Dilli meri jaan!

Delhi. A city, a history, a book, a poem, a beloved! Delhi means to me this and much more. Lived for most part of my life in Delhi, I long to return. To return to the warmth that I have always felt in its embrace. Like a prisoner in exile, every night I sleep off hoping to wake up in my home; every morning I wake up hoping that it was all a dream and I never left Delhi.

When I look back (recently turning 27, i think i can use thsi phrase now), I feel I have grown up with the city. Evolved, matured, come of age...

I remember my childhood spent in Chandni Chowk. Those narrow lanes, the chaat, the golgappe, the tikki! Everytime a guest would come home, I was made to rush to get the stuff, custom made acc to the taste palats of the guest.. sometimes very spicy, sometimes not so spicy. Living in the joint family with all my uncles, aunts & cousins, fighting for space for myself physically and in the lives of elders. I remember being pampered by Amma! Amma, the one who always loved me unconditionally, who cried everytime some elder scolded me, who cooked all the most delicious foods for me. N then the festivals, how the bazaars would lighten up and gloss over all the decaying buildings for Diwali, the Ramlila, or how would the scent of Sewayi would give flavor to the season of Id!

Having a large extended family does indeed bring some advantages, especially in childhood. You get an army of cousins! N since most of them resided in Delhi itself, it was quite a time we used to have. From excursions to Children's Park, Shantivan, India-Gate, CP, Rail Museum to overnight stays with my cousins in Daryaganj, Bengali Market, Tagore Garden, and elsewhere! All the pranks we played, all the stupid childish secret we shared!

I remember the streets of Lutyen's Delhi where my school was. The excuses we would make to leave early from the school and then hang out in CP. Those giant white pillars surrounded with trees! Escaping to Pallika Bazar to have look at the cheapest stuff and make fun of it! Having milk-shake at Caventer's or HCF at Nirula's! How I used to love the free triple sunday at Nirula's after my results. HCF could never taste as delicious ever after! Those trips with parents & neighbours to Children's Park. Those birthday celebrations at Qazi Hauz with family and with FP (fountain pepsi) in school canteen! The innocent days of just 'liberalized' India. When Pizza meant Nirula's and burger was synonimous with Wimpy's! I remember those years vividly. Those were the years I was growing up along with my Delhi. We were almost mirror images of each other, reflecting in each other the urge to break free, but still bound by ties, rediscovering & redefining morality, loving every moment of the new found freedom.

Post this, started perhaps the best phase of my life. I entered DCE, and we shifted to my father's official acco in south Delhi. I started switching between hostel during weekdays and home on weekends. I had the best of both the worlds. I was exploring a new world, opening my eyes to experiences I had never imagined. Learning so many new things, building my capabilities, taking on challenges! And Delhi around me was changing as well. The city was expanding its horizons as well, concrete roads being made, flyovers coming up, Metro entering the lives of Delhiites. Slowly, and steadily we both were become confident of ourselves, sure that whatever the destiny, we would not be left behind. And surreptitiously, a kind of arrogance was also creeping in. I could see it growing in me, and even around. I was almost another individual now.

When the four year vacation ended, came the time of life when I got busy. I was doing so many things. Just entered the job, trying to prove myself afresh. Meeting so many new people, making friends. A city, where I loved, and lost, and found it again. I remember those years, when I would drive around the city in the night. Aimlessly.. with the windows rolled down, letting the chilly airs pass through me. My cranky radio would never be working well, so I had to give it company for the music to have its effect. I felt in control.

Soon after I joined IIFT and then, I lost track. 2 years just zipped past before I could even take a breath. I just kept running from assignments to projects, from presentations to quizes. Trying to take the take the strings in my hands, but I never could do that. And I lost track. And when the MBA was getting to a close, I saw that so much had changed around me. Some of my friends had already gotten married, my niece had grown up as well from a cute baby-doll to a chatterbox. Most of my friends had changed base and almost no one remained in Delhi. It felt incomplete, but it still felt home.

Delhi was Delhi to a large extent because of the numerous people I met here over the years, some who were bound with me with blood, some whom I befriended and made a part of my life. If I start mentioning them, perhaps it might take a lifetime. But I do hope that each one of you would know what flavor did your presence in Delhi added to it. To all my friends from BVB, DCE, Aricent, IIFT and to all my wonderful cousins, Delhi without you is so unimaginable. I have played with you, laughed with you - sometimes at you, shared with you the zenith & the nadir, dreamed with you, essentially lived with you!

So here I wind up my nostalgic trip. It took a lot of time to complete and a lot many sittings, but am still not satisfied. But I don't think words would ever be able to do justice to the emotions that my city evokes. N here I am miles away from it. Missing its sometimes springy, sometimes misty mornings, missing its familiarity. Someday, and someday soon, I'll return home!

Shantaram!

Shantaram! If I were to summarize the book in one word, it would be spectacular or rather unbelievable! There wouldn't be or rather shouldn't be many who like to read and still haven't heard of this masterpiece! It is a scintillating account, part-fact part-fiction of the life of the author Gregory David Roberts and his life in Mumbai, the then Bombay (1980s).

From the moment, the narrator as I would prefer to call him, lands in Bombay to the last page, he brings to life every nook and corner of the city, lifting the curtain that exists between us and the people we see on the street. I couldn't help but notice, how he gives life to the hundreds of people we see on the street, but never bother to think that even they could have a story to tell. He tells the stories of these unknown faces, and with what elan! But this book remains the narrator's story, how he falls in love with everything about the city - the maddening crowd, the taxis, the slums, the mafia, the women. But more importantly how he reclaims himself from his past.

Very few books claim to be thriller and philosophy at the same time, it is one of them. The book takes you to the dark lanes of Bombay, you never knew existed. It talks about everything you already know about Bombay - the mafia, the bollywood, the slums, the muggy weather, the Hajji Ali, the Fort area and above all Leopold's. But then it never stops there. All these come alive and play out their role in the narrative and its a piece of art how they intertwine with each other to give Bombay the flavor it has. Alas, the Thackareys perhaps would never be able to understand what Bombay stands for, not just to the marathi manoos, but to the rest of India as well.

The characters are neatly drawn with most of them having a mysterious streak about them. From the sharp, quick witted Karla to the enigma of mafia don Khader, to the youthful Abdullah, to the sarcastic Didier. The biggest exception is the affable taxi driver and the best friend of the narrator, Prabhaker. It is his simplicity and innocent intelligence that that takes you by the arm and makes you turn page by page. Another of my favorite character was Karla, of course. Most of her lines can easily pass as punchlines and philosophies dipped in sarcasm and brutal honesty. And when she says that being listened to is one the best and dangerous thing in world, I couldn't agree more!

But in the end, the book is about love. Love in all its shapes and forms, for a friend, for a beloved, for a father, for a brother. Unrequited love and the longing, the pain and suffering that it brings. Its about realization of oneself. Its about learning to live on one's conditions and to love unconditionally. If this is what is spirituality, then indeed Shantaram opens the gates to it. The words remain with you long after you have closed the book. Many times in fact you would close the book yourself to grasp what Didier says, what Karla mumbles or what Shantaram realizes throughout the course of the book.

It is indeed one of the best books I have ever read. It creates a different world around you and weaves its magic that bedazzles you and engulfs you. I hope Mira Nair would indeed make the movie with Johny Depp as THE Shantaram Big B as Khader. This story needs to be told. The only grudge I had with this book was its length, it could easily be shorter by about a 100 pages.

The book indeed made me wonder how a foreigner could understand India so well. In fact, at so many times I felt he knew more about us than what we know. He talks about everything good or bad, never being judgemental, or cynical. And when you finally close the book, what remains with you are the author's words and you wonder how true they sound... Sometimes in India, you need to surrender first before you win.