Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Yeh Delhi Hai Mere Yaaaar!
( Title translation: This is Delhi my friend!)
There are just some places that inspire you. They inspire you to think, they inspire you to observe, to draw, to talk, to learn, to write. My city, Delhi, is one such place. The car ride from the airport to home was enough to make me want to say something. It was enough for the sleeping writer in some corner of my being to wake up, and have the desire, or rather, need to write. There's just so much to say!
A mere example, the order in the chaos of Delhi intrigues me. There are people E-v-e-r-y-where, but goodness, every person has character. Every movement has meaning, every disorder has reason, every situation has a solution. Every visual image has a story to tell. The posters on the street lamps show a picture of some lady religious guru with a big bindi. It announces her birthday "pooja" (prayer). Somewhere else, a man serves water from a big container covered in red cloth, with some lemons and leaves on top. I turn my head once again, and a person selling magazines is running between the cars, fearless and persistent. I look around the other cars on the street, and among the scores that surround me, I see activity in almost all.
People's actions interest me. Living outside India for so long, you tend to forget these little nuances, that really catch your eye when you see them again. Like, while passing in front of a temple, my little 12 year old cousin instinctively folded her hands and closed her eyes, something which I recall doing as well but have lost the habit long back. Then, the way strangers just interact with each other. Every second person, who's a man and slightly looks older becomes "bhaiya" (brother), or if he looks a lot older becomes "uncle". The immediate familiarity makes an interaction so much easier and pleasurable, that despite the formality and purely functional reason for the interaction, there is some marginal level of bonding. It's just a feel-good pheonomenon.
There's conversation everywhere. There's movement everywhere. There's sound everywhere. The laughter of the group of teenagers at the mall sharing a pizza, has the same sound has that of the men on the street corner playing a game of cards and sharing their stories of the day. The couple in the restaurant have the same look when they look at each other as that of the one sitting outside on the pavement. Money is a mere token, as it should be. Happiness is the real wealth. In the general sense of the word, India is a poor nation, and it shows, everywhere. But when measured in Happiness, I can proudly rate India very high!
As the colours of Delhi seep through my inexperienced optical nerves, the exhilirations soars through me, and I live through the madness of the city. As my eyes see more, my hands feel more, my ears hear more, I will write more. For now, I'm just going to go back to my blissful admiration of my city.
Yeh Delhi hai mere yaar,
Bas ishq mohabbat pyaaaaar...