Delhi Delights

Shocked & Surprised 

I landed in Delhi with the usual anticipation and reservations that a Bombayite or Mumbaikar has—for good reasons!—last week. Few hours after I landed, the Uber taxi rape news trickled in. Had to happen, I thought. Let’s be more careful, I told myself. However, what followed in the days after that has been rather unthinkable. At least five-six longi-ish auto rides in four days, mostly in south and central Delhi, and one metro ride from Ghaziabad to South Delhi, were all extremely pleasant. Yes, really. No argument about going by the meter, no round and round chakkars of golchakkars (traffic islands), no aggression and no abuses hurled at anyone and no hesitation in returning the change (even Rs 2). Except for a minor tiff with the prepaid taxi guy who drove me in a rickety kaali-peeli taxi over me not knowing the exact location of my Delhi office—though even he did not demand extra money—and one episode of taking about 10 minutes to get an auto at 8 pm.

I may be going on and on about this, but it needs to be said, coming as I do from Mumbai, which once prided itself on having the best public transport in the country, and where more and more people are falling off the trains because of over-crowding and the auto and taxi drivers simply refuse to go from one place to another and where passengers are now beginning to return the favour by occasionally beating them up. May be because one expects good service from Mumbai and bad service from Delhi, but over and above the pre-conceived notions, there is no denying that things have improved in the capital and the centre and the state are either ignoring or doing little for its financial capital’s creaking infrastructure.

Infrastructure is one thing, safety is another. The consensus, on the eve of anniversary of Delhi gang rape remains that Mumbai still is one of the few cities where women “can loiter” and yet reach home safely. Many of us, women friends and colleagues, who have lived in or travelled in Mumbai, exchanged notes about how we have reached home in the wee hours after work or fun (yes, short skirts and tipsy heads) many a time in Mumbai. A liberty, which the radio cabs offered to Delhi women (albeit those who can afford), which now seems to have been taken away by this disturbing incident. Access to public spaces at any time and presence of general public (meaning rich and poor, men and women alike) on the roads, which seems to be the USP of Mumbai, remains crucial to feeling of safety. 

And as we approach the Christmas and New Year eve with greater fears of drunken driving than molestation, a drunk driver has killed two cops in Delhi. Just the kind of sombre reminder we needed before the festive party season kicks off.

Thanda Thanda Cool Cool

Since I rant so much about Mumbai’s humidity and temperatures (which are getting worse by the year I think), let me not break the tradition and now rant about the cold! Frankly, it is the best time to be in the capital with temperatures lingering around 13, 14 degrees during the day and dipping further at night. My woollens, tucked and left to die a slow death in Mumbai, were pulled out and put to good use. Then came those late evening auto rides with horrible wind and chill and how I missed the heat and sweat. It gets dark far too quickly and EOD is marked as early as 6 pm. Unthinkable for someone from Mumbai, for at 6 pm, if at all we are done with work, we land up at some coffee or beer place and wait for the rush hour crowd and traffic to subside a bit before we head home packed into the sardine-to-cattle compartments. But what I love seeing in Delhi winters is all the middle-aged Dilliwalla potbellied uncles, playing cards or snoozing during lunch time on small green patches (which seem to be everywhere in and around central Delhi) and enjoying the winter sun,  no, sardi ki dhoop, as it should be called. What happens to work, I do not know.

Food and Street Food

There is food, and then there is Delhi food. Fortunately for me and unfortunately for my waistline, my office is in the same complex as Bengal Sweet Corner and Rajinder Da Dhaba—so with unending supply of garamagaram Gajar and Moong ka Halwa, Kababs and Rumali Rotis, Samosa Chaat, Mathri and Gajak, work was never a problem. And after work, things only got better. In a span of one week, with no real night outs, this is what I managed—thanks to my dilwale friends in Delhi—Raam ladoo (a kind of dal pakoda served with green chutney and grated mooli), momos and beer at Delhi Haat, homemade barbeque chicken and sweet potatoes, Dahiwale Kabab, Nihari, Galauti Kabab with Khameri roti at a place called Tipu Sultan, Lodhi Garden restaurant, the Ethiopian Cultural Centre (must visit for its coffee). Phew. Not to forget, a burger at Nirula's (it's meant to be desilicious! but I felt rather sad for the once-super-hip chain) and authentic rasam vada and dosa at Mathew’s Café near JNU. I missed Evergreen’s Chole Bhatura and a trip to Old Delhi though. Strange as it may sound, I also had an elaborate meal at the Saravana Bhavan (for old times’ sake and subconscious south Indian leanings) along with strong hot filter kaapi. The latest restaurant to open on Janpath, I was told, is Bombay ka Shiv Sagar, right next to Saravana Bhavan. Aiyyo. I know not what to say.

Moving in Circles

What makes a Delhi stay comfortable is also what makes me slightly wary of it. One tends to move in circles, cliques and meets friends and family at a certain time and place for certain duration. Despite having lovely monuments and open spaces, one doesn’t seem to frequent them as we would throng Gateway, Marine Drive or Band Stand. I know very few original Dilliwallas and those who have moved from elsewhere seem to be living in separate orbits. Is it a class or community thing, I do not know. The circles overlap sometimes, at an artie-fartie event or a house party may be, but they seem like parallel tracks to me—never really assimilating or becoming one. Let alone mingling with, say, the Mehrauli crowd.

A Bagful of Memories

As I got into an unbearably crowded airport, where apparently all the flights were full and so people were waiting on staircases and passages, it seemed like a weird sign from above to start getting used to jostling and shoving and pushing and getting ready for my horribly crowded, slightly crazy and yet the best city on this planet. As I left with ?a ?bagful of happy memories (and yummy goodies to distribute), it occurred to me that may be, just maybe, we can start being friends, Delhi and Mumbai? Ring out the old rivalry? May be?