Growing Up With Delhi

Even though I am a true blue Bong, I hardly had any relatives in Kolkata, till I got married. My Dad is from Lucknow, Maa from Kanpur and I was born and brought up in Delhi.

For someone who has spent a little over four decades in the city, I have seen Delhi metamorphose from a laid-back Punjabi by nature city to a bustling, chaotic Punjabi at heart metropolis. Oh, what a transformation it has been- whether for better or for worse, is matter for another long debate.

As a child, recreation would mean boating in boat club, followed by ice cream at India Gate and watching performances at the city’s many cultural spots. And we watched movies in large, single screen cinema halls. Chanakya was meant for English movie buffs. I remember the time, when my parents had gone to watch The Exorcist at Priya. Their ride back home, well past midnight, on that lonely stretch in Vasant Vihar, was way more scary than the movie. And now Vasant Vihar is a constant cacophony of blaring horns and frayed tempers.

Karol Bagh was THE place to shop and South Delhi had yet to acquire its glamorous avatar. I had my first taste of butter chicken, Delhi’s national bird at a restaurant in Daryaganj. I hated it – found it too sour for my taste. Delhi was all about Mughlai and Punjabi Khana and if you wanted to try something exotic, it was the posh 5 star hotels you headed to. Does anyone remember Akbar hotel, one of Delhi’s earliest five star establishments? it shut shop long time ago. All I can recollect is the colourful chains of bangles that would hang from its ceiling. I would watch in fascination at the light dancing off those colourful pieces with my head craned up, my fingers dug deep inside the sofa. Eating was not a priority then.



The capital was uncluttered, traffic jams were unheard of and the ridge was a scary, badly lit, eerie stretch which we avoided at night. Buddha Jayanti park had yet to acquire its current seedy avatar. It was where families went for picnics and perhaps later in the evening, a haunt for lovers desperate to coochie coo. Haryana was where we went for day trips during the winter break. I remember busloads of us heading to Surajkund / Sultanpur Bird Sanctuary/Sohna/Badkhal Lake. The halwai would prepare an elaborate lunch for us, while we kids would get busy trying to lose our Frisbee and getting our knees scraped.

A few might think that I am no longer qualified to write about Delhi. After all I have been living in Gurgaon for over six years now. But hey! am still part of the NCR. Yes, Delhi is no longer just Old and New Delhi, but now spreads over the satellite towns of Noida, Gurgaon Faridabad, Ghaziabad and other surrounding areas. And I have been witness to the slow but bumpy transformation of this caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly, courtesy the multi-crore CWG makeover. Innumerable flyovers crisscross the city, one can often hear the metro’s rumble overhead, the roads are wider and yet all we need is an hour of heavy downpour, to bring this aspiring world class city down on its knees. People whizz around in their Lexus, only to stop at signals and see that child in rags, covered with grime, folding his hands, his eyes pleading.
We shop in swanky malls in our Calvin Klein’s, check out the latest accessories at the DKNY store, yet uninterrupted supply of electricity and water remains a dream for us. We have learnt to survive on jugaad- we buy mammoth generators to counter load shedding, install heavy duty water pumps to tide over Jal Boards’ ineptitude and bribe our way through sarakari apathy. We Delhites always manage to find a way out of misery.

If you ask me for a single word that defines Delhi, I won’t be able to come up with it. It is a city of startling contrasts - it is loud, boisterous, snooty, brash, rude and it’s kitne ka liya culture gets on my nerves. But it is enterprising with a never die spirit, large hearted, vibrant and majestic. I love it when it glams up during the festive season and comes to life in winters. Strolling on Janpath sipping cold coffee at Deepauls, the air resonating with loud cries of hawkers selling export rejects, driving through Lutyens Delhi-a mute reminder of Delhi’s it’s past, discovering nuggets from history in an unassuming corner of the city and pointing out 100 year old havelis to my daughter, as we meander through the bye lanes of Chandni Chowk.....this is Delhi for me.