I left London on transfer for Delhi in thefirst week of September. London was on the cusp of autumn, at the end of its(mostly) glorious summer. Delhi was about to finish with its scorching summer,and on the anvil of its delightful winter. I was told the monsoons had come andgone. In London it rains incessantly, but rarely with passion. Looking out of mywindow on another wet, grey day, my mind would often think of the verandah in myhome in Delhi, where holding a cup of tea, I would watch the skies come pouringdown to the accompaniment of thunder and lightning. Fortunately, soon after Ireturned I could do just that.
The first thing you notice when you reach Delhi is people. In England, as inmany places in the West, you can drive for miles and not see a soul. Entirevillages appear to be deserted, the roads lonely and people-less. But, as youemerge from Indira Gandhi International Airport, the sheer swell of humanitystrikes you afresh. The second thing you notice is the noise. I have a theorythat sound gets amplified in the tropics: people shout, horns blare, shoesthump, dogs yelp and birds screech, a perfectly happy welcoming symphony.
My only problem is with our propensity to press on the horn. Vatsyayana would behappy to learn that, for entirely the wrong
reasons, we have—finally and loudly—become horny. There is little doubt thatDelhi is changing fast. You notice more cars, more mobiles, more flyovers and more ads for more straightaway. And yet, I am amazed how amidst this change somuch remains the same. The monkeys are still there in South Block, refusing tonot be associated with the making of foreign policy. The Ministry ofExternal Affairs must be the only organisation of its kind that has two langoorsofficially on its payroll to chase out the monkeys.
India really has no parallels. We are a sui generic people, like thatonly. I loved my daily morning walks in Hyde Park, but I am happy to be back inNehru Park, where the authorities ban (like Hyde Park, but, I suspect, just asunsuccessfully) fornication in the park. Unlike Hyde Park, but entirely inkeeping with the schizophrenic reality of India, Nehru Park also bans bathing,cooking and washing of clothes.
The other day, crossing the Yamuna, I saw the most glorious sunset frame what isarguably Delhi’s most ugly building: the DDA HQ. The good and the ugly mixfreely in this city, but October is upon us, and as the mornings and eveningssuddenly have the intoxicating whiff of winter, I can see only the good. I readmy morning papers sitting in my aangan. A cool breeze sways the madhu malticreeper, and I am content, happy to be back home.
This piece appeared in the October issue of Delhi City Limits.
