Delhi calling

Delhi – have been missing it quite a bit of late. Close my eyes and try to recall my previous visits to the place. All good times come back at once and bring along happiness in tow.

I vividly remember my first rendezvous with the city. I was seventeen. It was four in the morning. I had two sweaters on. My mind was exhausted. I had two suitcases to take care of. I had no book to keep me company. I had six hours of tiring bus journey behind me. My nails were blue with the biting cold. I could not feel my cheeks. My eyes watered voluntarily, every time a whiff of early morning air pushed hurriedly past me. I hated it. All of it. The cold. The quirky people. The crowds. The traffic. The chaos. The sheer madness of it all. I could not wait to get out of the city.

It changed. All of it. I don’t remember when I fell in love with Delhi. Maybe when I saw ten stores, in a row, one after the other, on a busy street, serving only cholay and rice. Must be when I giggled listening to ladies bargaining away with indifferent shopkeepers for tinkling baubles, shimmering fabric and everything else in between. Or was it when I hesitantly asked a stranger the directions to Connaught place and he gave me the most pleasant and comforting smile ever. Had to be when I stared in disbelief at the exorbitant prices of coffee at Wimpy’s. Or maybe when I was wondering whether to have a cheese pizza or not at Nirulas. Was it when we got lost in the maze called Connaught Place? It might have been when I found that there were bookstalls around every curve of Connaught Place, replete with the most eclectic of literary works. Just maybe when I was busy taking in the sight of sugar kissed candies, fresh baked biscuits and an entire array of creamy, delicious and exotic pastries – all at once. Then, I found that moment. It was when I first saw the silhouette of Red Fort, almost translucent, standing tall against a bright winter morning.

The defining moment for me in Delhi was to walk along the lengthy arcade inside the fort, leading right into the Diwan-e-Aam - to see the throne of Akbar - to imagine Birbal whispering a piece of advice or casting a wise glance at Akbar while the court was in progress - to see the ramparts from where the prime ministers of the nation address the people - to imagine the discussions happening about art, literature, history, politics and society in general between the princes, while I was sipping coffee in a restaurant within the confines of the fort, whish was earlier the prince’s quarter – engraving my name on one of those countless trees when I though no one was watching and smiling with pride for an hour, thinking that I had somehow become a part of history of this mystical place, albeit a small part –closing my eyes and wishing to go back to those centuries, when life resided here and the hustle bustle of daily routine was anything but uncommon. I opened my eyes. I was still in front of Diwan-e-Khaas. Studded with gems here and there. Lingering traces of a royalty long lost. No Akbar there. I checked - twice. I moved on to admire the delicate and exquisitely adorned walls of the queen’s chambers.

It was December 15,2001. Since that day, for me, Delhi has been synonymous with Red Fort. I have not travelled a lot till date, but hope to do so, extensively, in due course. I know that there exist places on this planet with monuments of higher architectural finesse and which, indeed, have a greater claim over history, but Red Fort, will always remain special to me, because, in my imagination, the boundary separating the past and the present fade away when I stand on those lands.

Four years. I kept going back to that city. My fascination grew exponentially. But, all good things come to an end. I remember my last visit to the city. I could not say a proper goodbye. I had things to attend to. In a way, am glad that there was no goodbye. I did not want to bid farewell to the city that housed Red Fort – that somehow kept the hope of a reunion alive.

I miss Delhi for the very things I hated at first. I don’t know when I fell in love with Delhi. Was it when – I guess I have come a full circle already. In those four years, I could never figure out a mystery –the roses and chrysanthemums sold on the streets of Delhi, somehow looked bigger and happier than those I found elsewhere. But then, maybe, I am, at the best, exaggerating facts or, at the worst, imagining things. I can’t help it though – I hold Delhi guilty of that one crime – it cast a spell on me and very conveniently, forgot to break it.