bunking classes in school, trying too hard to seem too cool.
those lazy humid summer days, nodding off on the bus ride home, with Delhi feeling like a greenhouse dome.
shedding our school bags, racing to round up the friends, the 40° heat never even an afterthought, batting and bowling in our small park, till bad-light caused us to gather in the dark.
my buddy and i, singing Beatles’ songs loud enough for the two girls we had crushes on, “Can’t buy me Love” belted out till we were hoarse, surviving the glaring looks of the disapproving grannies of course.
those were the days, of cycling to the cinema, to watch “Sholay” for the umpteenth time, sitting in the 2-rupee seats right in front, rattling off the dialogue line by line.
racing back home to catch a few songs on “Chitrahaar”, sitting up close to our ancient black and white telly, the picture quality akin to snow, not that it mattered, this was after all our most coveted tv show.
getting our ears clipped at times for coming home late, the joyful sounds of laughter from our friends who were en-route home to a similar fate.
lighting clay diyas as Diwali approached, stuffing our faces with malaai burfi from “Bengal Sweet House”, downing sweet lassis as autumn upon summer encroached.
“borrowing” friends’ dad’s scooters, the wind in our hair, inhaling the pollution without any care, off to Connaught Place for an ice-cream at Nirulas, and to stock up on our filmi music cassettes from the ever smiling Sikh man at Palika Bazaar, till we emerged above ground, each of us smelling like an incense shop from afar.
stopping off in Defence Colony, to savour some gol-gappas and ganne-ka-ras, the only word never uttered those days was “bas”.
gliding down the streets of our colony, as if we were kings, with the brash swagger that being a teenager brings.
enjoying the Diwali nights, friends exchanging sweetmeats, as Delhi resounded with firecrackers and rocket streaked skies, having our fill of never-ending chais.
winter came along with its polluted fog blanketing the freezing early morn, our pleas of “only 5 minutes more” falling on deaf ears as from our warm beds we were torn.
when spring hopped along, we waited for Holi, to sing countless a filmi-song, with our pichkaaris, and water-filled balloons, aiming at all, giggling like buffoons.
if nostalgia is a seductive liar, as I somewhere once read, then allow me to be seduced, again and again, after all these years and all these miles that have been tread.
to be taken back to the Delhi of yesteryear, ignites a fierce passion, and I crave a coconut dipped syrupy meethha paan,
for after all these years inbetween here and there,
it’ll always be “meri Dilli, meri jaan”
____________
Glossary:
“Sholay” – A popular Bollywood film of the 1970s.
“Chitrahaar” – A musical television show.
“Diyas” – small earthen lamps lit during Diwali.
“Diwali” – the festival of light.
“Malaai Burfi” – A popular sweetmeat.
“Lassi” – A popular yoghurty drink.
“Connaught Place” – the centre of New Delhi.
“Palika Bazaar” – An underground shopping complex in Connaught Place.
“Nirulas” – A popular fast food restaurant.
“Gol-gappas” – A popular fast food
“Ganne-ka-ras” – Sugarcane juice.
“Defence Colony” – A suburb of New Delhi.
“Bas” – A Hindi word meaning ‘enough’.
“Chai” – Tea
“Holi” – the festival of colours, heralding the arrival of spring.
“Pichkaari” – A toy like device to spray water. Commonly used on Holi.
“Meetha Paan” – sweet Betel leaf filled with syrup and other fragrant spices.
“Meri Dilli, Meri Jaan” – literally meaning ‘my Delhi, my life”
“Dilli” – Delhi
Scribbled Verse 