TALE OF ONE CITY……

Neeraj Batra (neeraj@oncourseglobal.com)

You need to understand first and foremost that this is an old, historic city.
The capital of this country since hundreds of years. It does have a long
history but its fast getting buried in rubble now. Like most old cities
around the world it is divided unceremoniously into the Old city and New
Delhi. It carries stories forgotten and unforgotten of romance and history
in its Mughal gardens and bosom. I always think of Delhi as a grand but
weary lady. She carries reminders of her royal lineage and bloody history
under the Moghuls and the British. Dozens of her historic tombs are
getting lost each day to the apathy of the administration, crisscrossed
roads and metro-fication of the city. The city that once celebrated the
days of the British Raj with the majesty of Lutyen’s architecture retains
only some of its character and pomp.

Even today it does serve as a power center for the Babus and mantris.
Most of them have no idea or interest in its history and heritage. This is a
city of power brokers who have found a way to trade her history and very
identity. The city and its denizens have no time for history or culture. It
just hustles and bustles from early morning crossing long stretches of tar
and cement. The roads seem to last forever encircling crowded streets,
and packed shops to sprawling green spaces behind private high walled
farmhouses of the elite.

And yet it is green. In its old ruins and tombs surrounded by small parks
it provides ideal hangouts for lovers. In its glittery bazaars it offers trade
and bargains to buyers and merchants. Business always seems so brisk in
the city. The cars are fast and the roads are potholed. She has broad
highways and big airports. There seems to be money flowing
everywhere.. The traffic policemen seem corrupt. Most are obese and
have a paunch that makes a small neat fold to cover their broad belts. The
beggars seem well fed. At night the city pulsates in its neon lights. There
is an indelible sense power and energy in the city. This city of Delhi.

In comparison most other cities of India seems time warped. The houses
and temples are old and dilapidated. In most small cities Lord Shiva,
Vishnu, Brahma, Hanuman and a 100 other deities have gathered and
absorb the city’s entire focus and energy. And the city rivers subsume
whatever is left.

My Delhi is tired. My city is weary. It just puts a brave face of power and
gaiety for the millions of visitors it receives from across and beyond the
country every day. Despite its importance underlined by ambassadors
with laal-battis, politicians in white starched kurtas, power corridors and
pomp, the city can’t hide its frugal character. She needs to be stoic. She
needs to hide the ugliness of the city in the dark back alleys that feed the
city’s glitterati. It needs to swallow the domestic helps that serve the best
shining homes of Delhi in the darkness of their slums at night. It needs to
hide the plight of the maid who’s annual income is less than the money
spent on an afternoon kitty lunch by the mem-saabs. Yes , she makes
attempts to look pretty, the city of Delhi. But the paint comes off, like a
cheap harlot when you get a closer look. Then you will see its angst. In
the squalid back-lanes of Paharganj it provides trades of substance and
flesh to the night prowlers.

The travails of a normal citizen are not eased by its outer pomp. Even in
its temples it gives priority and accepts bribes from the rich. The guilty
look to buy absolution from gaudily dressed Gods and pujaris who work
to serve only their interest. If its beggars seem to be better off working its
streets for a living its only because there is so much guilt among the
wealthy here. It does not have holy ghats nor does it spare temples of
Lord Vishnu and Lord Shiva. Nor does it have the Ganga to wash the
colour of its money or sins. For this city there is neither peace nor
redemption. The city keeps expanding and now it is even growing
vertically. The urbanization of Delhi has stifled and buried the aura and
romance of her history. In doing so it has not only changed the character
of its landscape but also its people, forever. The Metro threatens to
penetrate deep into its bosom and tear deep to weaken its very
foundations. It will unintendedly metamorphose its character. It has and
will change the attitude of its people beyond the perspective of the very
distance and time it intends to shorten.

I wonder if there are any moments at all when she lays down her guard.
This city which never gets any rest. Not even in the earliest hours of the
morning. It always seems awake and an like anthill of activity.
Maybe….just maybe it finally finds peace and quiet at the earliest hour of
the morning. And then she lets down her tresses and reveals its true state
as it places its weary face to her grounds. It shuts its eyes only
momentarily. The shrill of milk vans and interstate trucks blare at her
rudely spraying dust and frighten the sparrows away.