Once In a while I have this argument with my hubby (hereafter he will be known as H in this space) about shifting back to India. He wants to go back to Delhi, while I always dilly-dally at the mention of the city. “But why?”, he asks me and I have no answers. Today, I read this great article by Ramachandra Guha about Delhi being several cities within one city. I could not agree more.
I still remember how awed I was when I visited Delhi as a child, somewhere in the early 90s. Wide roads, “tall” buildings (tall by my standards at least), and so many vehicles. I remembered being thrilled by the DDA flat where my aunt lived… and wonders of wonders, you could change TV channels (courtesy Metro TV!) My aunt would proudly tell me that there is ALWAYS electricity in the capital; people will riot if the power goes off for even a few minutes. And man! You could shop forever; there was just so much stuff for every kind of pocket!
I visited Delhi several times after that, and from the air-conditioned car of my aunt, the city looked utterly glamorous to me. I promised myself that this is where I will graduate from.
So several years later, with proverbial “dreams in my eyes” and nothing in my pocket, I landed in Delhi for my higher education. Only this time I landed in the other city that Delhi is. The University campus - North. As I could not get the college hostel seat, I opted for a “private” one. Now usually, the word “private” brings visions of 5 star rooms, swimming pools, lush green lawns, and great piles of money to be paid for it. However, if you’ve been a resident of one of such hostels, you will know that except for the “great piles of money” everything else is bunkum.
When I first entered my room (in which I was to stay for the next 3 years), I thought that I had died and gone to hell. There was darkness all around. Then I realized that this was because the tube light had not been switched on. Thank God, the room was a bit larger than a matchbox; otherwise I would’ve kept bumping into my room-mate’s belongings.
Most of the stuff that I know now, I learned in this part of the city. And I mean outside the college, not inside it.
The traveling system was amazing, with the network of buses cross-crossing all around the city. You could go anywhere you wanted to. Travelling in these buses made me learn a thing or two, such as:
1) Although the buses were extensive and frequent, there was no concept of bus routes available on the bus stops. There would just be a bunch of numbers to tell you which bus would stop there. However, you could also use a friendlier voice-activated system to know your route. This involved turning to the first person you could see and shouting out something like “Bhaiya, yeh Munirka kaunsi bus jaati hai?” (Brother, which bus goes to Munirka?”). Viola, you would be handed the accurate number within seconds. Alternatively, you could memorise your favourite bus routes for travelling extensively. Here's a hot tip, this is also a good practice to prepare for MBA entrance exams (if you are planning to do so).
2) Some menfolk in the bus would mistake the bus for their bedroom. They were also good at acting when confronted on charges of setting their arms free and attaching it to someone else. Womenfolk would vie for the special “Mahila” (Ladies) seat so to ensure that the person that sat next to them was also of the female variety.
3) At times the bus would be so crowded that you need not walk towards the exit, you would be carried there by the rest of the crowd.
4) And oh! For all you F1 aficionados, the buses give an authentic feel of a racing track for such a cheap ticket.
Then there was this new concept of celebrating Holi that I saw for the first time there. People treated you as a part of their extended family and thought nothing of including you in their celebrations, weeks before the actual festival.
This day did by hitting anyone who walked on the road with a water-balloon from their rooftops, and then laughing in glee at the ruined outfit. Aah.. spreading the joy! Anyway, that’s where I learned the art of avoiding those “missiles” by plotting and planning the “safest” route to college. Not unlike a military strategy, I’d say.
And of course, the concept of permanent electricity supply that my aunt used to boast of (remember?); it probably disappeared the day I stepped in the campus. It used to do the Houdini act right in the middle of my annual exams, which were held in the middle of summer. Delhi summer without electricity makes you learn a lot of things, except for the material for the exams.
(btw I also blame the electricity supply for flunking my MBA entrance exam. I have to shift the blame somewhere, right? I mean with a brilliant brain like mine, I shud’ve cleared not one, but several exams at one go!)
Later when I started working, the Delhi of my dreams was back. I lived right in the middle of South extension and enjoyed life fit for a queen.. ok well, fit for a newly employed fresh graduate. Good enough, I tell ya. Munirka was almost next door. Things were back to normal again, except for the times when you hired an auto. (I quit traveling in public transport, when I started working.) If I asked auto-wallahs “Bhaiya, Munirka chaloge?” (Brother, would you go to Munirka?”; the standard responses from them would be either of the following:
• “No”
• “No”
• “No”
• “200 rupiya lagega” (It’ll cost 200 rupees) - to put things in perspective, the actual cost used to be around 30 rupees.
I still remember how awed I was when I visited Delhi as a child, somewhere in the early 90s. Wide roads, “tall” buildings (tall by my standards at least), and so many vehicles. I remembered being thrilled by the DDA flat where my aunt lived… and wonders of wonders, you could change TV channels (courtesy Metro TV!) My aunt would proudly tell me that there is ALWAYS electricity in the capital; people will riot if the power goes off for even a few minutes. And man! You could shop forever; there was just so much stuff for every kind of pocket!
I visited Delhi several times after that, and from the air-conditioned car of my aunt, the city looked utterly glamorous to me. I promised myself that this is where I will graduate from.
So several years later, with proverbial “dreams in my eyes” and nothing in my pocket, I landed in Delhi for my higher education. Only this time I landed in the other city that Delhi is. The University campus - North. As I could not get the college hostel seat, I opted for a “private” one. Now usually, the word “private” brings visions of 5 star rooms, swimming pools, lush green lawns, and great piles of money to be paid for it. However, if you’ve been a resident of one of such hostels, you will know that except for the “great piles of money” everything else is bunkum.
When I first entered my room (in which I was to stay for the next 3 years), I thought that I had died and gone to hell. There was darkness all around. Then I realized that this was because the tube light had not been switched on. Thank God, the room was a bit larger than a matchbox; otherwise I would’ve kept bumping into my room-mate’s belongings.
Most of the stuff that I know now, I learned in this part of the city. And I mean outside the college, not inside it.
The traveling system was amazing, with the network of buses cross-crossing all around the city. You could go anywhere you wanted to. Travelling in these buses made me learn a thing or two, such as:
1) Although the buses were extensive and frequent, there was no concept of bus routes available on the bus stops. There would just be a bunch of numbers to tell you which bus would stop there. However, you could also use a friendlier voice-activated system to know your route. This involved turning to the first person you could see and shouting out something like “Bhaiya, yeh Munirka kaunsi bus jaati hai?” (Brother, which bus goes to Munirka?”). Viola, you would be handed the accurate number within seconds. Alternatively, you could memorise your favourite bus routes for travelling extensively. Here's a hot tip, this is also a good practice to prepare for MBA entrance exams (if you are planning to do so).
2) Some menfolk in the bus would mistake the bus for their bedroom. They were also good at acting when confronted on charges of setting their arms free and attaching it to someone else. Womenfolk would vie for the special “Mahila” (Ladies) seat so to ensure that the person that sat next to them was also of the female variety.
3) At times the bus would be so crowded that you need not walk towards the exit, you would be carried there by the rest of the crowd.
4) And oh! For all you F1 aficionados, the buses give an authentic feel of a racing track for such a cheap ticket.
Then there was this new concept of celebrating Holi that I saw for the first time there. People treated you as a part of their extended family and thought nothing of including you in their celebrations, weeks before the actual festival.
This day did by hitting anyone who walked on the road with a water-balloon from their rooftops, and then laughing in glee at the ruined outfit. Aah.. spreading the joy! Anyway, that’s where I learned the art of avoiding those “missiles” by plotting and planning the “safest” route to college. Not unlike a military strategy, I’d say.
And of course, the concept of permanent electricity supply that my aunt used to boast of (remember?); it probably disappeared the day I stepped in the campus. It used to do the Houdini act right in the middle of my annual exams, which were held in the middle of summer. Delhi summer without electricity makes you learn a lot of things, except for the material for the exams.
(btw I also blame the electricity supply for flunking my MBA entrance exam. I have to shift the blame somewhere, right? I mean with a brilliant brain like mine, I shud’ve cleared not one, but several exams at one go!)
Later when I started working, the Delhi of my dreams was back. I lived right in the middle of South extension and enjoyed life fit for a queen.. ok well, fit for a newly employed fresh graduate. Good enough, I tell ya. Munirka was almost next door. Things were back to normal again, except for the times when you hired an auto. (I quit traveling in public transport, when I started working.) If I asked auto-wallahs “Bhaiya, Munirka chaloge?” (Brother, would you go to Munirka?”; the standard responses from them would be either of the following:
• “No”
• “No”
• “No”
• “200 rupiya lagega” (It’ll cost 200 rupees) - to put things in perspective, the actual cost used to be around 30 rupees.
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