By Manish Anand
To know Delhi, you must travel in an auto or a blueline bus. Radio-cab or a taxi wont be of much help. A city like Delhi always invites you to know her more. It hardly matters if you have been here for a decade, like me. And Saturdays are something different, I presume.
Part of Mayawati's weekend "fanda", this Saturday too, I had to be at her function for the whole day and to check for the political ramifications of her nuances. Her staff were take the journalists from Connaught Place to Greater Noida, hence I did not have to take my vehicle.
In Green Park, an autowalla agreed to ply on meter. As I was smoking (I really want to quit it. It's terrible and the most horrible thing one can lay hand on.), the autowallah also slipped out to buy a cigarette. No problem. When asked, why the meter was showing Rs 10, a blunt poser came. Are you boarding an auto for the first time? A real stunner!
When did I board an auto last time? I could not recall. But yes, I vividly recalled, a six-year-old incident when going to see off my father one fine morning in an auto the sleepy driver had hit the road divider near the Dilli Gate, with the three-wheeler turning off and my father sustaining an internal fracture.
I think too much and, sometimes, I get really tired of it. The auto left me to go on a thought hunt. My autowallah was fully charged up in the meantime and his maan... behan... had started shooting off at any vehicle daring to kiss her green sawari.
I laid my eyes on a couple buying tickets for entry into Safdarjung Madrassa, old women idling away their time on the pavements, the new red-colour AC buses full of advertisements, the roads threatening to cave in, cameras installed to zoom in on red-light breaker and many others.
However, the auto had started jurking. The autowallha had nearly hit a car or the four-wheeler would have hit him to which he had all the maan...behan... shooting off like the war cries. He would have hit at least four to five vehicles but he manouvered safely.
On weekend, India Gate has all the charms. A group of foreigners relishing the monument, while one of them was heading to drop the used water bottle in the waste-bin. The CPWD had once shown us the visuals of the littering done by the visitors at the India Gate. It was terrible.
Journalists have interesting things to talk about. A conversation with a fellow journalist drifted towards JNU, the pride of Delhi, a world in itself. My refrain was that its products are something different! It led to a story about a JNU product with a PhD degree joining a news-agency. On a night duty, while his boss went to sleep in the office, he was asked to check for the developments and if something big, like the US President resigned, happened he should wake up his superior.
At the dead night, he woke up his boss. Irritated he asked what! "I have to go to the loo." Too much. "You want me to accompany you to the loo, you bloody." Maan...behan...were profusely offered to him!
Sardars are the pride of Delhi. A senior Sardar journalist had gone to Pakistan to cover an event. In Pakistan, an ISI agent is set after an Indian journalist once lands there. Our Sardarji came to know that he was being followed. He stopped his taxi, and went to the car chasing him and told them: "I am an Indian journalist. This is my I-card. I am not paid much, and since you want to follow me I would rather be with you in your car and save my money." He got the best treatment free that a VVIP could have got there.
Not interested to board the auto again and the bus definitely not though I have travelled in them extensively. They show the worst of Delhi. It's better to see the better side then get pissed of with the worst part when that is incorrigible
But yes Delhi's chief minister Sheila Dikshit is everywhere in the city to tell people that the place has improved. She has got all the cheerful people to pose for her campaign. May be Delhi has changed for better or worse...
To know Delhi, you must travel in an auto or a blueline bus. Radio-cab or a taxi wont be of much help. A city like Delhi always invites you to know her more. It hardly matters if you have been here for a decade, like me. And Saturdays are something different, I presume.
Part of Mayawati's weekend "fanda", this Saturday too, I had to be at her function for the whole day and to check for the political ramifications of her nuances. Her staff were take the journalists from Connaught Place to Greater Noida, hence I did not have to take my vehicle.
In Green Park, an autowalla agreed to ply on meter. As I was smoking (I really want to quit it. It's terrible and the most horrible thing one can lay hand on.), the autowallah also slipped out to buy a cigarette. No problem. When asked, why the meter was showing Rs 10, a blunt poser came. Are you boarding an auto for the first time? A real stunner!
When did I board an auto last time? I could not recall. But yes, I vividly recalled, a six-year-old incident when going to see off my father one fine morning in an auto the sleepy driver had hit the road divider near the Dilli Gate, with the three-wheeler turning off and my father sustaining an internal fracture.
I think too much and, sometimes, I get really tired of it. The auto left me to go on a thought hunt. My autowallah was fully charged up in the meantime and his maan... behan... had started shooting off at any vehicle daring to kiss her green sawari.
I laid my eyes on a couple buying tickets for entry into Safdarjung Madrassa, old women idling away their time on the pavements, the new red-colour AC buses full of advertisements, the roads threatening to cave in, cameras installed to zoom in on red-light breaker and many others.
However, the auto had started jurking. The autowallha had nearly hit a car or the four-wheeler would have hit him to which he had all the maan...behan... shooting off like the war cries. He would have hit at least four to five vehicles but he manouvered safely.
On weekend, India Gate has all the charms. A group of foreigners relishing the monument, while one of them was heading to drop the used water bottle in the waste-bin. The CPWD had once shown us the visuals of the littering done by the visitors at the India Gate. It was terrible.
Journalists have interesting things to talk about. A conversation with a fellow journalist drifted towards JNU, the pride of Delhi, a world in itself. My refrain was that its products are something different! It led to a story about a JNU product with a PhD degree joining a news-agency. On a night duty, while his boss went to sleep in the office, he was asked to check for the developments and if something big, like the US President resigned, happened he should wake up his superior.
At the dead night, he woke up his boss. Irritated he asked what! "I have to go to the loo." Too much. "You want me to accompany you to the loo, you bloody." Maan...behan...were profusely offered to him!
Sardars are the pride of Delhi. A senior Sardar journalist had gone to Pakistan to cover an event. In Pakistan, an ISI agent is set after an Indian journalist once lands there. Our Sardarji came to know that he was being followed. He stopped his taxi, and went to the car chasing him and told them: "I am an Indian journalist. This is my I-card. I am not paid much, and since you want to follow me I would rather be with you in your car and save my money." He got the best treatment free that a VVIP could have got there.
Not interested to board the auto again and the bus definitely not though I have travelled in them extensively. They show the worst of Delhi. It's better to see the better side then get pissed of with the worst part when that is incorrigible
But yes Delhi's chief minister Sheila Dikshit is everywhere in the city to tell people that the place has improved. She has got all the cheerful people to pose for her campaign. May be Delhi has changed for better or worse...
1 comment:
An interesting way to discover the moods of a city that reveals so much, hides so much. The narrative makes a person travel along with the writer and at the same time reveals the uncanny observation power of a journalist. Kudos
Post a Comment