How Lassi Became Delhi’s Coolest Summer Status Symbol

Once ladled from earthen pots and served in kulhads to parched shoppers in Delhi’s bazaars, lassi has undergone a quiet revolution. From the narrow lanes of Chandni Chowk to the tasting menus of the capital’s most design-forward restaurants, this unassuming yoghurt drink has emerged as Delhi’s most coveted summer accessory—creamy, culture-rich, and couture-ready.

Lassi’s rise from humble hydration to status symbol isn’t just about reinvention—it’s about reclaiming heritage, refreshing identity, and finding ways to cool down with character.

From Kulhads to Conversation Starters

For generations, Delhi’s summer drink of choice was simple: thick, sweet, salted or plain lassi, whipped by hand and served with malai in generous dollops. At Sharma Sweets in Kinari Bazaar, where the scent of fried parathas from the nearby gali fills the air, the lassi still flows just as it did half a century ago.

“We’ve been making it the same way since my father’s time,” says Narendra Pal Sharma, the second-generation owner of the beloved Old Delhi shop. “It’s just dahi, thoda sa masala, aur haathon ka kaam. Machines can’t recreate this texture or feeling. Yeh toh mitti ki khushboo ke saath aata hai.” (It’s yoghurt, a bit of spice, and the work of hands. There’s an earthy charm in it that machines miss.)

Indeed, for many in Chandni Chowk, lassi isn’t just a drink—it’s part of the daily rhythm. On a recent afternoon, as temperatures touched 43°C, customers clustered around roadside stalls for a frothy fix.

“I come here every summer just for this,” said Sunita Das, a schoolteacher visiting from Karol Bagh. “It cools your whole system. You feel it in your bones.”

Another shopper, Mohammad Rizwan, chimed in: “You can have all your smoothies and cold coffees, but nothing beats this in dilli ki garmi (Delhi’s heat). Lassi is not fashion—it’s function.”

A Bengali Twist: Gondhoraj Ghol Steps In

While the classic lassi continues to charm crowds in the old quarters, in Delhi’s upscale restaurant circuits, the drink is seeing inventive new expressions—some inspired by regional flavours, others by wellness trends. At the heart of this movement is a deep reverence for tradition, albeit served with a twist.

Take Joyjeet Maity, founder of Bangla Canvas, who reimagined the lassi as Gondhoraj Ghol—a Bengali-style buttermilk infused with the zesty fragrance of Gondhoraj lime, often dubbed the 'Kaffir lime of Bengal'.

“I wanted to give Delhi a taste of Calcutta summers,” says Maity. “Gondhoraj has this ethereal aroma—like sunshine caught in citrus. It’s not overpowering, just... elevating. Our ghol is still dahi-based, but it’s lighter, more refined. It reminds people of their grandmother’s kitchen—but with a contemporary palate.”

For Maity, the reinvention wasn’t about novelty. “It’s not fusion for the sake of it,” he adds. “It’s about reconnecting with regional identity and memory. People don’t just drink it—they remember something.”

The Rise of ‘Cultural Cool’

What makes this lassi resurgence more than just a food trend is its link to cultural pride. As Delhi’s culinary scene grows increasingly conscious of provenance and narrative, drinks like lassi—which once sat on the margins of menus—are being brought front and centre.

“People today want their food to say something about who they are,” explains Ashutosh Mukherjee, a Delhi-based food consultant who works with heritage-forward restaurants. “The lassi ticks multiple boxes: it’s Indian, it’s probiotic, it’s sustainable, and now—it’s chic. It’s been recontextualised from something rustic to something reverent.”

Whether served in smoked glassware with cardamom foam or infused with Himalayan rock salt and rose petals, lassi is being celebrated not just for its taste, but its roots.

In Delhi’s trendier enclaves—whether in Lodhi, Defence Colony or a pop-up brunch in Gurugram—lassi has become a curated experience. It’s no longer poured—it’s plated. Guests are offered tasting portions paired with spiced appetisers or even as palate cleansers between courses. There are “ghol flights”, lavender-infused variations, and vegan interpretations made with coconut curd and jaggery.

“It’s creamy but still feels light, and the taste just lingers,” said Aarav Mehta, a design student sipping on a bottled lassi at Haldiram’s. “It’s local, but it doesn’t feel old-school anymore.”

Influencers, too, have jumped on the trend, making lassi visually aspirational. A frothy glass topped with edible petals or pistachio slivers becomes both beverage and backdrop—a visual metaphor for how the everyday can be elevated.

Not Everyone’s Convinced

Yet back in Chandni Chowk, the old guard remains somewhat wary of this reinvention. The vendors there know the magic of simplicity and are reluctant to hand it over to glass straws and curated menus.

“Ab toh har cheez mein fashion ghusa diya hai,” laughs Sharma. “Next they’ll put glitter in it! But I’ll keep making it my way—churned fresh, served cool, and sweet enough to make you forget the heat.”

Still, even in Old Delhi, younger customers are curious. “I tried a pudina (mint) lassi in South Delhi last week—it was... different,” admits 22-year-old Mehak Jain, sipping a traditional rose-flavoured one. “But I still come here when I want the real thing.”

For all its new-age avatars, lassi’s rise reflects something deeper than trend cycles. It is a drink that carries memory, migration, and identity in every sip. Whether served in a kulhad or a cocktail glass, it continues to offer what Delhiites have always sought each summer: a moment of relief, a taste of home.

Lassi, in its many forms, is no longer just a drink. It’s a statement of who we are and where we’re headed. In a city that’s always balancing the old with the new, lassi has found a way to do both—creamily, coolly, and completely.