Mauz's Delhi, Zafar's Chandni Chowk
As someone who arrived in Delhi with a tonsured (following strict Hindu ritual) head (thus being, at times, mistaken for a heart patient, whom I accompanied for a while) leaving behind a devastated family, and very litle money in pocket, I had no way to indulge in the luxuries Delhi offered, and so I hated Delhi. It's a curse to live in poverty in a place of abundance.
And when I expressed my disgust with the excesses of Delhi and my strong desire to return, KJ, a veteran of Delhi by then, replied, "Every newcomer says that. And then one day, without your knowledge, you will fall in love with Delhi. That is what is so special about Delhi; you will always begin by hating Delhi, and soon end up loving it. And Delhi will one day break your heart when you will decide to leave it and go back."
It would be three more years before I would read Mauz's "Kaun jaye Mauz Dilli ki galiyan chhod kar" (Who goes away, Mauz, leaving the labyrinths of Delhi behind?), and another 6 months before I would curse Mauz for writing this. By that time, I would leave Delhi and Delhi would soon break my heart for more than one reasons.
However, much before reading Mauz's poem, I would be acquainted with the labyrinths of Chhipi Wara Kalan and Dariba Kalan, thanks to the strategic location of my friend Abhijit's home. Quite a number of times, I would accompany his grandma to Chandni Chowk through the maze-like miniscule alleys and yet would never be able to trace my way back to their home.
Delhi taught me lots of things. Delhi exposed me to National School of Drama (NSD). I learned to appreciate Theatre in Delhi. I had spent previous five years in a hostel situated only about 400 meters away from the place where there used to be drama enacted all the time, and yet I visited it only a couple of times; but now I would frequent NSD. I would, inspite of my total ignorance, would learn to differentiate between good acting and bad acting, and between significant and insignificant roles. NSD would give me the feeling that sitting next to giants such as Habib Tanvir or Bhisham Sahani and enjoying a drama was the most natural and insignificant thing to happen.
Delhi would give me the courage to ask questions. I would even dare to question Habib Tanvir within a few years (when his play, Mudra Rakshasa, would be played at Hyderabad), and in spite of knowing fully well what a straight-shooter he could be! Surprisingly, he won't blast me! His voice still rings in my ears. It would be in Delhi that I would write to someone as prominent as Dr. J. V. Narkilar asking permission to translate his articles, a request he would instantly grant!
Delhi would teach me why stereotyping was wrong! In Delhi, I would meet Amit, Ranjan and Abhijit, who would stand in stark contrart to the Nationally prevelant stereotypes of cunning Bihari, selfish Oriya and self-centered Bengalis respectively.
Delhi would, for the first time, let me buy (at throwaway prices) and read used copies of expensive books from Daryaganj Book Market. It's sad (and also symbolic of our level of stupidity) that those bastards banned the market, as I read a few months ago.
Delhi would teach me what teaching meant, and how dedicated and knowledgeable teachers could/should be! I would learn to take myself lightly, and to laugh at myself. I would almost master the art of self-depracating humor under the tutelege of AKB, my crazy friend and teacher. It's in the corridors of the Delhi University that MMK would explain to us how to respect other's space and thus not to interfere with other's affairs. I would also learn from him how a teacher should never consider that he was doing a favor to his students by teaching them -- he was just discharging his duties for which he was paid -- and how the students had every right to demand better performance from a teacher.
VMK would give me a feel of what real arrogance was! After all, it was him who had asked the interview board chairman, while being interviewed for a full Professorship, "Why are you asking me things you have no knowledge about? Better ask me about things you know."
But then, VMK knew everything in Chemistry! Or, so I thought and would love to think so! That crazy guy would teach a single course in Polymer Chemistry from 35 books ("My courses are never advanced; they are always basic chemistry.", he would boast, his voice soaked with obvious arrogance.)! I would sell my soul to Devil over twice to acquire his level of knowledge
It is also in Delhi that I would attend the first lecture of my life by a Nobel Laureate (John Kendrew, 1962).
Delhi would expose me to different shades of friendship: I would witness examples of both "Being dead means not being able to be with your friends" and "Friends are a bunch of bastards" in Delhi.
On the other hand, Delhi would also unveil a market in place of the historical Chandni Chowk, about which I had read for years. There would be no trace of Jahan Ara, or any trace of the shooting of the three sons of Bahadur Shah Zafar by the British. I would also witness a broken and greatly reduced Ridge, where Kings once went for hunting. The only saving grace would be the monkeys on occasional friendly visits to the classrooms across the Ridge at the Delhi University, notwithstanding their once bitting my friend Rajiv in a distant winter morning.
I would, thus, never see the Delhi that books, songs and movies made me imagine! Perhaps Rafi was right when he sung:"Zameen bhi wohi hai, wohi aasman; magar ab woh Dilli ki galiyan kahan?" (The Earth is the same, and so is the Sky; but where are the by-lanes of Delhi now?).
And then I would leave Delhi, only to regret my decision forever! I wish, I never read Mauz! I wish, I never knew about his poem!
I will never forgive Mauz for that one poem!
And when I expressed my disgust with the excesses of Delhi and my strong desire to return, KJ, a veteran of Delhi by then, replied, "Every newcomer says that. And then one day, without your knowledge, you will fall in love with Delhi. That is what is so special about Delhi; you will always begin by hating Delhi, and soon end up loving it. And Delhi will one day break your heart when you will decide to leave it and go back."
It would be three more years before I would read Mauz's "Kaun jaye Mauz Dilli ki galiyan chhod kar" (Who goes away, Mauz, leaving the labyrinths of Delhi behind?), and another 6 months before I would curse Mauz for writing this. By that time, I would leave Delhi and Delhi would soon break my heart for more than one reasons.
However, much before reading Mauz's poem, I would be acquainted with the labyrinths of Chhipi Wara Kalan and Dariba Kalan, thanks to the strategic location of my friend Abhijit's home. Quite a number of times, I would accompany his grandma to Chandni Chowk through the maze-like miniscule alleys and yet would never be able to trace my way back to their home.
Delhi taught me lots of things. Delhi exposed me to National School of Drama (NSD). I learned to appreciate Theatre in Delhi. I had spent previous five years in a hostel situated only about 400 meters away from the place where there used to be drama enacted all the time, and yet I visited it only a couple of times; but now I would frequent NSD. I would, inspite of my total ignorance, would learn to differentiate between good acting and bad acting, and between significant and insignificant roles. NSD would give me the feeling that sitting next to giants such as Habib Tanvir or Bhisham Sahani and enjoying a drama was the most natural and insignificant thing to happen.
Delhi would give me the courage to ask questions. I would even dare to question Habib Tanvir within a few years (when his play, Mudra Rakshasa, would be played at Hyderabad), and in spite of knowing fully well what a straight-shooter he could be! Surprisingly, he won't blast me! His voice still rings in my ears. It would be in Delhi that I would write to someone as prominent as Dr. J. V. Narkilar asking permission to translate his articles, a request he would instantly grant!
Delhi would teach me why stereotyping was wrong! In Delhi, I would meet Amit, Ranjan and Abhijit, who would stand in stark contrart to the Nationally prevelant stereotypes of cunning Bihari, selfish Oriya and self-centered Bengalis respectively.
Delhi would, for the first time, let me buy (at throwaway prices) and read used copies of expensive books from Daryaganj Book Market. It's sad (and also symbolic of our level of stupidity) that those bastards banned the market, as I read a few months ago.
Delhi would teach me what teaching meant, and how dedicated and knowledgeable teachers could/should be! I would learn to take myself lightly, and to laugh at myself. I would almost master the art of self-depracating humor under the tutelege of AKB, my crazy friend and teacher. It's in the corridors of the Delhi University that MMK would explain to us how to respect other's space and thus not to interfere with other's affairs. I would also learn from him how a teacher should never consider that he was doing a favor to his students by teaching them -- he was just discharging his duties for which he was paid -- and how the students had every right to demand better performance from a teacher.
VMK would give me a feel of what real arrogance was! After all, it was him who had asked the interview board chairman, while being interviewed for a full Professorship, "Why are you asking me things you have no knowledge about? Better ask me about things you know."
But then, VMK knew everything in Chemistry! Or, so I thought and would love to think so! That crazy guy would teach a single course in Polymer Chemistry from 35 books ("My courses are never advanced; they are always basic chemistry.", he would boast, his voice soaked with obvious arrogance.)! I would sell my soul to Devil over twice to acquire his level of knowledge
It is also in Delhi that I would attend the first lecture of my life by a Nobel Laureate (John Kendrew, 1962).
Delhi would expose me to different shades of friendship: I would witness examples of both "Being dead means not being able to be with your friends" and "Friends are a bunch of bastards" in Delhi.
On the other hand, Delhi would also unveil a market in place of the historical Chandni Chowk, about which I had read for years. There would be no trace of Jahan Ara, or any trace of the shooting of the three sons of Bahadur Shah Zafar by the British. I would also witness a broken and greatly reduced Ridge, where Kings once went for hunting. The only saving grace would be the monkeys on occasional friendly visits to the classrooms across the Ridge at the Delhi University, notwithstanding their once bitting my friend Rajiv in a distant winter morning.
I would, thus, never see the Delhi that books, songs and movies made me imagine! Perhaps Rafi was right when he sung:"Zameen bhi wohi hai, wohi aasman; magar ab woh Dilli ki galiyan kahan?" (The Earth is the same, and so is the Sky; but where are the by-lanes of Delhi now?).
And then I would leave Delhi, only to regret my decision forever! I wish, I never read Mauz! I wish, I never knew about his poem!
I will never forgive Mauz for that one poem!
__________________________________________________________________
Notes: Ranjan Pradhan, my melancholy philosopher, would show what real love of a friend is. While he would always acknolwedge (and sometimes praise) my intelligence, he would always cut me short when I talked big-mouthedly by saying, "Kahan Raja Bhoj, Kahan Gangu Teli". This most personal of my blogs belongs to him, though he would never know that I wrote this!
Happy Birthday, MMK, incidentally!
Pic source: http://www.guardian.co.tt/photos/details.php?image_id=190
3 Comments:
The best blog you have written so far because it IS personal. I reserve the privilege of hating Delhi though. Bombay is the best..truly Cosmo!
6:52 PM
I spent 6 months in delhi in the first days of my starting a career with a bank - was completely in awe of that place although all I got to see was green park and Connaught circus and all the places in between in the bus journey. Just made a one day trip of the city, the usual parliament street, India Gate routine. A trip to old Delhi is an item on my "places to visit before I die" list. Your description has added to that desire.
An interesting post, as usual.
5:37 AM
What was wrong with the earlier name of the blog?
and why is this called bootleg blog?
If you know the answer and still do not reply, your head will go to a hundred pieces!
5:40 AM
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