ये लम्हा ...

One of these cold mornings, on a bus smelling of moongfali i was humming to myself

ये लम्हा फिहाल जी लेने दे...

This is a strange time, in the lives of us. College is ending in a few months and one still has no idea of where to head after this space- that accepts people; loves them, tortures them, changes them, confuses them, deepens them-will cease to be. I've never before felt this strong need to be rooted again, to at least know where you belong.

It's only ironical that i would truly discover my love for the old city of Delhi at such a time. I am no historian,infact i am so bad that the only order i can truly claim to remember is that of the two world wars. But what draws me to the book market at Golcha cinema,the lanes of Chandani Chowk,the Grandeur of Jama Masjid, the buzz of Meena Bazaar, is the desire to breathe in as much as i can of the poetry of a place that seems as familiar, as it is obscure.


A moment, fleeting, transient, unconquerable- sun filled winter wind seeping into our greedy awe filled eyes. Koyel(my most favorite journey companion) and I; looked and looked;savored and savored;loved and loved;lusted and lusted. Red Fort gradually passing by as our rickshaw veered towards Chandani Chowk. The earlier part of the day was spent in the old book market. Where Arundhati Roy lies with James Hadley Chase and Manohar Kahaniyaan attracts more see-ers than Agatha Christie;its a great leveler.These are lanes where your favorite books, the hard jackets that you had dreamt of lie mysteriously undiscovered. Finding books in markets like these gives one a great sense of destiny, a book printed many years ago, somewhere far away in London,ends up on your book shelf. Having passed through many readers, multiple owners it finally finds you, the one it was printed for. It knew, perhaps, even then when it was still un-yellow, when it's pages still smelt of fresh ink, when it did'nt yet bear the marks of coffee had by somebody in some apartment in some city in some country-that you were going to come and get it one day. You were waiting for it and it was for you and what could have been a more romantic backdrop for this passionate communion, than this old city.

It is a place where the moth eaten, weathered, broken and rusted is still alive. The carved wooden doors and arches tell you that they might have disappeared from your steel and glass Delhi, but this Dilli still loves them. The kids here still fly kites on their terraces, cards are still played in the narrow alleyways, the bazaars still let you look at a candyfloss man with kids around him, that little more which has nothing to do with owning or buying.

A few paranthas, gajar ka halwa and an entire day of awaragardi later;we're ready to leave. Promising each other that we will meet again, there must surely be a book that's waiting for me to come back and get it, there is so much that i haven't seen-there is still so much history waiting to mock me.