What I'll Miss About Delhi - Part I

How's this for absolute randomness: In spite of wanting to do some writing, I just didn't feel inspired enough to come and post a proper entry here in days. Now, out of the blue (quite literally!), just as I made a conscious decision to return to my hermit crab ways for a bit, there's a volley of posts and I'm seized with an overwhelming urgency to write about all that I'm thinking of. Life, I tell you. :)

Anyway, it rained today - almost. Actually, it did...but it didn't last long enough for anything - not to offer any respite from the heat, not to permit at least one rain dance, not even for the earth to get thoroughly soaked and quenched. Instead, it has left everything in a limbo of sorts. The leaves are undecidedly wet and dewy; the sun is drying itself off before it returns to work; the air is still choosing between dragon breaths and minty freshness, droplets and vapour almost visibly suspended in the atmosphere. Somwhere, I'm sure, a paper-boat is lying half-folded, and a family of sparrows debating the wisdom of venturing out once again today.

But it was good, even if it lasted only ten minutes. The world does look freshly-laundered. :)

Walking back from the department this evening, I couldn't take my eyes off the riot of colours that the trees always become at this time of year. Every conceivable shade of every imaginable colour. It was with a pang that I realised that I don't quite know when I'll set eyes on all this beauty again, after a few weeks. Yes, I'm glad I'm leaving Delhi, and hopeful that it will be a year or two, at least, before I return. But the fact is, I've spent six formative, very eventful, memorable years in this city...and I love it (which is why I'm looking forward to going away for a bit...but haven't I written enough about that already? :)...

...and now, in no particular order, here are the things I will miss about Delhi, and the University in particular. I know I'll never manage an exhaustive list on this one...but here's an attempt:

1. The greenery. There's no two ways about it...there could be trees and vegetation galore in other cities, but it won't be the same. It's lush, soothing...and very, very beautiful.

2. The history. The city breathes it. It's grand and old and hoary and proud...and in many ways, it deserves to be. And this isn't just about the Jama Masjid or the Red Fort...it's also about all the little alleys and broad avenues, old localities and older names.

3. The freedom. It's the Capital. There are all kinds of people here, from every place imaginable. And they're all welcome to stay, explore the place, study, make a living...just be, because no one owns the place, really. Delhi will embrace you, no questions asked. And that is its biggest beauty.

4. Haanji. The all-purpose magic word.

5. The food! While I will have to admit that my experiences here are solely responsible for what now seems to be a lifetime's worth of aversion to rajma and dal makhani, I will miss all the other food. Period. Delhi loves its food, both the street and the exotic variety...and there's "planty of it, ji". :)

6. The bookstores - and Daryaganj. The bibliophiles' paradise. Enough said.

7. The Delhi Metro. I was thrilled when it began running from Vishwa Vidyalaya to Kashmere Gate (yes, I was here that long ago :), have consistently counted it amongst my biggest blessings in this city, and appreciated it even more fell even more thoroughly in love with it after a two-week brush with the Calcutta Metro. The crowds may have seen an exponential increase, and the legendary precision of timing may have taken a small beating...but my gratefulness and affection will remain an incontrovertible truth.

8. Summers and winters. Six of each, and I know I'll handle any kind of weather, anywhere. But I doubt I'll find as feisty and authentic a summer, and as poetic and picture-perfect a winter in another part of the world.

9. This strange mix of laid-back luxury and total chaos that this city is capable of. It's a living, breathing mass of contradictions, in this way, and in many others. I'll probably go into that later.

There's more to come. This list is incomplete. It feels incomplete to me. Next, the University.

QED

This weekend has been a weekend of conversations, memories and some serious thinking. It didn't just rain, it poured - in the best sense of the term. Some wonderful things happened - as sweet and touching as they were unexpected. And, as I was telling a friend a little while ago, this is probably the Universe telling me that it isn't such a bad life yet. :)

Deep breath. Broad grin. Big whoop and jump. Yay! :)

About another Gandalf :)

Sometimes, when the wanderer in me takes over, I find myself in one of those frames of mind where I'm more than willing to leave the entire world behind and take a trip on my own, even if all of it is inside my head. If I could take only one thing from this world on these jaunts, though, it would have to be Gulzar's poetry. And if a benevolent genie materialised before my eyes and asked me to name a wish, I would ask to be given a mind like Gulzar's.

I have talked about my love for his poetry, and where it comes from, before. The love of words runs in the family, but in being completely besotted with Gulzar's poetry, I take after my father. Sometimes, it takes my breath away to see how simply he states the most convoluted truths, how perfect his poetry is. And then I wonder just how intelligent, original, eccentric, sensitive, quirky, perceptive, playful, innocently irreverent, whimsical, imaginative and, above all, free, must the mind be that yields those words. Everything just right, never more, never less. Gulzar's poetry is like the river - it has a mind and life of its own; it will be only itself and nothing else, and it will do so measuredly, only in amounts it deems fit. It makes me smile, forces me to think, keeps me going, makes me believe. And that is why I consider his poetry a religion greater than any sort of institutionalized entity.

Gulzar is always in his element, no matter what the subject. Wry humour, melancholic rumination, searing sadness, sprightly cheeriness, unbridled lunacy, haunting recollections, passionate love...there is no emotion he isn't capable of handling, no shade he is unfamiliar with.  It makes you wonder how deep his feelings must run, and how astute his knowledge of human nature is. This man is an artist: he effortlessly paints whole murals and tapestries in your head. The words flow with an ease that belies the all-encompassing imagination and originality fuelling his poetry. The best part of it all is the utter magic he can work with words. Regular, everyday words start talking, building landscapes, creating people. His poetry, as simple as it is rich, could be a self-contained course in Urdu or Punjabi literature. In an interview that I read years ago, he talked about an imaginary childhood friend of his. There weren't too many children in his village, he said, so he simply made up a little boy called Tunna, and talked to him constantly, worrying his parents into believing he needed help. Once he created Tunna, he said, he was never lonely again. Apparently, every time Gulzar needs inspiration, Tunna comes calling. No wonder there is a touch of the other-worldly in Gulzar's lyrics...that imaginary little guy must be quite an influence!

So here, in no particular order, are excerpts from some of the songs Gulzar has written. I have no idea how many I am going to list...but I do know that I couldn't enumerate all of them if I sat all night. Here's some sheer beauty:

Jal gaye jo dhoop mein toh, saaya ho gaye

Aasmaa ka koi kona odha, so gaye

Jo guzar jaati hai bas, usmein guzar karte hain...

Aaina dekhkar tasalli hui

Humko is ghar mein jaanta hai koi...

Nainon ki mat maniyo re, naino ki mat suniyo, naina thug lenge...

Nainon ki zubaan pe bharosa nahin aata, likhat-padhat na raseed na khaata...

Jiska bhi chehra dekha, andar se aur nikla,

Masoom sa kabootar, naacha to mor nikla...

Yaad hai, peepul ke jiske ghaney saaye thhey,

Humne gilehri ke jhoothe matar khaaye thhey,

Ye barkat un hazrat ki hai...

Hawaa chale, sar pe liye

Ambar ki thandi phulkariyaan

Hum hi zameen, hum aasmaan,

Khasmaanokhaaye baaki jahaan...

Jitne bhi taye karte gaye, badhte gaye ye faasle

Meelon se din chhod aaye, saalon si raat leke chale...

Hazaar raahein, mudke dekhi,

Kahin se koi sadaa na aayi

Badi vafaa se nibhayi tumne

Hamaari thodi-si bewafayi...

And, of course, the theme that Indian childhood has consistently identified with for the last 25 years...

Jungle-jungle baat chali hai, pata chala hai... :)

We have any number of people in the world who'll tell us that life is beautiful. Gulzar proves it. It's that simple, really. :)

Philosophy at Ungodly Hours - I

It's one of the curiosities of life, I think: the most important things - the ones we really cannot do without at the end of the day - aren't rocket science. And because they are not rocket science, we don't know what to do about them.

Because, honestly now, who can't handle rocket science? You may know all about it, or something, or nothing at all. But even if it is devilishly complicated, it can be done. In fact, the more complicated it is, the more fascinating it must be. Simply because there is a pattern to follow, and a result to expect. You can get someone to teach you, or you can go the trial-and-error way. What do you risk, at the very most...a damaged workstation, maybe, or a laboratory that exploded in on itself?

And then there is the irony that characterises our species: we long for simplicity, but we positively adore complication. Unless something wasn't achieved in a complex, convoluted way, it simply doesn't seem worth our while. We've collectively elevated complexity to a form of art...to the extent that we are either scared of simplicity, or we simply don't understand it. There's this old adage about how we are afraid of what we don't understand, so maybe we are scared of simplicity because we just don't comprehend it anymore...not unless an electronics major puts the term into its catchphrase as part of its marketing strategy. Then, we're willing to pay a pretty penny for stuff that will uncomplicate freezing, cooking, heating, cooling and driving for us. There, we appreciate the need for simplicity, but in the things that really matter, there's only one credo: The more complex, the better!

That bear hug you crave. That friend you haven't spoken to in months and miss terribly. The high you get from listening to your favourite song in the still of the night. That long, soul-searching walk that you promised yourself ten weeks ago, and have put off every evening since. The 'I'm sorry' that will set everything right between the two of you. The spur-of-the-moment trip to the bakery. That music you've been meaning to work on. That unfinished chapter from the book you intend to publish some day. The spontaneous call to a parent or a sibling, just because. The decision to watch your favourite old comedy on late night TV, and class tests the next day be damned. The freedom to laugh out loud, right from the pit of your stomach, till your sides hurt, the way Nature intended laughter to be. The thrill of a family outing. The decision to do not that, but this, because this the kind of work you like even if it pays less and won't seem as scintillating on LinkedIn. The acknowledgement that, at the end of the day, beneath all the degrees and designations and impressions and frequent flier IDs, we're just human, and we want to be happy in whichever way we define being happy.

And that is the irony of it all. For all these things to happen is a one-step process. Just go ahead and do it. But we are strange creatures. We may acknowledge what makes us happy, but we'll never just do it. We like to complicate our relationships with mindgames; our work with an unduly strong sense of competitiveness; our lifestyles with constant comparisons with the Joneses. We delight in the hassle of being too busy, and take pride in not being carefree enough to head out for a walk, a drive or an ice cream when we feel like it. No thought that isn't accompanied by a dozen ifs and buts and whys and wherefores is considered worthy of being thought at all. Unless we make excruciatingly detailed plans, nothing is worth doing; and unless we factor twenty highly improbable scenarios into our plans, they don't deserve to be labelled 'plans'. At the end of it all, when we've covered a long, circuitous route, we're convinced that we're happy...and, what's more, that we've earned the happiness! But when we're alone, or fighting insomnia at 3 a.m., for the fifth month in a row, we think about life and how complicated it is, we miss having someone to talk to, we miss being able to do whatever we please, and then we admit to ourselves that, well, we could, maybe, be happier, or more relaxed, or simply more at peace with ourselves, the past, the present and the future.

There's a reason why there is security in rocket science. A ruined workstation or exploded laboratory can be rebuilt. There's a pre-defined method for that.  But the problem with a weary mind, bruised spirit, broken heart, arms that are too tired to be raised for a hug, or a face that has forgotten how to break into a grin is that they defy all pre-existing methods and demand that we look within, take stock, and simply do what we really, really want to. And then, faced with demands from our own hearts and souls, we are at sea.

Now if being happier were rocket science, we could all do it. Because it would please us no end to be able to whip out a lab manual and a slide rule and begin a process that requires endless measurements and immense brainwork. We're all good at rocket science, really. But there's no rule book, no measuring instruments and graph sheets for what we truly want. It's pure simplicity, and nothing else besides. And so we're foxed in our pursuit of happiness. The wiser and/or more fortunate amongst us decide to sit and do some rethinking. The less fortunate simply decide that more complex rocket science is needed, and dash off on a fresh hunt. And all the while, the little things we're looking for are sitting put in a corner, staring at us in wide-eyed astonishment, genuinely puzzled at all the frenetic activity.

Just a Little Ranting...

It's been a while, hasn't it? And so much has happened - dissertation, unbalanced equations, assignments, random realizations, a million second thoughts, exultation, anxiety over scores of things, unbridled laughter, more assignments, sleep deprivation.

Why, then, am I up at 2.47 a.m., with nothing in particular to write about? Tonight, of all nights, when I finally have no deathly-urgent deadline that I must meet tomorrow, why am I not curled up in bed, dreaming of the mountains or of distant islands as I am wont to? In my experience, chronic sleep deprivation leads to chronic insomnia and vice versa, till you really can't tell one from the other and end up sitting up all night, thinking of nothing in particular, wanting to say something but not sure you want to talk.

I'm angry, I'll confess. Angry, and hurt and fed up. Feeling shortchanged is alright - at some point or another, I assume we've all been there (to those who haven't: I envy you) - but this has happened one time too many. Oh, I know I asked for it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. :)

Now that it's out in the open, I feel a little foolish. Strangely enough, I am also sleepy.

On another plane...

Poltergeist. A ghost that goes about knocking things down and creating a racket.

I like the sound of that. :)

If I were a ghost, I would be a poltergeist. Not a spectre or a wraith. No offence, but spectres are sad, and wraiths are just plain spooky. Poltergeists sound like fun, though.

Many Happy Returns!

For being one of the primary factors in my discovery, at age 5, of my biggest passion,

For teaching me to empathise, to exult, to imagine,

For introducing me to the company I love the most,

For being my first favourite author,

Thank you, Hans Christian Andersen.

Happy Birthday. I hope you are in a world as vibrant and beautiful as those you painted in your books, where wishes come true, nothing is impossible, and everything is right in the end.

Epiphany

It was like this: I went down to the chemist's for toothpaste. When I went to make my payment, I saw this big jar sitting on the counter. It was filled with candy bars of some sort - candy bars in bright, electric pink wrapping, and a trippy cartoon on the label. I squinted through the plastic - these were Jam Treat biscuits coated in chocolate.

Second to scurrying into my room to solve the daily crossword without so much as changing out of my uniform when I got back from school every afternoon, Jam Treat biscuits were the biggest bone of contention between my mother and me. "Why must you have half a pack at one go?", Ma would say, annoyed and incredulous at the same time. "It isn't exactly healthy. And all that jam and sugar and cream! You'll lose all your teeth by the time you're fifteen." Then, turning to my father, "What's wrong with crackers? Or even Bourbon? Why must you get these?". My father would placate my mother, or distract her with stories of how he had run into an old colleague, and my sister and I would solemnly promise to eat no more than two biscuits a day.

Ma had a point, though. In the fifteen years since, I have had two root canal treatments and three times as many cavities filled. I still think it couldn't have been the Jam Treat biscuits. Not those.

Jam Treat. I hadn't had one of those in years now - not since I came to College. It's one of the countless changes 'growing up' made to me, I suppose. (It happens to everyone at some stage or the other. Or does it?) Somewhere along the way, an old habit fell away, like a dried leaf off a branch on a warm March afternoon. There were so many alterations - some bewildering, some through concerted effort, some stemming from the need to protect myself emotionally, and the rest involuntary, as complete as they were quiet - that I never had the time, till that afternoon, to acknowledge a small, insignificant change like the complete absence of jam biscuits from my life. Change, alteration, metamorphosis...so that I don't quite know who I am anymore, on most days. I'm on a constant trip of discovery. There have been more discoveries than usual these past few months. I assume there is some growing up left. It isn't always pleasant, but it isn't bad enough for me to start complaining yet.

So I stuck my hand in and pulled out a bar, holding back the urge to buy the whole jar. Back in my room, I eagerly tore the wrapping open.

Two biscuits sandwiching strawberry jam looked up at me woefully. The chocolate was all over the inside of the wrapping. So much for 'delicious chocolate biscuits with a jam filling, enrobed in chocolate'. The Indian summer can deflate the fanciest product description.

I bit into the biscuit, anticipating the thrill that accompanies the first taste of jam from between crisp biscuits.

It didn't come.

Instead, my first thought was, "This jam is too sweet. Why is the biscuit so hard? This isn't really worth even ten bucks. Who put this thing together?"

It made me sad. Of course, people can outgrow things, especially something like food, especially jam and biscuits and sugar. But I still found myself wondering what the world was coming to if I didn't love even jam biscuits anymore. I worked my way through the biscuit pensively.

The last crumb gone, I began scrunching up the wrapper to throw it into the bin. Molten chocolate rubbed onto my finger. Reflexively, I licked it off. It tasted good.

It still tasted good.

Tentatively, I wiped some more chocolate off the wrapper and tasted it again. A little more...and then, with a chortle, I found myself licking the chocolate off the electric pink wrapping.

It tasted of cocoa, innocence, childhood, and an all-guards-down, uncomplicated happiness.