, turmeric, chilli, salt, garam masala, lentils, and meat (typically mutton) worked from the neck, cheek, and tongue.

“It is extremely time-consuming and difficult to make this, that’s the reason not many take up the task,” he said, cutting up the meat into tiny pieces with a fork and a knife before transferring it to the main pot.

Traditionally, haleem is served with flatbreads. But at Bundu’s, due to time constraints, Naimuddin just sells the dish, “People are welcome to get their own roti, bread or rice to eat with it,” he said.

Haleem traces its origins to harees, an Arab preparation of pounded wheat and meat that travelled to the Deccan with Hadhrami Arab soldiers serving under Hyderabad’s Nizams. Over time, cooks added lentils, ghee and more spices, giving rise to haleem.

The dish reached Delhi through successive waves of migration. Today, Old Delhi, Nizamuddin Basti and the Hyderabadi pocket around Zakir Nagar and Jangpura are among the city’s haleem hubs. Bundu Haleem, on Matia Mahal Road facing Jama Masjid, is one of Old Delhi’s longest-running stalls.

For Niamuddin, there was, for a while, a different plan. He finished Class XII in 1994, got married the same year, and briefly trained with the Delhi Police, teaching at a Civil Defence centre with 50 boys under him.

“I wanted to do a government job, but life had different plans. My father’s health began to deteriorate and I could see his distress, so I joined him,” he said.

“But I don’t want to pass it (the stall) down to my daughters. They are successful in their lives, one practises law, another works at a car showroom, and two are still in school,” he added.

Customers who keep coming back

What keeps Bundu Haleem running isn’t one type of customer, but nearly every type, arriving at different hours. From 11 am to 4 pm, people from all walks of life come to the stall, greeting him, crowding up at times and interacting in conversation with each other or Niamuddin as well.

Mohammed Arif, in a faded white T-shirt and blue jeans, earphones looped around his neck, has been coming here every day for the past six years. “Mera roz ka dinn ka khaana hai ye (This is my daily meal),” he said.

He works as a welder — his workplace 10 minutes away on foot — and picks up rotis from a restaurant on his way over, carrying them in a blue theli (plastic bag) to eat alongside his haleem. “I prefer the haleem with roti; I’ve got to work, so this meal fills me up,” he said.

Abdul Kayyum has parked his auto at the Jama Masjid stand for 37 years, close enough to Naimuddin’s stall that friendship and customer loyalty blurred a long time ago.

“I’ve seen him age from his youth,” Naimuddin said. Kayyum, who calls him Naeem bhai the way most regulars do, comes whenever the craving hits. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve come here in nearly four decades,” he said.

For Yasmeen’s husband, Gulfam, Niamuddin’s stall is a childhood memory. The 36-year-old first came here as a boy trailing his father and hasn’t stopped since. “It is just like I saw it 20 years ago; nothing has changed. The plates, spoons are the same… even the taste is the same. I remember my father bringing me here when I was 5, but I started coming here on my own when I was 16,” he said.

He and his friends used to make the trip together; he has continued the tradition by bringing Yasmeen.

For the two of them, a haleem craving is reason enough for an outing. “The traffic was bad, but the Haleem was worth it,” said Yasmeen.

Naimuddin’s pots and ladles, quite huge and quite old, were made to order from copper. Using a knife and fork, he cuts the jheeb (tongue) into smaller pieces when a customer requests it. “Naeem bhai, zyaada jheeb bharna, teen plate parcel kar do,” says a customer in a black T-shirt, ordering three fifty-rupee haleem parcels loaded with extra tongue. Naimuddin nods his head, packing the haleem into a white polythene bag, then double-bagging it in black.

Behind the counter, every plate is finished the same way: Ginger shreds, coriander, thin slices of green chilli, a dusting of chaat masala, a wedge of lemon before Niamuddin hands it over.

“He may not know us as well, but we all who come here know him,” Yasmeen said, taking her bowl. “Most people from my area in Jahangirpuri come only to him when they want to eat haleem. No one does it better than him.”