DOCUMENTING DELHI:Pages from the journal of a small town girl.

SATYANIKETAN 8TH APRIL 2017
10.30 PM
Aging is a strangely enigmatic process. It announces the advent of weak bones, sagging skin and grey hair. On the other hand , it peels off layers of naivety, vulnerability and gullibility to expose a more confidant and contended version of you.
Walking through a street filled with young college going students , I'm  feeling this dichotomy become even more conspicuous. I am here at satyaniketan market located opposite venkateshwar college gate. The proximity to south campus makes it a popular hangout destination for the students.

Aere gaere log bhi padhne lage hai aajkaal: Apko aurat nahin akhbaar hona chahiye

Three girls dressed in skits and kurtis, giggling away in abandon have just crossed me. On the other side of the road , a group of boys wait for this trio to pass.....and then  rupture into loud exaltation and hi- fi 's.

Probably some sort of consent was read in the giggling of the girls......Here in Delhi, men are extraordinarily adept at recognizing consent...Some find it in the manner her fingers play with her hair. Some are able to notice consent in the way she twirls her duppata....There are still others who read consent in her resilience and composure that she has always  been trained to display, even after being rubbed off quite suggestively on DTC buses.

On one side the road is completely flanked by small eating joints...mostly takeaway points and coffee houses. One  of these coffee houses has a protruding patio. A Girl sits there having a cup of coffee and  holds a hard bound book in her hand. She is surrounded by three stray dogs who refuse to leave her alone. In intervals she stops reading and pats on their back. I try to get closer to get a glimpse of what she is reading.. Young girl...around eighteen or nineteen...I really hadn't expected this..  I am slightly bemused to find that the book she is reading is an English translation of Klidasa,s famous work- Meghdoot.
The very next moment she pulls out a sutta from her bag  and in deep contemplation about the clouds of meghdoot she starts bellowing her own clouds of smoke. This city is ready to sweep you off with surprises at every corner... Let me admit, my heart does a little jig jag whenever I see a youngster deriving succor from books rather than technology...and my heart sinks a bit whenever I see these bright young people being so oblivious about making healthy choices.{ And i'm just not being judgmental) ..I told you..aging....I think is taking its toll...I've already started talking like her preachy mom.😊

DOCUMENTING DELHI : Pages from the diary of a small town girl.

2nd APRIL 2017
Dhaula Kuan Bus stop.
1.00 pm

Dhaula kuan bus stop is crowded as usual. The April sun is  shining away in glory forcing people to scramble for little islands of shade here and there. Few college girls wait for their buses, their faces and headS dexterously covered in layers of fabric. I am not very sure, what are they trying to avert --the suns blaze or the male gaze. If it is the latter then the futility of their effort can be acknowledged from the ogle their bare arms are receiving from a stout middle aged " muchhad" ( man with dense mustache) standing behind them.

The "semul" tree standing just behind the bus stop is now completely devoid of the scarlet profusion that had populated its branches till about a month ago.   semul in full bloom is one of the most magnificent sights of north Indian springs. Now,a month later, some green leaves had started appearing on the fringes instead. Even for the "peepul", far away on the opposite side, the annual ritual of putting on a new garb of fresh leaves for summers has started. The leafless giant is now having russet heart shaped young leaves on some branches which in due course of time would turn green.  In  the scorching months of  May and June ,watching  millions of "peepul" leaves dancing slowly to  the dust laden winds is no less a spectacle than the "amaltaas" with its cascading yellows. peepul , however to Indians is more than just a tree. You will hardly find a peepal in Delhi devoid of flowers, dhoop batti and other pooja related paraphernalia near its base... bearing untold stories of  wishes,dreams and ambitions.

SEMUL FLOWERS

Suddenly, a fleet of red and green DTC buses shield the holy peepal  from my sight. A visibly tired old man descends a green bus wearing soiled "gamcha" across his neck with which he  keeps wiping the  sweat caught between the criss cross of  wrinkles  on his forehead.  He briefly walks towards the bantawala who has put his stall under a huge faded red umbrella, but after few mental calculations the old man turns away and chooses to buy some bananas .Probably thats a little sacrifice to make for the four bananas he will carry home for his ailing wife. . The bantawala  is  too immersed in his business to pay attention to the cacophony that surrounds him. This is business season for him. Behind an array of glass bottles topped with lemons , he is busy mixing soda, lime and Masala. TO a particular talkative customer he tells that while he sells banta for most of the year...he shifts to "chiniya badam" ( moongfali, peanuts) for the brief winter that Delhi has. Banta is undoubtedly the magic potion which makes Delhi seem like a little rebel ready to move out and conquer even as sun unleashes its  unbearable wild fury.

At a distance ,a bougainvillea creeper has created an unlikely nook for some brisk business. A thela selling "chole kulche" stands there thronged by a little crowd of migrant laborers. Listening to their  friendly banter ( and taking note of a particular accent)  I realize they are from my side of the country ..Bihar. ... For the thousands of Bihari migrants in Delhi, a simple home cooked meal of "daal bhaat chokha" cooked by their wives is  the stuff dreams are made of. So for such people Delhi's humble "chole kulche" comes to rescue. Yellow peas served with soft fluffy whitekulchas often accompanied with pickle and raw onion slices . THis one is truly Delhi's  signature street food. One that provides much needed fuel to the daily fights of survival in this strange city.