Dehlavi

There is not much merit, I feel, when you sit to review a book that you have just read and while it's still fresh in your memory. You lack that beautiful, weather-beaten retrospective character which only comes with time. But I prefer doing this at a time when the only worthwhile thing I am doing is reading books, albeit, accompanied by bouts of forgetfulness, that's so inherent in me. A friend once told me, "City of Djinns is nothing to do with history or the Sultanate stuff. It's all about how the present populations of Delhi came to be." While I would give him the credit for having pointed that necessary component in Dalrymple's novel, which is peoples and their migrations, but it's certainly not the sufficient one. Rather, to me, the very essence of Dalrymple's account is the sense of history and memory which automatically clings with anything that has to do with Delhi. I mean, could I ever write about Delhi without talking about its history, it...

  While my days at present seem to be quite idle and mundane, glimpses of my past days in Delhi come back in vision--an overwhelming sense of movement striking back with retrospective vigour. I would love to look back at those cozy December mornings, when unexpected acquaintances with complete strangers would illumine my day. Little would I then know how significant those acquaintances would prove to be, later in my life. That was a cozy December morning, as I said--chilly, and windy, as Delhi winters generally are in their peak. I had set out for a solo exploration of the Safdarjung's Tomb (actually also planned to visit Shalimar Bagh that day, but that didn't quite materialize). I was walking towards the university gate leading towards the Vishwavidyalaya Metro Station. But my path seemed to be blocked, by personnel of the Delhi Police, who stood there guarding the road. I remembered, a couple of days back teachers of the DUTA were in a protest against the University's ...