Sadi Dilli..........

Saturday, the 20th of July 2013, saw unprecedented rains in the national capital. I do not remember a rainier day (and I guess I say this after every heavy downpour), and my mind decided to let go of the reins in the somewhat calmer night that weekend. So, after a refreshing episode of Indian Idol Junior, I convinced my spouse to take me out to see what Delhi looked like after being bathed..

Our first stop was the Rajender Dhaba at the erstwhile Kamal Cinema. The place was a live wire at 11:20 p.m.; who says Delhi sleeps early? The Afghani Chicken Tikka was out of this world, the naan was awesome and the meetha paan at the end of the meal was succulent. It was wonderful to drive along the neat and washed roads of Chanakyapuri, traversing through the lush green trees and looking at the dark, black sky. The atmosphere was enigmatic, and there was a promise of intrigue in the night air.

I saw the All India Institute of Medical Sciences, with its tall towers looking like monsters against the night sky. I love the sound of the name of my Institute; it is almost regal. Puddles of water make it difficult for the patients and their attendants who make the lanes and the gardens around the Institute their night shelter. This night, they rather decide to sit through the night, as if challenging the sky above to pour down more. How much can be added to their woes? I almost feel ashamed of myself for shouting at the helpless father from a remote village in Bihar who had no one with him to donate blood for his sick son; well, almost I said. I guess the night is doing this to me. Come tomorrow, and I will shun this image, this July night, with faceless people carrying hopes in their tiny hearts. 

And we reached Karol Bagh. Do not ask how or where, but we took a left turn and entered a completely different Delhi. At the first glance, it looked like some hardware market. Toilet seats of all shapes and sizes were everywhere. The shops had names but surprisingly had no mention of the locality. Rickshaw pullers and daily labourers were calling it a day, sleeping on the road divider, sans any bedsheet, in the cool comfort of the night’s dampness. For them, this was home. They do not look back to see if there is someone out there in the dark shadows to rob them. One early morning they might just wake up with nonchalance to find that the only piece of clothing that they ever had is gone. One day, they find the courage to face the city alone; one day, they are not afraid anymore….

The road, muddy and with potholes big enough to rear fish, led nowhere. The inebriated pedestrian smiled lazily when I asked where the road led to. Have you ever felt being in an unreal world even when you yourself felt real enough? Well, that’s how it felt..The occasional old house with majestic windows and the hand carts somehow made us a misfit in an otherwise imperfectly perfect landscape; it was like serving lassi in a beer mug!

Well, somehow, when the spell broke, I found myself looking at the colourful glow signs of the hundreds of hotels in Paharganj. Enthusiastic waiters hailed prospective consumers, using every Indian language to lure the latter to their eateries. Not that they succeeded much, at this unearthly hour! But like an eccentric architect hell bent to make a sand castle on a high-tide day, they kept beckoning whoever came to the vicinity. There was such craziness in their zeal, the sort of craziness that makes a life alive!!

The bustling Connaught Place was in deep slumber, save the few who were heading home after a show in the Rivolli or the Plaza. The beautiful boy, complete with hip-hugging trousers and a pink band to hold back his curly tresses, was arguing with a pot-bellied thulla; and the latter smiled indulgently when “Mr. Pink Boy” was hailed by the driver of a sleek BMW, and after pushing what suspiciously looked like a currency note in the cop’s hands, the cute boy sat on the BMW and drove off..Curse my venomous brain for the conclusions I draw! Delhi never has a dull moment.

The emaciated droopy eyed ‘smackey’ sitting on the shadows of the battered pillar of CP’s outer circle approaches a young, albeit filthy, beggar. The latter looks not in the best of her mental health. But her eyes look helpless, almost pleading. No, I dare not be the change I want to see. And I know, tomorrow morning, I will be unperturbed, indifferent. 

India Gate sleeps too. The majestic structure is no longer lighted, and its damp walls almost make me feel as if it is shedding a few tears for the martyrs whom we all have forgotten..My husband tells me I have turned soppy, my usual style, as per the ambiance and the mood!!

Is it the night? I wonder. Do you too have the same feelings at times? We all converge to this place at some point of our lives. Some come to start anew, maybe others come to escape. But Delhi has a place for everybody. Almost a decade down the line, I do not hesitate to call it ‘home’, the brashness and the loudness notwithstanding! With all its hues, I conjure up a few moments in my mind, like some perfect snapshots, with just the right contrast. I almost feel like telling Delhi, “Nobody can love you more”, begging excuses from Mayank Austen Soofi.