Speaking Archaeologically™

Down Chawri Bazar roads, into the Bulbulikhana one goes, if they want to find this place. There are scant bulbuls here now, but a regular bustle of people, on by-lanes which grow ever thin as you proceed down them.    A gate next to a tea shop announces, Razia Sultana ki majar , (The Grave of Razia Sultana), but there is none to be found! Good old uncles direct you to even darker alleys, with workshops, sewage, and cramped buildings rising five floors high. A bustle existed there, the sights and smells of fruits, tea, tyres, meat, rickshaws, which are slowly replaced by sewage, machinery, and stagnant water.  This continues till you break away from all that, and arrive at a small mosque, with an ASI stone to give it its name - Sultan Razia’s Tomb. One of the rulers of the newly established Delhi Sultanate, reigning from 1236-40 CE, Razia has been termed the first female monarch of the subcontinent. Constant infighting among her nobles, some of which refused to accept her...

"We are not leaving this site until and unless we spot all the inscriptions that are there. We cover each cave that there is, okay? Even if our stomachs growl with hunger, and our feet hurt like anything." - Five Research Wing Members on a mission You are in the midst of a weeklong Prehistoric Archaeology workshop, toiling away in the blazing heat, mapping river routes and knapping stone tools. The echoes of prehistory follow you everywhere, yes, even during your tea breaks (The struggle is real *makes sad puppy eyes*). Each day starts with a burning fire within you to decode the enigma called Prehistory (after accomplishing the herculean task of waking up, of course), and by the end of it, leaves you with a fuzzier mind and an aching body that treats chai as ambrosia. Trust us, chai is the elixir for survival when on field. Seriously. Nevertheless, moving on. Finally, that one holiday arrives! A chance to let those poor muscles have some rest, to sleep like...