Dehlavi

  They say, Delhi rises from its own ashes, like the legendary Phoenix-- probably a statement with some semblance of historicity. This imagery is often conveniently used to refer to how the city was destroyed and ravaged numerous times in the past, and how it showed immense resilience in rebuilding itself and regaining its lost self. But I ask, what about the people? What about the lives destroyed, shattered and forced to rehabilitate again and again? There is not an iota of doubt that these experiences of the peoples of Delhi have been disruptive and transformative, not to mention, prolonged and painful. The present devastation of Delhi, my beloved city, is unlike its historical precedents. Indeed, the situation seems to have acquired warlike emergency and the piling bodies of dead brings to mind at once the victims of war. All of this makes me believe that probably it's true that we have come to view the limits of the anthropocene. What about those who didn't die? Those who...

 I do not quite remember where and when I first came across this wonderful beverage in Delhi. I think a professor of mine had shared a Whatsapp story, offering a treat with a glassful of Sharbat-i-Mohabbat . But minutes later, she had to delete that story, flooded as she was with hundreds of eager responses. It's actually quite an unresistable thing. And it's very difficult to shie away from not having an extra glass of this heavenly beverage. But back then, I just knew it's name. I hadn't tasted it yet. I had to wait for almost another year. Summer came to Delhi. Not the terribly dry, grizzly heat of May-June, but the more humid summer, interspersed with showers, that comes in August and September. That was a day in August, and I was with my friend in Chandni-Chowk . The last time when I had ventured into Chandni-Chowk , I had almost lost my way in Sadr Bazar . I remember walking through Gubbare-walein gali and almost realizing that this is the end of the world! I a...

  When I open my cupboard, I do see a few books that I didn't return back to my college library (and I certainly don't intend to return them, either) , but there is a lot more there that reminds me of Delhi. In my cupboard. As I dig deeper and deeper, I come across the mundane and the everyday. The little bits and pieces of insignificant things. But mind you, these small artefacts are heavy with the burden of memory. They smell of Delhi, and when I touch them, they take me back to my days in Delhi. In the first place, there are cafe coupons from my college cafe (ofcourse it isn't a canteen!) Anyone who have ever used these would know how invaluable these are. You may not always get a free cafe meal, or even a brownie. A cup of coffee, and some choco sticks with that, too! It will make a perfect evening's meal. Some of these cafe coupons are very old and outdated. I initially found them in my residence room, lying at a corner. I was too elated, but they had already exp...

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 ...

  This year's famous Ramlila event at Delhi, read some newspaper article, will be streamed online on YouTube. Well, in this year when everything seems to have moved "online" and a breakaway from the "norm", why not embrace this new experience as well! Although whenever you say " Ramlila ", it brings to my mind something I saw at Delhi a year back, in early November. That was Diwali time, and I was at Connaught Place, a.k.a. "CP". I have never been in Delhi during Dusshera , when I would go back to my hometown for the Durga Puja celebration and leave the majesty of " Raavan Dahan " and Ramlila behind. Last year's "Diwali Mela" at CP somewhat made up for those lost experiences. I knew this is going to be my last year in Delhi. And I couldn't afford to miss the Diwali Mela. So I, along with a friend of mine, went to CP that night, hoping to gather something from the melange of food, music and lights. If you wou...

  The road to Triveni is not one I would have normally taken. But there was some magic in that moment, in that month, and in my company. It was then that I was really walking into uncharted territories, and boating through previously "untasted" waters. But I had two lovely friends, who made it all the more enjoyable. Probably the most memorable afternoon, last September.  Why do I demarcate and designate this one afternoon as separate from every other warm and sunny (read, even scorching hot) afternoons that I have spent walking alone in the Central Secretariat? Every other time, It is a personal delight for me to get down the metro, come out of the wrong gate, gaze for a while or two at the roadside dargah , and then taking a walk to my second home at Delhi, the National Museum (you never knew I am so weird, right?) These are things I have never shared with many people. But this afternoon was different. I had two dear friends; we had taken a cab (sometimes, spoilt brats...