August 2nd, 2008
Saadi Dilli
Delhi. For the longest time, I couldn’t wait to get away. Now, I am away and can’t wait for the airplane to touch down in dear old, dreadful Delhi.
People argue passionately that Delhi is characterized by contradictions of wealth. But to me, the supreme contradiction lies in the seasons that inevitably become the subject of frustrated conversations.
Summer for the sweaty millions is torturous anywhere in India but Delhi has the most sweltering summer of all.
Hordes of people scramble for every patch of sinewy shade. The parched lips of child beggars open in an eternal cry for ‘paisa’. The rich cool themselves in their air-conditioned cars and air-conditioned homes and air-conditioned restaurants. Groups of lanky teenagers in unbuttoned shirts whistle at girls passing by; the girls gaze downwards, pulling their prickly synthetic dupattas closer to their bare necks. Couples crouch behind bushes in the overgrown gardens of Humayun’s tomb (a UNESCO World Heritage Center), touching urgently, knowing the only spies here are the pitiable eunuchs begging for money. At night, the newly weds throng to India Gate to cool themselves with neon ice-lollies and gaze at the shimmering lights of Rashtrapati Bhavan (the President’s mansion).
Recently, someone said