YEH DILLI HAI, MERE YAAR!

 Delhi has been delegated the honor of being known as 'Mini India', and there could not have been a better term to bring out the very essence of the city. Delhi, having no religious background of its own set in stone, is an impeccable blend of all the beliefs, all the languages, the practices and the religions adorning the entire country.This is probably the only city where you would see a three story house being inhabited by a Gujarati family, a Punjabi family and a Bengali family. However, such co-existence shouldn't be intermingled  with the perception that Delhi isn't high on communal prejudices.There are so many unfounded stereotypes which are etched in the minds of us Delhi-ites, ranging from "stringent baniya" , "miser sindhi", "ruthless muslim" to "crass and boisterous Punjabi".However, in spite of all these differences,we know how to function as a society.That is the beauty of the city-the amalgamation of different cultures, testifying the resounding 'unity in diversity' hypothesis that we are all so proud of.

Delhi is not only it's people, but also it's heritage-both tangible and intangible. The splendor of it's architectural wonders has the potential of casting a reeling effect on anyone and everyone.No words can do justice to the Grandeur of  Rashtrapati Bhavan,the magnificence of  The India Gate on a dark night, the serenity of the Lotus Temple, the rustic charm of Qutub Minar, the resplendence of Lodhi Gardens and the sheer posisitivity oozing out of Gurudwara Bangla Sahib. It's beyond comprehension how two places in the same city can be in sheer stark contrast- take the busy streets of Chandani Chowk and the posh lanes of Jor Bagh to be an illustration. The best part of being a Delhi-ite is that you get to explore a different part of yourself while exploring the various nooks and corners of the city. You get to don the hat of a fashionista while shopping in Select Citywalk Mall, a shrewd and sensible lady while bargaining on the streets of Janpath, an aesthetically enlightened woman while rummaging through the shacks of Delhi Haat and an empowered female of the 21st century while jostling to catch hold for the books that you have always desired for,while raiding the book market on Nayi Sadak.

One simply cannot overlook the Delhi Metro while talking about the city. Delhi Metro is so much more than a mere means of commuting, it is an inexhaustible source of pristine entertainment. The kind of conversations that make their way to your ears can sometimes leave you scarred for life. Every topic under the sun, ranging from home made remedies to cure zits and pimples to financial troubles ailing the family are discussed here. No politician is spared, no actor is pardoned and certainly no aspect of the human life is neglected when the delhi-ites get into the conversation mode. There are times when I'm forced to believe that all political, economic and social problems of our country will find their end if the generous advices and unconventional courses of actions proposed by the delhi-ites in the Metro coaches are sought to be followed.

Even though I'm yet to taste the excitement and exhilaration of leading the DU college life, the enthusiasm of the young blood flowing through the veins of the city is contagious. You'll always be able to spot the members of this species without any trouble. Just look for the group with the loudest peals of laughter or the group of girls with their face covered  with scarfs which appear to be that way less  for the purpose of braving the sun and more for raiding a bank. Or just look for a lone youngster tapping away furiously on his smart phone with the music blaring loud through his earphones. Watch him not give a damn about this world.


However no city is all virtues and no vices. The ogling loafers on the roads passing lecherous stares  takes this city a notch lower than where it could have been. The omnipotent and omnipresent traffic jams can put one off so bad. Not to mention the condition of the roads after a healthy bout of shower, taking away the fun from the mystic weather that the monsoon brings with it.

whatever you say or do,you just cannot grow accustomed to this place,for the city is ever evolving. It changes as you do,It's charisma and aesthetic appeal leaving an indelible mark on your very soul.

REFLECTIONS

 "You know, had I been granted with a few more grace minutes, I would have scored a perfect 100 in Business Studies."

" Had the accountancy questions been correct and not faulty as they were, I bloody hell would have scored a 3-digit! Damn my luck!"

Such dialogues were chanted like life granting mantras all across different households on the much dreaded class XII result day, or as many of us have now re-christened it- The Dooms Day.

 I scored a decent 96%. I'm thankful for it, my heart is brimming with unparalleled gratitude towards my Almighty for bestowing me with more than what i could ever deserve.

However my thankfulness can in no way be intermingled with the perception that I'm even remotely happy albeit the time when I actually checked my result. That is a funny story as well. I, being the complete panicky finicky idiot that I am condemned to be, checked the theory score instead of checking the clubbed result (i.e. theory plus practical sum total). Seeing the 87s and the 75s flashing on the screen, i could actually feel my heart disintegrate, the impact caused by the sight being no less than a physical blow. From the corner of my eyes, I could see my mother jumping up and down in ecstasy which forced me to wonder if the shock of her daughter scoring such disgraceful marks had led to a nervous break down terminating in the hysterical outburst that I was witnessing. However, that was not the case, thankfully so. My brother, being the mathematical prodigy that he is, quickly calculated my percentage and I was washed over with relief when I heard the grand 96% being uttered. Saying that my family was jubilant would be an understatement. 

However, as the initial excitement began wearing off, I was consumed by my own demons. Seeing that around 9,000 students scored an aggregate of a whooping 95%, I became rather dubious about meeting the admissions criteria of the coveted Delhi University colleges. Having dreamt of being in one of DU's top ranked colleges all through my childhood, a part of me just shattered. My first dream, my first aspiration, all down the drain. 

I wonder why we strive to fit into the society's moulds of excellence. Why can't we just revel in the after glory of a decent enough score for which we worked hard all through the year instead of stressing and fretting over cut offs? Why do we keep on vouching for more and more? Perhaps because class XII is made such a huge deal of. All other thirteen years of schooling pale in comparison when this menace of an academic year is just as much as mentioned. Class XII personally for so tumultuous for me that even if I get the chance to live it all over again, erasing the history and starting over with a clean slate, I honestly wouldn't. Not even a 99.9% would ever be good enough to compensate for the mental anguish that a child suffers in the process.

On The Highway To Hell

On the highway to hell

The incentive to write this particular piece came from a source which often is not awarded the credit it deserves. While skimming through the enlightening pages of The Hindu today, I stumbled across an article which intrigued me quite a bit, purely because it betrayed more than an element of truth. The writer had very convincingly presented the pros and cons of the two most famous modes of commuting in Delhi – the Delhi metro and the DTC bus. Inevitably, as a part of an almost revered Sunday tradition, I and my father plunged into this heated debate as to which of the two is worse. Yes, you read that right- worse, and not better. Not quite the idols of optimism here, you see. And owing to the fact that I have spent a fair chunk of many a beautiful days – bright and sunny, windy and spectacular, dark and gloomy, stuck in the dark and dingy (well, not really) closed chambers of the Delhi metro, I dare say that I have the necessary experience to present the real deal. After some serious deliberation, I present to you the five reasons which make the Delhi metro a strong contender for the title of “at the bottom of pyramids”

Reason 1 – Let There Be Air

If for some weird deranged reason you haven’t travelled via the Delhi metro, which I consider to be the eighth wonder of the world for all wrong reasons, I’ll attempt to transport you there virtually. Imagine this-People squishing against each other in an almost desperate attempt to testify the population crunch that our country’s facing, compartments brimming with more people than they are capable of holding, looking like some agitated volcano which is on the brink of eruption, rotten stench of human perspiration, the ear splitting cries of a toddler bawling in his mother’s arms , strands of fallen hair follicles estranged from their host bodies, and again ( I simply cannot emphasise enough on this), the mind numbing odour that human body is capable of producing. The stench is a common variable to both the Delhi metro and the D.T.C bus. However, the plus side of DTC bus is that these repulsive odours find their way out to the outer world via the open windows and are not in any way playing any favouritism. They will first attack you and then move on to the rest of world, much like the PR department of President Obama .On the contrary, in Delhi metro the stench acts like the politicians of our country- having an ugly aura and once gaining the grip, staying around to suck the living soul out of you. In my humble opinion, the cologne companies should make a product range specially designed for the Delhi metro users. Not only will it boost their profits, but will also fulfil their yearly quota of philanthropic work. I am sure it will be the greatest possible step to bring down the deaths caused due to the putrid smell of people inhabiting the pressurized compartments of Delhi metro.

Reason 2 – don’t hit the freaking brake

 Hollywood fans will understand this next reference a little better. Us metro-ites condition is something like Mr Mark Ruffalo a.k.a. the hulk in avengers, when he says “Really? They want me submerged in a pressurized metal container?”.

When you step in a metro coach and the mighty gates of the compartment close, the feeling you get is something akin to a turkey, stuffed in an oven for thanksgiving dinner. You better sprinkle salt all over yourself and prepare for an inevitable doom.

And each time the metro driver hits the brakes, you find yourself participating in an uncontrolled nuclear fission chain reaction. The moment he strikes the brakes, the person behind you shifts his entire weight on you and you, like an obedient part of a stack of dominos, fall on the person in front of you and this never-ending chain continues.

 However, in DTC buses, if the driver awards you with a jerky ride, you can fly through the windshield- out of the bus and land on the road , Rajnikath style. Simply dust the dirt off  your clothes and board the next bus. Simple as that.

But if we talk about the Delhi metro, it’s almost as though you are struck in a boxing ring, braving a fight against Mohamad Ali. Just sit there in prayer and wish for the atrocities to end. The bell rings, signifying it’s time for round 2 - time for you to change the metro and move to the next 20 minutes of your daily rationed misery.

Reason 3-Oh Lord, Please Open the gates!

 Delhi metro-ites garner the necessary experience required to offer consultant services to people who bet on Derby races, giving them useful insight on how to identify the behaviour patterns of horses on the commencement of the race .When the automated gates of Delhi metro open, the sight is pretty much similar to that of a professional horse derby .The only difference between the two scenarios, in all probabilities, is that horses have less animalistic tendencies, and are calmer and more considerate as compared to a typical Delhi metro-ite. What baffles me the most is that commuters ranging from prepubescent boys to middle aged uncles to old grannies find it completely alright to push and tug at each other and guiltlessly obliterate everything and anything disrupting their path.

Reason 4- Just Don’t Get Me Started On The Ladies

The XX chromosomed counterparts of this ‘male dominated’ society are pretty vehement in their opposition towards acts of vulgarity, and I am a firm supporter of the cause. But let’s get this clear first. Not every man in the whole wide world lets his baser urges control his actions.

 Genuine non- perverted men, however rare that breed may sound, still exist.  Ladies must understand that in the human lasagne structure of life experienced in metros, men have little options to direct their gaze. They can’t be expected to stare at the roof of the metro, imitating Amir Khan from Lagaan , praying fervently for the rain god to bestow his grace. Neither can they be expected to stare at the ground like little school boys- punished for not completing their homework though many of us might have good practice as well as the muscle memory of the latter one. It’s completely normal for them to look right in front of them  and if some ladies are a part of their peripheral vision, the guy mustn’t be scorned upon for that . And to men who accidently board the ladies coach-“I will always remember you in my prayer”

Reason 5 – the super Mario brother fans

These are people whose name should be enlisted for the bravery award from the president on Republic Day. They are the true fans of the Mario, who risk it all to save the Japanese princess. They similarly risk their entire life to stop the descend of the automatic doors of metro and are willing to shove any body part of theirs - be it their head, leg or hand  to stop the door from closing, and save themselves a few minutes.

Beach-Side Paradise

Sun kissed petals blooming along

splattered with hues of green, ocher and fawn

potted bonsais and ornated plants

bees humming a trance casting chant

such will be the backyard of my dream home

far far from city's monotonous drone

no sprawling mansions do i lust

just a cosy nook by the sea's bust

where i'd be wakened by the symphony of lapping waves

where i could celebrate my culminating days

just a place to call my own

sans pyramids of hierarchy, ladders and cones

day in and day out spent with loved ones

smiles and laughter adorning the ambiance in tonnes

I see myself at sixty six

wrinkled more with experience than age, with teeth needing to be fixed

gray hair glistening on my crown

retired, all smiles, no frowns

thrilled to be in the beachside home- a childhood dream

aging gracefully, a buoyant river phasing into a calm stream

the seaside air keeping my spirits soaring high

rediscovering n recreating myself by and by

leading a simple pretense free life

donning the hat of a mother like my own and a perfect wife

growing old with that special someone

loving him with every fiber of my being and never being done

taking daily nocturnal sea side walks

with the wind flirting with our gray locks

celebrating this roller coaster with valleys and peaks

"I have lived" my last words should speak

this 18th birthday is special for i present myself a dream

to dare to be all that i can become, as hard as it may seem

conquer heights, scale the greatest peaks

but in the end, only happiness should i seek

live a thriving successful career oriented life

be the best in what i do, learn continuously and strive

enjoy the phase and earn ample to afford my beachside paradise

and live a life deemed to be first fire, then ice

OH WHY DID I SAY THAT?

When rage grips your very soul,

Too much to handle,your anger takes a toll.

When your anger reaches it's Paramount,

To think ill of others,in your heart unwonted joy is found.

Pray 'oh pray for a hasty retreat,

From the clutches of anger,back to the sanity street.

For you,my dear child,have been victimized,

To enter the labyrinth of temper,having no solution yet devised.

Words of malice will be spat,

When temper seizes the spoilt brat.

Thoughtless,effortless,venom spiked words.

Callously Hurled about,which cannot be taken backwards.

Words which once said,

Pave way for unending remorse and regret,

Words darting about like arrows,piercing hearts,

Creating ridges between people,tearing them apart.

Words uttered in the spur of the moment,

Materializing their tendency to offend.

The only conclusion after liberation from anger one reaches at-

Is ''oh why did i say that?!''

Why?

Why do people change the way they do?
And turn your world upside down,out of the blue

Why can't the world stay static?
And me in my familiar grounds,comfortable and ecstatic

Why doesn't the world operate on our whims and fancies?
And even when the transition from good to bad you can see

You really are helpless,tied down,shackled
Unable to contribute anything for the problem to be tackled

Why cant i just stay,unperturbed in my blissful abode?
Why do i keep on vying for Happiness i Can't afford?

Its easy to say "be the change you want to see"
But why change at all when you are comfortable and happy?

Why do moments which brought undisputed love to your life once
Leave ghosts of memories,bestowing pain in abundance

For all's changed,nothing is the same
For there's nothing or no one left to blame

And when you realize you cant change the world
You change yourself-for a new chapter to unfurl