I went to CP today, after what seemed like an eternity (for the uninitiated, CP is Connaught Place, the heart of Delhi - a hopelessly cliched description, but the one that fits it best, nonetheless - in ways more than one). The last time I disembarked at Rajiv Chowk (beats me why they've renamed CP that. It isn't like anyone actually uses that name - not even the MCD officials themselves) was with a friend who treated me to lunch at Pizza Hut, back in early November. Given that we were short of time that afternoon, we sped straight from the Metro Exit to Block E, and back. No...the last time I visited CP the way I visited it today - actually visited it - was...was...well, I don't remember.
June 2007. That must have been it. And now I feel tremendously shady (friends from College will understand why I said that :) In my defence, though, one year of this year and a half was spent in Gurgaon, commuting from where is no mean feat, especially when you rely upon friendly (!) CNG auto-rickshaws, DTC and DMRC to travel to your examination venue in Delhi every Sunday after a harrowing week at work!
Coming back to the point, though, I visited CP after a really long time. As always, I came back feeling more in love with it than ever. Some places have a tendency, an endearing one, to remain stuck in a time-warp. The Gwyer Hall canteen in North Campus is one example. The little Tibetan establishment at Majnu Ka Tilla, near Civil Lines, is another. And, in a slightly different way, CP belongs to the list too. Make no mistake, CP is one of the places to be; has pride of place on the list of the ten most expensive areas in the world to rent office space at; and is as old as it is elite. Every now and then, another grand building is added to the CP skyline, a new showroom, another restaurant...much as Delhi went from simply Delhi to the NCR, CP keeps growing, too.
The beauty of the place lies in the contrasts that coexist comfortably in it. I've been around here for almost five years now, and all this time, at least, there has been a certain quality about the area that hasn't changed in the least. There's something about CP that is remarkably old-world, quiet and dignified. Even the traffic, which makes its presence more than felt, cannot take away from the charm. Central Park always has that old-fashioned, manicured appearance. Even the pigeons seem exotic! I'm aware, as I write this, that these might read like the ramblings of a romantic twenty-two year-old, viewing the world (or CP, at least :) through rose-tinted spectacles. But that's how CP is! Beautifully old-world during the day, and equally enchanting in the evening. In winter, especially, with the lights glowing and a light fog swirling about, CP is a picture postcard. As I mentioned earlier, its contrasts add to the charm. So we have elderly couples walking slowly, hand in hand, around the Inner Circle, even as high-school kids and college-goers throng the benches, the restaurants, and the uber-cool showrooms. Mothers struggle with prams, toddlers, and shopping bags, and busy executives rush past, no time to glance at anything but their watches. Meanwhile, Delhi's junta lazes on the lawns of Central Park, where an Indian Ocean concert seems as natural a fit as an evening of classical music, or even a political gathering, does. Vendors offering chaat, banta and sweet potatoes man carts nestled right outside a KFC or a Sakura. They have nothing in common but their location; their proprietors wouldn't know each other if they met on the street someday, but both do equally brisk business, and both are happy. A gypsy woman selling hand-embroidered cushion covers and junk jewellery squats comfortably a block away from the FabIndia showroom; the lanky, bespectacled guy selling books secondhand will helpfully direct you to Galgotia's or the Statesman House building (which houses the Oxford Bookstore) if you ask him. No hard feelings anywhere - that's another thing that strikes you about CP. Everyone's willing to help. Some have stories to tell, too.
People are in CP because there's work to be done; people are in CP because it is the best place to while away an afternoon or an evening. There's no better place for retail therapy - you name the brand, and, ten to one, their biggest Delhi showroom will be in CP; there's also no better place if you simply want a stroll, or want to sit and watch the world go by. It is marvellous how an ever-expanding commercial area still affords its visitors the privilege of long walks, open skies, and a warm, comfortable feeling of contentment and complete freedom. You could be anyone, from any walk of life, with your own dreams and hopes and desires, and coming to CP will make you believe. If you've run out of hopes and dreams, CP will weave you some, and hand them to you with an encouraging smile. At CP, everybody belongs.
For the umpteenth time, I stood near Block F, admiring the sight of hundreds of gray pigeons feeding contentedly in and around Central Park. A few feet away stood an ice-cream cart, the vendor handing out strawberry cones to a brood of excited children. In the distance, I could see the vague outlines of the lamp-posts that line Barakhamba Road. Above it all - above us all - was a clear blue sky and a warm, benevolent sun. So quaint, so beautiful, so...perfect. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it must have been like at 5.40 pm on September 13, 2008, to have this tranquility shattered by people who are so full of hatred, it's frightening. Time heals everything, they say. I hope it will.
I wondered if I should take an auto-rickshaw to Mathura Road, like I had planned to. I turned and walked up to one of the several parked by the pavement, and, five minutes later, had beaten the driver down to Rs. 100 from 160. Then, I decided against it - I still don't know why - and took another long walk around the Inner Circle before finally asking around (like I always end up doing) for the nearest entrance to the Metro station.
June 2007. That must have been it. And now I feel tremendously shady (friends from College will understand why I said that :) In my defence, though, one year of this year and a half was spent in Gurgaon, commuting from where is no mean feat, especially when you rely upon friendly (!) CNG auto-rickshaws, DTC and DMRC to travel to your examination venue in Delhi every Sunday after a harrowing week at work!
Coming back to the point, though, I visited CP after a really long time. As always, I came back feeling more in love with it than ever. Some places have a tendency, an endearing one, to remain stuck in a time-warp. The Gwyer Hall canteen in North Campus is one example. The little Tibetan establishment at Majnu Ka Tilla, near Civil Lines, is another. And, in a slightly different way, CP belongs to the list too. Make no mistake, CP is one of the places to be; has pride of place on the list of the ten most expensive areas in the world to rent office space at; and is as old as it is elite. Every now and then, another grand building is added to the CP skyline, a new showroom, another restaurant...much as Delhi went from simply Delhi to the NCR, CP keeps growing, too.
The beauty of the place lies in the contrasts that coexist comfortably in it. I've been around here for almost five years now, and all this time, at least, there has been a certain quality about the area that hasn't changed in the least. There's something about CP that is remarkably old-world, quiet and dignified. Even the traffic, which makes its presence more than felt, cannot take away from the charm. Central Park always has that old-fashioned, manicured appearance. Even the pigeons seem exotic! I'm aware, as I write this, that these might read like the ramblings of a romantic twenty-two year-old, viewing the world (or CP, at least :) through rose-tinted spectacles. But that's how CP is! Beautifully old-world during the day, and equally enchanting in the evening. In winter, especially, with the lights glowing and a light fog swirling about, CP is a picture postcard. As I mentioned earlier, its contrasts add to the charm. So we have elderly couples walking slowly, hand in hand, around the Inner Circle, even as high-school kids and college-goers throng the benches, the restaurants, and the uber-cool showrooms. Mothers struggle with prams, toddlers, and shopping bags, and busy executives rush past, no time to glance at anything but their watches. Meanwhile, Delhi's junta lazes on the lawns of Central Park, where an Indian Ocean concert seems as natural a fit as an evening of classical music, or even a political gathering, does. Vendors offering chaat, banta and sweet potatoes man carts nestled right outside a KFC or a Sakura. They have nothing in common but their location; their proprietors wouldn't know each other if they met on the street someday, but both do equally brisk business, and both are happy. A gypsy woman selling hand-embroidered cushion covers and junk jewellery squats comfortably a block away from the FabIndia showroom; the lanky, bespectacled guy selling books secondhand will helpfully direct you to Galgotia's or the Statesman House building (which houses the Oxford Bookstore) if you ask him. No hard feelings anywhere - that's another thing that strikes you about CP. Everyone's willing to help. Some have stories to tell, too.
People are in CP because there's work to be done; people are in CP because it is the best place to while away an afternoon or an evening. There's no better place for retail therapy - you name the brand, and, ten to one, their biggest Delhi showroom will be in CP; there's also no better place if you simply want a stroll, or want to sit and watch the world go by. It is marvellous how an ever-expanding commercial area still affords its visitors the privilege of long walks, open skies, and a warm, comfortable feeling of contentment and complete freedom. You could be anyone, from any walk of life, with your own dreams and hopes and desires, and coming to CP will make you believe. If you've run out of hopes and dreams, CP will weave you some, and hand them to you with an encouraging smile. At CP, everybody belongs.
For the umpteenth time, I stood near Block F, admiring the sight of hundreds of gray pigeons feeding contentedly in and around Central Park. A few feet away stood an ice-cream cart, the vendor handing out strawberry cones to a brood of excited children. In the distance, I could see the vague outlines of the lamp-posts that line Barakhamba Road. Above it all - above us all - was a clear blue sky and a warm, benevolent sun. So quaint, so beautiful, so...perfect. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it must have been like at 5.40 pm on September 13, 2008, to have this tranquility shattered by people who are so full of hatred, it's frightening. Time heals everything, they say. I hope it will.
I wondered if I should take an auto-rickshaw to Mathura Road, like I had planned to. I turned and walked up to one of the several parked by the pavement, and, five minutes later, had beaten the driver down to Rs. 100 from 160. Then, I decided against it - I still don't know why - and took another long walk around the Inner Circle before finally asking around (like I always end up doing) for the nearest entrance to the Metro station.
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