A Walk in Winter

                                                                    A Walk in Winter

                      I love Delhi. I have been here for more than four and a half decades and seen Delhi change from a quiet, peaceful city to a noisy chaotic metropolis. I have seen Delhi change from what it was in the ‘60s of the last century to what it is today- when there were fewer cars and buses on the Delhi dusty roads, lined with shady trees on either side with a dirt brown tinge on the leaves, when the three -wheeler auto-rickshaws were giving a run to the phut- phutis( a jugaad construction of low cost  vehicles known as the four-seater motor tri-cycles), when the local shuttles stopped motorists, scooterwallahs and pedestrians at level crossings for indefinitely long periods till they slowly chug-chugged their way through, when a huge banyan tree was the Centrepiece on Ringroad dividing the poor man’s Safdarjung hospital on the right from the elite Medical Institute on the left, when classical music and dance recitals were ticketed performances and not by invitations, when vegetables and fruits were available in plenty, when INA market and Ajmal Khan road  markets were the distinct malls of the time,  when  idlis and dosas and filter coffee were a novelty for those fed on paranthas and lassi, when driving one’s own car was a pleasure and a luxury, when good schools and colleges could be counted on one’s fingers, when cinema theatres were the only source of entertainment for the rich and the poor, when Radio Ceylon was heard from every quarter, when  AIR news and newspapers were the main disseminators of information, when barat ghars and open lawns were the marriage venues as there were fewer five star hotels and farm houses, when there was only Indian Airlines for domestic travel and Air India for foreign visits, when travel by Tamil Nadu express from Delhi to Chennai  was equal to travel by the Great Orient Express, when standing in a long queue  to purchase rail tickets was a daylong herculean and  yet a satisfying effort and last but not the least when one can still see on the roads men with dhotis and women with sarees.

                       That Delhi is no longer today except in one’s memory. The 21^st C Delhi is swanky with wide well-laid roads-along with potholes that are the trademark of the Public Works department. Today the roads are choc-o-block with cars of all sizes and makes, with  A/C and non A/C buses that look slightly more elegant ,less battered and bruised, with the nine-seater Gramin Seva vehicles (the modern version of earlier phut phutis) and auto rickshaws. There are fewer yellow cabs as they have been replaced by Radio Taxis painted with bold and bizarre advertisements on the sides. The silence of the sixties has been replaced by high decibel sounding of horn in all places. The metro has displaced the local ring railway and rendered the overcrowded buses, a thing of the past. The uber swanky malls have come up making earlier markets look like poor cousins. Restaurants and Coffee shops have mushroomed bringing about a capital change in the traditional Delhi-ite palate. Wherever you go, whatever part of the day it is, you meet milling crowds, the exception being the early morning hours when you can walk around the innumerable neighbourhood parks that have come up all over the city.

                       Delhi experiences enjoyable weather for about ten weeks in October and November before foggy mornings, sunless days, grey evenings and protracted nights set in, turning afternoons to dusk and dusk to nights, making one yearn for the sun to brighten and cheer our moods. Hence the morning walks, the afternoon ambulation and evening strolls during the post- autumn, pre-winter months give even the lazy Delhi-ites a springiness in their walk that is not seen during the rest of the year. Sporting colourful woollens and trendy jackets, most of them are out in the streets even if they have no specific work to be accomplished. The weather is slightly chilly, but refreshing and one can see the winter annuals like cineraria, salvia and  chrysanthemums,  not to leave out pansies, petunias, dahlias, nasturtiums, marigold, and phlox. This is what makes Delhi dilwalon ka shehr.

                       The morning walks are bracing and invigorating as there is still quietness all around. I love walking on the pathways that run around the park next to my apartment. One circular walk lasting 5-6 minutes covers 300 meters. Five times around the park will be equivalent to 1500 meters which is still 100 meters short of a mile.  There are not many in the park in the morning hours except retired persons and little babies brought on strollers by the maids. The elders sit on the benches in the garden while the babies sit on the swings or the see-saws with the maids. There are a few benches that seem to be unofficially reserved for the maids who sit and have a lively chat before they make their way to their employers’ houses for their daily grind. Everyday groups of 6-7 maids, decently dressed, occupy these benches and engage in animated talk, punctured with loud laughter. This is the best part of their daily routine as they revel in their dramebazz show, mimicking their memsahebs and their hectoring tone and commenting on the emptiness and vacuity of their orders. Everyday they have a new drama to act and enjoy before their time to leave is signalled by one of the maids getting a call on her mobile from her Memsaheb. They get up not before having one more guffaw about the memsaheb’s call. In the adjacent lawns we have the elders talking about their past and lamenting about the present and drawing a distinction between the politics of the Gandhian days and the present day politics. They are the oldies not able to reconcile themselves to the generational change that has overtaken their ripe old years. Then there are a few middle aged men- mostly traders and business men who get to their shops only around 11 in the morning and therefore having all the time to take a couple of rounds to lessen the tyres around their midriff, though there is a smug look on their face as their belly tyres are an index of their prosperity. On the opposite side there are a few school students who have bunked classes and sit with their earphones swaying to Bollywood music or making snide comments on young girls who walk and run alternately to keep themselves pencil trim. Hardly young men are seen in these parks though one cannot vouch for their hitting the gyms for toning up their physique. I see the change- young women on their march towards meeting their new aspirations, new goals, new freedom while young men loll around wasting their time and energy echoing Samuel Beckett’s profound statement ‘ there’s Nothing to be done’. They carry a mobile phone plugged to their ears and listen to rock music or Bollywood numbers without understanding the lyrics or having any musical knowledge. Even the maids in the park are better in putting to use the filmy songs for their daily dramebazz. Time is not far when we may see she-woman replacing the he-man. Times have changed there is no denying it, but not the delight of the early morning walks that bring to me the fullness of bliss, as I listen to the birds that sing, as I watch children culling flowers on every side, as I see babes leaping up in their mothers/maids arms, as I breathe in the warmth of the early sun and discover all the earth is gay and gives itself to jollity. Yeh hi meri dilli.