The Walled City encyclopaedia.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Gali Choori Wallan had choori sellers. Gali Sui Wallan had suiwork artisans. And Motor Market had motor sellers. It continues to have them.

Old Delhi’s Motor Market is better known as Jama Masjid Motor Market. For it lies right behind the Jama Masjid. A pavement wall separates the Mughal-era mosque from the Motor Market road. The wall is flanked by bougainvilleas shrubs. These pink flowers happen to be the sole decorations in the living arrangements of labourers who reside by the wall. During the day, the men are away at work, leaving behind their bags and belongings, which hang from hooks nailed on the wall. The labourers return in the evening. After the night meal, the men lie down on their share of the pave. This same pave overlooks the Motor Market’s motor shops, across the road, and also at the hotels perched atop the shops. (The pink-walled Taj Hotel hosts a vivid view of Jama Masjid — all the three domes visible simultaneously from its guest rooms.)

The Motor Market’s principal character is naturally marked by its motor shops, overfilling with piles of “spare motor parts”— which are “Indian and imported,” “old and new.” A kind shopkeeper helps identify the each with its name: engine gear, shocker, suspension, car doors, magnesium coil, lead, censor, gear haddi, BCM, ball bearing,, side mirror, rear view mirror, roller, needle, thurst, car light, piston, and fuel pump.

Years ago, the market used to be a site to dismantle old and damaged cars. Every single car part would be thoroughly repaired, ultimately transplanted into another vehicle. Today, the dismantling has moved to workshops far outside the Walled City, says a “spare parts” merchant. He has heard from his elders that the congested area was once a sprawling ground, with motor shops clinging directly to Jama Masjid’s centuries-old walls. (The stone mosque, as mentioned earlier, is now separated from the market road by a pavement wall).

Whatever, the most poetically named landmark in the Motor Market is a barbershop called Moon Ilyas Saloon. In case if you miss the point, the barbershop hoarding shows the painting of a moon. Throughout the day, this steady moon patiently stares at the Motor Market’s impatient road, choked with honking cars and bikes. (These poor cars and bikes have no inkling that some of them at the end of their life are fated to return to Motor Market as “spare parts.”)

Around midnight, the Motor Market gains quietude. The road divider is claimed by street recyclers. These citizens lie down on the elevated concrete in a long row—head to feet, head to feet.