Kulcha, Girda, Lavasa, Sheermal: Far away from home, Delhi’s kandur vaan connects Kashmiris with their roots and memories
Kulcha, Sheermal, Girda — at whatever point Imran wishes to take a trip down the nostalgic lanes of Kashmir, he doesn’t need to catch a flight or jump onto the bus. He just heads to Batla House, a 10-minute drive from his house in Zakir Nagar.
This congested place is home to a kandur waan — a hole-in-the-wall bakery shop churning out new Kashmir breads through the day.
“I have visited the shop often since I came to this city. It’s a place for me to interact with Kashmir in Delhi. This shop is brings back many nostalgic memories of my childhood”, says Imran, clutching onto his pack of lavasas like a 10-year-old. He’s been in Delhi for the last 3 years studying at Jamia Millia Islamia University.
“You know, when you arrive in Srinagar, you get this specific aroma,” he takes a deep breath to draw in the comforting scent of the fresh bread, a smile spreading across his face. “I discover it here.”
In the narrow alleys and congested bazaars of Delhi NCR, the Kandur-waan, in all its uniqueness, speaks to a calm but capable force—one that rises above the boundaries of time and space.
For people of Kashmir who have been living in the city far from the valley, the Kandur-waan is more than an abode where bread is made. For them, it is a space that holds the echoes of the past, the wistfulness of the valley, and a signal of social continuity.
“The tandoor is a place of transformation,” says Hilal Ahmad, a history teacher working in Delhi College, presently residing in Noida.
“Lal Ded, like the tandoor, speaks to the capacity to persevere and rise more grounded. The bread heated here is not fair nourishment for the body, it feeds the soul,” he says.
In Kashmir, Kandur-waan has a significance beyond its physical form and into the heart of Kashmiri mysticism.
Lal Ded, a 14th-century Kashmiri saint and poet, a towering figure in the history of Kashmir Shaivism, known for her profound spiritual insights and poetic verses, is said to have taken refuge in the heat of a tandoor, emerging unscathed as a symbol of inner strength and resilience, which adds to a spiritual layer to the meaning of the kandur.
A glowing tandoor, where loaves of sheermal, girda, and kulcha are baked, creates a sense of warmth and unity. The Kandur’s bread, symbolizes the strength of a culture that refuses to fade into obscurity, even after years of separation.
“It is in these small moments—sharing bread, sharing memories—that we remember who we are,” says Muneeb Yousuf, a Kashmiri living in Delhi. “The kandur helps us keep our culture alive. It is a symbol of resilience, of not letting our heritage disappear.”
As the chilly winters are swamping North India, Kashmir is covered under snow and Delhi is chilling with below 5 degrees Celsius, the Kandur of Kashmir wakes up to feed the Kashmiris residing in Delhi and connects them to their roots every day.
Through the simple act of kneading dough and sharing a meal, he binds the present to the past.
The day starts at the break of dawn for the kandurs at this little shop called ‘Saleem Bhai’s Lavasa’. The list of items he bakes and sells is long and varied: Girda, Lavasa, Katlam (flaky circular bread), Telvur (bagel-shaped circular bread), Kulcha, Sheermal and Roth Khabar (a large-sized sweet bread taste topped with dry fruits).
“We open as early as 6.30 A.M. To begin with, we heat Gyev Czhot (a bread utilized with wazwan), Girda and Lavasa till 9 A.M,” 27-year-old Saleem, the proud owner of the shop says. He hails from Shopian.
He adds that after these morning breads, they start making Telvur, Katlam, Sheermal and Kulcha.
The shop was started by Saleem in 2008. His father, Rehman father ran a similar shop in Noida for long before that. Rehman brought Saleem along with him from Shopian in 2008 to expand the business. Ever since, Saleem has been preparing bread here.
“Baking bread gets me my bread and butter. But it also gives me a sense of fulfillment since I get to see individuals from my community and have brief conversations with them. Sometimes, they can be longer and more intimate,” he says.
Saleem’s bread does not only connect the Kashmiris back to their culture and roots. Transcending religious divides and its bitter political impact, his bread unites Kashmiris of all religions.
“Most conversations are about nostalgia, cooking and culture,” Saleem says as he presses Roth Khabar and Kulchas for Prerna, a Kashmiri Pandit young woman in Delhi.
Tariq Ahmad (45) makes two visits to the kandur in Johri Farm a week. Kulchas are his top choice. “When I was in Kashmir, I used to have these breads at breakfast and with evening tea. In the midst of the fast-paced life of Delhi, this Kandur-waan is a brief stopover — a bridge interfacing us with our roots,” says Tariq, who originally lived on the banks of the Jhelum in Srinagar.
Tariq’s assumptions typify the connection of every Kashmiri to the kandur. No matter where Kashmir’s are scattered, the bread heated in its warm grasp will continuously carry the snap of home.
“Here, far from our homes, the kandur proceeds to serve us as a reminder that whereas our bodies may have been scattered, our culture, our conventions, and our roots stay immovably where we came from,” Tariq says.
“In the warmth of the kandur, we discover a piece of Kashmir that can never be taken away—a piece of home, no matter what and where we are.”
Courtesy: Kashmirtimes.com