Delhi

I write this while I’m on my flight back to Bangalore. The visions of Delhi, still fresh in memory, keep coming back. Delhi was well, amazing. Hot. But amazing. Words from Khushwant Singh's "Delhi- A Novel" come to mind where he compares Delhi to a paan-chewing mistress, devoid of any civility and class, one who belches to her heart's content, every bylane of hers ripe with a stench of different variety. Delhi’s someone who you come back to after months of flirting around, a soulmate, a constant, the dal rice you crave for after days of butter chicken and mutton nihari.

I visited Delhi in mid-May, the worst time to experience the city. The temperatures soared up to 46-47 degrees regularly, which meant I saw the sky turn tangerine a lot more than I would’ve liked to. 6pm onwards, the skies assumed a beautiful blazing blue only to transform into a pervasive pink. Perspectives are everything, so as the temperatures went down, everything changed for the better. Water tasted like Sherbet, the expletives you heard so often seemed like eloquent Hindustani. Dilli was at peak of it’s charms. It became clear why so many people love to call this place their home.

One can’t even to attempt to understand the enigmatic city without fully indulging in its food. Peshawari Chicken Corner, Roshan Di Kulfi, Dilli Haat, Kwality, Jain Chawla Wale, Odean Bhelpuri, Zen, Civil Lines Wala, Pind Baluchi are only a few places that flash past my mind when I think of Delhi Food. The enormous gallops of ghee on every paratha, the tantalising cries of street hawkers- “Aaaoji, Khaaoji”, and the memory of piping hot Rabdi-Jalebi are the prized souvenirs I bring back with me.

When I look back at my 5-day sojourn, I find my most prominent recollections to be in the form of many striking snapshots: the historic Red fort, the majestic 108 ft Hanuman Ji effigy in Karol Bagh, the hustle-bustle of Sarojini Market, the captivating Qutub Minar and the Jama Masjid being thronged by millions of followers. The nebulous, congested cityscape below, visible from atop any elevated building, gives little hint of the tender, soulful beauty it conceals.

One discerning look around and you're greeted with several intriguing sights: a Punjabi family devouring 'chur-chur' naans at a street stall ( paying no heed to the dusty road right next to it); a few shady figurines lurking in dimly-lit footpaths outside metro stations; the crowded, loud, Rajma-Chawal smeared alleys of Chandni Chowk. These areas pose sharp contrast to the posh localities of Connaught Place and Sainik Farms and yet are equally integral to Delhi’s charm and charisma.

A few beautiful souls I came across on the trip that warrant special mention-

Gopal-Ji, our house-help at Airbnb who catered to all our needs and made the most delicious omelettes/ the benevolent shopkeepers of Paharganj who offered us shade and nimbu-paani when the temperatures got unbearable/ the Zomato delivery boys who, even in that sweltering heat, cycled miles to deliver food on time/ the countless passersby who patiently gave us elaborate directions/ the Paan vendor Ashok who made our dinners king-size with his authentic 'Paans'

It’s ironic that a city with one of the worst air quality indexes has the most pure-hearted people with absolutely no airs- bearing testament to the age-old saying- ‘Dilli Dilwalon Ki ❤' ( Delhi belongs to the large hearted)