Breathing Delhi- I

Tragedy brought me to Delhi. Eyes swollen with unshed tears, long dark hours filled with misery at the loss of a loved one and the refusal to believe that he was no more… these were my companions even as our car rolled into the maze and confusion of Delhi. Terrified at the prospect of a new school with new kids, a new society filled with new families, a new city with a new soul, I found solace only in my family’s warm presence. 

I have never been the type to share my sorrows, never been the one to cry openly; so I took it all, bundled it into a box of try-to-forget memories and shoved it in the deepest corner of the never-to-be-opened trunk. Shuddering at the word ‘new’, I took baby steps into my new world.

Little did I know then that these baby steps will transform into confident strides in no time. And this is what I love about Delhi; from someone who was crazy scared of even talking to boys, I’ve been transformed into an independent and fearless individual. From a compulsive detester of anything ‘new’, I’ve grown up to embrace both the new and the different.

First day at school, I had my first brush with the Delhi style of being. Meeting my classmates, I felt a sense of belonging. The smiles came easily, the laughter soon followed. Even the kids of this amazing city know all the tricks of winning over people. The city has an un-describable charm… it makes you feel like you’re home. With its friendly but often misinterpreted people, Delhi welcomed me with open arms, offering me unconditional love.

Ironically, I’m miles away from my city as my fingers fly over the keyboard. Maybe this is why I’m missing her all the more. During lunch-time discussions about Dilli with my new-found Hyderabadi friends, the differences emerge stark and clear. While Delhi has a dude-like chalta hai attitude, I find people elsewhere perpetually worried about one thing or the other. Over the years, Delhi has taught me to take each day as it comes, relishing the candy grains of time. As my school sweatshirt puts it; we have a ‘pause-itive’ attitude.

Each moment, my city pulsates with the energy of a million cricket crazy fans glued in to an India-Pakistan match. As contagious as it is, this energy makes Delhi the city that never sleeps, the city that never sighs, the city that parties each night yet wakes up for office on time. It is this perpetual flow of adrenaline that makes me who I am… When I breathe, I breathe Delhi...

To be continued… :) 

My City, My Home

Delhi, the city which dreams with open eyes, the city which welcomes the lone traveler with a warm embrace… the city which has romanced history yet adapted to have a modern affair… the city where I breathed my first and hope to breathe my last as well. Shrouded in its veil of mystery, Delhi never fails to surprise.

They might call it the crime capital of India or the pollution capital of the big-round-world, nothing, mark you can diminish my love for the city I call home. My love story with Delhi technically began on March 2, 1993 (yes, I just gave out my age) but the real sparks flew when my father was transferred here some eleven years back.

Each day has become a gold leafed entry in my book of life, each memory, a treasured possession.

It is the beauty of how this city weaves together the mundane and the ordinary to make the most astonishing trinkets. From the Old Fort to the Shopping Malls, each monument to the ever-evolving culture contributes its own little share to the magical history of Delhi. From the Mughal Emperors to the common man laboring under the sun, all of them have left indelible marks on our lands… blessing us with a culture vibrant like none other.

For the past decade I’ve lived and loved my city. I’ve enjoyed its rains and cursed its heat. I’ve seen it changing over time. In this series, I’ll try to capture in words, my unique bond with my city. I’ll try to tell the tale of how we grew up and fell in love… Keep watching this space.

Much thanks to @WeAreNewDelhi for making me realize just how special our city is!

Delhi - 6

Endless lanes,

With twisting curves,

Holding secrets,

A mysterious world,

The smell of spices,

Myriad of colours,

A historian’s treasure,

A woman’s delight,

Numerous names,

For this heaven on Earth…

Try as I might… I just cannot encapsulate the soul, the essence and the spirit of Chandni Chowk in a few words. This area, also known as Delhi-6, is the real heart of Delhi… or rather ‘Dilli’ as the people here like to call it. It is almost like a city within a city… a parallel world.

Built by the Mughal emperor Shan Jehan in the 17th century and designed by his daughter Jahan Ara, Chandni Chowk continues to be the trade hub of India. Merchants from all over the country flock to this busy center of trade.

Yet, in spite of the influx of such a heterogeneous group of buyers, sellers and tourists, Chandni Chowk is untouched by the luxuries offered by the shopping malls, the sophistication of modern stores. Remove the traffic and you will find a Delhi still unaffected by our new ways of living. The real dilliwalla still sweats it out from morning till evening to earn two square meals. The shops still have hand-painted banners and touts to attract customers. The owners still sit on gaddis. The goods they sell may have changed to suit our needs, but the work culture remains the same.

A man’s worth is measured by his work, not by religion. We have the Gauri Shankar temple, the Jama masjid, the famous Gurudwara and a Church here… all in close proximity to each other. This just goes on to show why people of every faith claim Dilli to be their own. It presents a cultural mix witnessed nowhere else. True, this mix might turn explosive if mishandled… but it generally presents a picture of communal harmony where a Hindu and a Muslim can be best friends.

On the surface, it appears to be just another market with exceptionally old shops but once you wander deeper into the kuchas and katras, you find yourself in a whole new world. Every kucha invariably has a chaatwala who dishes out some of the most exquisite delights. Long queues with people squabbling to get their kachoris and gol gappas first is a common sight.

 The shops are smaller, their warehouses larger. Khari Baoli specializes in spices. You can smell the cardamom, the cloves, turmeric and chillies long before you see them. The waist high stacks of spices look beautiful, like colours of Holi. The cashew nuts look so appealing. But I often end up sneezing my brains out.

The sadar market has huge shops dedicated to cosmetics and personal care items of all kinds. Nai Sarak with its endless piles of books is every student’s haven. We have shops exclusively selling rangoli colors, calendars, surgical equipment, medicines, spectacle frames, shoes, candles… the list is endless. Every lane you turn into will open up its secrets for you, just like a blooming flower. You just need to know where to look. I have been roaming the streets of this City of Poets for a decade, initially with my mother and now on my own, but I cannot claim to know everything about it. Every time I do manage to find a lane with a pleasant surprise waiting for me at the end.

 The people are friendly, often greeting you with a warm Namaste. They work with a silent efficiency. The whole atmosphere suggests two contrary states of being. One that is relaxed… the other bursting with energy. On my trips to Chandni Chowk I am often left confused by these conflicting emotions.

There is a strange contentment in the hearts of people here. True, they have open sewers. The roads are crammed. They often work in dingy and squalid quarters. The workers might not earn enough. But there is an under-current of satisfaction, something bordering on joy, not only for the lalas doing brisk business but also for his workers. I might be terribly wrong here but that is what I felt when I interacted with them. They made me understand that Old Delhi is not just made up of heritage buildings. It thrives and pulsates with life because of the people here.

There is so much to Old Delhi that it cannot be squeezed into one article. I simply cannot decide about what to include and what to leave out. Each area has a different story to tell… it has been witness to a different history, good or bad. It has seen it all… from the princesses coming down to shop in curtained palanquins to the people today, driving down in their expensive cars. It has weathered many tides of time… stood unshaken when everything around it crumbled… yet the spirit of Chandni Chowk remains unchanged.