A few days ago I shifted to my new room in north Delhi.
Besides my giant almirah, I had a fridge, four bags full of clothes and over 12 boxes, both big and small with all my stuff. This excludes my shoe boxes and other two bags with my kitchen stuff.
Since I have been away from my family for so long (over four years now) I have a lot of stuff. And I wanted everything. I couldn’t leave behind anything.
While at work, I was going through the pictures of the floods in Bihar. People are affected everywhere and a region as big as Delhi has been engulfed by the raging waters of the Kosi river. I can’t imagine living in an inundated Delhi, besides the fact that we won’t be able to live then.
I saw a picture in which a family was walking towards a dry and safer place. Father, mother and their three children. That is all. In another picture a little girl had a broken suitcase on her head and two pairs of worn out chappals. She was standing in waist-deep water and she looked barely over 12.
In some pictures people were fighting over relief food, while in some they had lined up to take clothes, dry clothes sent from all over.
I never understood the logic behind sending clothes to victims of natural calamities. As a younger person, I used to wonder why someone would wear worn out clothes people send.
Calamities are the time when people can dump their unwanted clothes, serving double purpose. On no other occasion can one be proud and at the same time relieved of helping and getting rid of clothes which you couldn’t sell to the kabadi wala guy.
“They are left with nothing in this world, they will accept even torn clothes now,” is the most common answer when pointed out that the clothes they are sending is not worth wearing anymore.
This is besides the fact that there are many more who genuinely come forward to help and do everything in their capability to help.
Coming back to the pictures from Bihar. The family had nothing but themselves to save. Before the floods they might have had a small house, family belongings and most important – cattle and their agricultural land. All they could save from the raging water was themselves.
The girl had a broken suitcase which can barely hold anything. And worn out chappals? What would she do with them? And is she left with any family member? The picture didn’t show any.
I can’t imagine restarting my life from scratch at age 35. So many people in the floods lost everything they had. And I am not even talking about the lives lost.
A baby was born two days after the flood water started rising and the family had to evacuate in a hurry. The grandparents, old and frail, were left behind. Under normal circumstances, the family would be celebrating the birth. The grandparents dancing with joy, while the pandit busy performing puja to name the new born.
Now no one has time. In the relief camp, the family is trying to find a dry place amid the pouring sky. A baby without a name. I wish to give her a name but even in the comfort of my house, I can’t think of any name for her. I wish to give her a happy name but won’t it be ironical. Happiness born out of the womb of misery!
I scan my room and it is full of things that I have. Do I need all of it? Do I really use all the things that I have? What if Delhi were to be hit with an equally devastating flood?
What all would I pick up? What would I leave behind?

Thoughts on Mother's day

I was watching one of the singing reality shows today- oh how they bore me. But I do not have a choice because my sister comes home every Sunday from her hostel and all she does is watch the singing shows. I can go on and on about her obsession but let’s stop here.
They are amazing singers no doubt and today was a special day. It was, rather it still is as I write, Mother’s Day. I called up my mother and wished her and so did my youngest sister in Dharamshala (my younger sister, middle one, doesn’t have time from her singing show).
Coming to the point. As expected it was a special episode dedicated to mothers. Each and every contestant had his or her mother coming on stage and the usual rona-dhona happened. Then this singer called Debojit came. He sang beautifully, though I can’t remember what he sang. Some Kishore da number.
What got me hooked to the show today was the message he had for the people. He said he used to enjoy being pampered by his mother- she would put oil in his hair and give me a head massages, he would sleep in her lap and other things. But he said, “today when I am in a position to do something for my mother, I don’t have maa with me”. His mother is no more. I felt his pain and was so grateful (don’t know to who…I am an agnostic and we have these occupational hazards more often than not) that my mum was still with me, cracking jokes, smiling, scolding me but with me.
It was very touching that he had got some old women from an old age home to be a part of the show. As he sang, all of them cried.
Debojit had a simple message – do not leave your parents in old age homes. “They are like gods and how can you leave them in such a condition,” he said and buried his head in the lap of one of the crying old women. It was truly very moving and for once I forgot that I was watching a stupid show. I called up my mother and she said, “ I have already shed my tears last night.” Turns out we were watching a repeat telecast!
My point – They nearly go mad with joy when you are born. They celebrate your birth like there is no tomorrow, they shed tears when you get hurt, they rejoice in your success. But when you grow up why do you forget each and everything that they have done for you. Why do you make them go mad once again by dumping them in old age homes?

Your endless talks, will it be the same?

Ten years down the lane, will you call my name?

Lhapso Ri, that is what we call this mountaintop back home in Shimla. Whereever Tibetans stay, they hoist prayer flags and offer prayers at a high point in their area. In my hometown in the hills, this is the highest place and thus, a perfect place for a Lapso Ri.
Every year, whenever it is an auspicious day, one can see colourful prayer flags and thick smoke from incense twirling towards the sky from there. Blue, white, red, green and yellow prayer flags were a source of peace for someone like me who usually finds peace in strange things.
I would spend hours there, thinking and talking to myself. At times I would take my books, which I hardly read, and walk up the steep hill. The moment you reach the top you feel a sense of relief, feel like you have scaled the Everest.
Now I rarely get to go home, except on holidays which is like once or twice a year, and ven during my rare trips I prefer spending time at home. Suprisingly, now I spend my hours reading books. My house provides me with a magnificent view of the valley (i dont know whether it has a name) and my books, ample space for me to get lost.
I miss the Lhapso Ri and I miss my friends. Every one has grown up and now we don't have time for each other. Someone is even married and has a daughter. I hope he takes his daughter there and tell her stories about our gang and our antics.
At times I wonder if anyone even goes there now. No doubt the place looks amazing with new prayer wheels and colourful pillars supporting them, but I wonder whether the place still has its charm left. I went there this February during with my family. We hoisted our prayer flags, said a prayer and played in the snow. I wonder whether the old tree remembers me, remembers the silent tears I shed under its shadow.

“First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.”
By Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

I don't think I can say I am from Delhi but as long as I can remember I have always loved Delhi. It was a place I longed to visit during my winter holidays. MY sister was obsessed with the idea of going to Delhi, so much so a few days before we were to leave for Delhi, she would start saying, "The house smells like Delhi. Oh I love it sister, I am so happy." Though I never experienced such extreme feeling but yes I would also eagerly await our yearly visits to Delhi. Our parents used to leave for their winter business in Delhi in October or beginning of November. We would then stay with our grandparents for our schools would close only in December.
I loved everything about Delhi - from its dusty roads to its traffic, the street food, Appu Ghar (I am really sad it is going to be closed soon), the zoo. I loved being in Delhi; I loved being a part of this mad place. Since our parents would be busy, our help (we fondly called him Pradeep bhaiya) would take my sister and me to Jama Masjid area. Somehow at that time I was never apprehensive to going there, probably because I was just a kid. If I were to go there today, I think twice. Not that there is anything wrong with the place but just that I feel out of place whenever I visit Old Delhi. But when I was small, it was my area and the people mine. The fruit chats and the biryani in the mosque premises - oh how I miss those days. One more incident I clearly remember (my friends say it is gross but I don't think so), I was once in the Jama Masjid area when I saw chickens being slaughtered. And it strikes me now that it was a jhatka shop if I am not mistaken. Strange.
And now I am in Delhi, living Delhi, breathing Delhi, day in and day out after a long gap of close to seven years. The innocence of childhood is lost now but that doesn't stop me from loving this place. There are many things about the city that I absolutely hate but it has given me many more reasons to love it too.
I hate the Blueline buses whenever I am forced to take them but I love the fact that the Metro has made life so easy (I am just waiting for it to start functioning in my part of the city). I love going to Central Park in Connaught Place and reading a book there, feeling completely at home. I love it when I go visit a PVR with my friends, I love shopping in Delhi, I love living in Delhi. I love the buzz this city has, the feeling that life never stops here. Though it may not be as cosmopolitan as Mumbai, but Delhi has its own attitude.
And the best thing I like about Delhi is that it gave me the love of my life – loads and loads of books ;)

Being in my line of profession, I get to read a lot stories about development taking place in the country, especially in the national capital. Recently I was editing some stories about various expressways coming up on various national highways in many parts of Delhi, Haryana and Uttar Pradesh. most of the copies glorified and gave in explicit details how much development and how many new things the areas can expect with the development of the expressways. As I sat editing those copies, I could't help but wonder what sort of development would it bring. The expressways will make life better for thousands of commuters plying on those roads everyday. GOing from one place to the other, which takes them hours right now, won't even be a half and hour to 45 minute ride then. But I am a conventional person and I like my trees and old cottages. I was horrified just to imagine all the buildings that are going to come up on both sides of the highway, towering above the human beings like giants. I would feel reaaly intimidated I am sure. Even now when I go to all the glitzy malls that I visit in Delhi, I feel so small. They just seem to overpower me and everything that I am. Now I am all for development btu I feel the loss of what we had and what we have right now will surely pinch me, if not others. When people zoom past in their cars, I think of those long walks that I used to take with my friends back in College. Thank god my hometown in the hills is still untouched by the development but for how long. I pray the day is later than sooner. I like the flowers and the garden, the wild grass and the pebbles. It kills me sometimes to think that the place where I stay in Delhi doesnt even have any pebbles lying around except for those that are made of cement. Nothing natural has survived. I long to go home.