June 20, 2006
All one needs to know of the pathetic condition of dream city, Delhi
The dream cities of millions are not rare in India. Delhi is one of the metros that enchants lots of young professionals to look hither and thither for hunting better opportunities for survival, opportunities for betrothal besides fulfilling sensual and infighting dreams to have sexual encounters; live in, extramarital, gay and et al to having the luster of dating etc. I don’t like to sit idle in my occasional dates that I attend, though I feel bore along my partners, who too face the stigma of having the company of a too mature date friend. I usually find it okay to have one in my company, either for the pleasant ride or for reproaching the methods to earn wealth by interviewing socialites for page three. For one who understands my mind and is a bit mature remains as personal trait.
For having one such encounters materialized I took the help of one of my juniors, Shadab Ahmad Khan who happens to work under me in the office, to accompany me to meet a personality who forgives your mistakes in one excuse, unlike the ruled Indian trend. We are about to reach the high profile Akbar Road near India Gate. The Gate said so---ironically closed forever. None can pass through the gate, as this is not permissible for Jack and Harry. Even the first citizen of the nation, Mr. Prez can’t cross the gate for purchasing lollipop and or ice cream. Neither any other high profiles even think of moving along free as Delhi has now become the hub of bomb scares.
Nobody knows where the bombs are kept and when they can burst. Such activities go at peak when the traditionally rich country of ours prepare for any of the festivals amongst many; for that Indians are always known. The elite Delhites are powerful in their drawing rooms. They know well to use power politics, their posts and their contacts while intimidating any of their juniors, counterparts, contemporaries or the middle or lower middle class chums. But once they are out of home or far from the security zone they know that anything can happen. Bombs don’t recognize the faces the powerful and the needy equally. My young champ Shadab is a good driver. He enjoys driving bikes. And he enjoys keeping the escalator out of control. Any devout Muslim like me, some of my friends still assume that I am devout enough and follow my religiosity, can well remember the Almighty Allah and chant Kalma while sitting in his back while he drives. I chanted all religious deities while Shadab kept driving the bike. It took a few minutes to reach to Akbar Road.
I enjoyed my rendezvous with my seventy something friend, at that place the village occupied by the high profile “poor” citizens of Delhi. I instantly read the pale face of my young friend. But without wasting a minute I kept chatting with my “older” friend and kept the “young chap” in aloof. My attention diverted when I saw the young toddler’s face changing hues. His multi-hued face started changing expressions. I enjoyed reading his face. He looked like a good drama artist. I also realized his talent for the first time---he could have worked as best mimicker of the country. Such expressions of him remained less enchanted to me as my seventy something friend proved more intellectual than a brood.
I too sometimes project myself in the list of intellectuals. But this company was educative. And finally I finished my one on one in three hours and moved forward to the other face of Delhi where I reside---the place that is having its own identity with bleak water, sanitation and electricity facilities. My area of Delhi reminds me of the true India. I am happy that I don’t own any home at Akbar Road. I live in peace and enjoy writing columns in the candlelight, find solace in acknowledging the real Indian society. That is why I don’t deny advocating, “India is the country of villages”. And once you talk of rural traditions you should talk of abbot and not of royal segregations.
We were about to come out of the security zone area of the capital. My chap kept riding his bike faster and faster. I told him to understand the ethics of rustic life. Can’t we live in peace? Can’t we remain out of the dogma? We should realize that complexes, both inferior and superior, would hamper our progress. We should die another day and late too. We have lots of assignments to complete before our death. We have responsibilities in the office and at home. Why can’t we drive slow I suggested him. Without listening me, he drove faster. Finally in the free roadside evening environment near India gate he revealed to me that he had to be faster as he needs to attend the nature’s call. “I need to go for loo,” he said. I abruptly suggested him, why don’t you finish it up anywhere roadside. You need not worry. Things are okay here.
After all we are the citizens of free India. No way sir, I am searching a place that proscribes urination activities below any poster or municipal corporation order. People usually relieve in those places because those places are free of any police atrocity. Police don’t cajole you there. Stinky places have it’s own charm. It helps you to get relieve. I admired his suggestion and thought of implementing the same once I feel to attend the nature’s call soon. In the meanwhile I saw a roadside public toilet. I suggested him to first attend his “nature’s call”. Following my humble order he approached the attendant to get him relieved of the “call”. But the attendant denied his entry and requested him to come for loo after a week, as the minister who was out for a political tour did still not inaugurate the public toilet. He came out sadly, keeping his patience down.
I consoled him not to worry. We moved forward. In few minutes we were about to reach to Nizamuddin. I found an unusual reaction on his face. He was exclaimed. He told me; let me free myself of the Lord’s call. He had seen a board saying, “Yahan Peshab Karna Mana Hai:” He finished soon. We moved to our home near Okhla. I was happy, he was happy and both were in our “safe zone” area. I always keep myself cool that I am not gobbledygook, as my area doesn’t accommodate maximum numbers of public toilets. Hence the area remains safe---most politicians out of sight.