You never know who you might stumble upon in Lodi Garden — jogging junkies, amorous lovers or the Vadra family.
It was because of the curse of the inhabitants of Khairpur village, forcibly evicted in the dead of the night, that Lady Willingdon could not enjoy too many strolls in the park named after her. Or so goes the colourful version of the story. The then Viceroy’s wife, seeing the expanse of green with a few scattered monuments on the southern outskirts of British India’s new capital, decided to have the area enclosed and a garden laid out, reminiscent of those in her native England. The people living there were the casualty. Perhaps their curse was efficacious — because in less than a fortnight after the park was opened on April 9, 1935, the Willingdons had to pack their trunks and return to England.
Lady Willingdon was unlucky, like the Khairpur residents who had made the 15th century royal burial ground of the Lodi and Sayyid dynasties their home (and the tombs, cattle sheds). But in the 75 years since, Lady Willingdon Park, or Lodi Garden as it was renamed after Independence, has become the haunt of many, more-fortunate souls. And it plays its multiple roles with élan.
The mornings, I had heard, are when the 95-acre park becomes one giant jogging track for the denizens of North and South Blocks, corporate honchos, power brokers and others of their ilk. Entering the park, just after 6:30 on a weekday, I do find joggers of all ages, shapes and sizes, some with their canine companions, but none of the A-listers I thought I’d run into. Till Dalip, the photographer, picks out an incongruous-looking man in a red t-shirt, shorts and Nike sneakers. Could it be…? Yes, it was — Hero Honda CEO Pawan Munjal, jogging. So I too jog, first after him, then beside him, to find out why Lodi Garden was his track of choice. But he declines to talk, preferring to jog on. It is not just joggers who are making use of the park though — there are also those doing yoga and exercising, alone (like Goa-based lawyer Ramakant who comes to Lodi Garden whenever he’s in the capital) and in groups. Three ladies who have just finished their yoga session tip me off about another celebrity regular expected to make an appearance. Sure enough, after 8 am, I find BJP’s Arun Jaitley ensconced on a bench nearby with a group of friends, including Munjal. “This is an unwinding process for us,” says Jaitley who has been coming to Lodi Garden since the ‘80s. Their morning adda is supplemented by cups of delicious cardamom-flavoured tea and lime juice, offered on a tray by an old faithful. The group discusses cricket, the newly-opened Leela hotel and whether to head to Scotland this summer. One of them, a former head of the meteorological department, gives his take on what the weather will be like in coming days, especially where matches are going to be held. “His forecasts are always right,” another member of the group tells me. Taking my leave, I nearly bump into commerce minister Anand Sharma in a track suit, walking swiftly out of the park. “I come here whenever I can,” he says. Others are still working out, including six men using what may have been a grave platform in front of the 15th century Bara Gumbad (literally meaning big dome) for their acrobatics. On the roof of the pavilion next to it, a boy strums a guitar while his friends sing along. Even at nine, people are still coming in, armed with yoga mats.
As the sun climbs higher, the park is host to a different type of people — those who dare not put their arms around their lovers elsewhere in the city are emboldened in Lodi Garden. There are couples scattered as far the eye can see, in the shade of trees, on benches and in the cool interiors of the tombs. Foreign tourists in twos and threes can also be spotted wandering in and out of the four major monuments of the erstwhile Bagh I-Jud of the Sayyid and Lodi rulers. But the garden is not normally part of the itinerary of chartered tours, says Prem, a guide, after pointing out to a group from England the finer details of Muhammad Shah Sayyid’s tomb. “We suggest it as a place tourists can visit to relax; that’s why you usually won’t find groups like this,” he says. Outside, several people are enjoying a siesta in the shade of the tomb, the oldest (1450) in the garden, while some are curled up with a book under trees. Francie, a 23-year-old German blissfully sunning herself, says she has baptised the garden “the lungs of Delhi.”
Many cite the variety of trees as one of the reasons they love the garden. “Lodi Garden is the most rewarding park to go tree-spotting in, with over 110 species of trees and a good tree-spotting map on offer,” wrote Pradip Krishen in his 2006 book “Trees of Delhi- A Field Guide.” Nearly five years on, the number of species has doubled, according to Jitender Kaushik, section officer of the horticulture department and one of the men in charge of the park. There are multiple authorities looking after Lodi Garden — while the park itself comes under the ambit of the New Delhi Municipal Council, the major monuments are looked after by the Arachaeological Survey of India and the minor ones by the state government. Kaushik, who says he is passionate about gardening, is aided in his task by a staff of 90. There are no specific plans to commemorate the 75th anniversary of the garden, he reveals. “We will plant 5-10 trees and conduct a heritage walk, probably,” he says, adding that he wouldn’t like to organise anything that would lead to his beloved plants being trampled on by celebratory hordes.
Even the afternoon sun is not a deterrent to some determined joggers, whose numbers increase as evening approaches. There is a gentle breeze blowing, and Meena Kumari, who runs a small shop in Tughlak Lane, is here to enjoy it with her family. “We stay close by, just behind Rahul Gandhi’s house,” she says. There are more families now, with children and grandchildren in tow, and the crowd seems more egalitarian. In the shade of Bara Gumbad a group of children appear, with a trainer. Taking a closer look, I am incredulous — accompanying the children is none other than Priyanka Vadra. And husband, Robert . Priyanka refuses to say anything, and does not want any photos taken. The minute we step away, their faithful shadows in safari suits question us about our intent, politely. They are reassured after being told repeatedly that no photos will be taken, though they keep a close watch till the Vadras leave. The excitement never stops at Lodi Garden, it seems.
With dusk falling, I make my way past several women in salwar kameez and sneakers, as determined to burn those calories as their trendier, iPod-toting counterparts. Some of the morning joggers have returned, while a group of foreign executives saunter through the garden. I leave to the strains of an avian orchestra, though it’s too dark to see which of the over 50 species of birds frequenting Lodi Garden is chirruping their heads off. For that, I’ll have to come another day.