Dilli dalying

“Welcome to Dilli”, her eyes said,
Mischievously, as if she knew what awaited
Between the large footpath equipped roads
And the magical small world heritage lanes

As I flew in, the ostentatious cliche held true,
There was more perfume than cabin pressure,
As if a flying steel tube transported a wedding party,
To a city that had no weddings, none.

She was to be my guide, an archer or sorts;
Who would wander wonderfully vaguely,
In a manner fitting the city’s arteries,
Making me see, even if the streets were hazy…

We began with ruins, in a the middle of bustling suburbs
Cars struggled to find parking, yet endless parrots fluttered
And while temporary young couples posed in its dark corners
History prevailed bright about its two domes, entwined.

This was then a theme, of time-bending juxtapositions.
One on hand laid a city of modernity, a functioning metro even
And on the other, a city of much older times, old forts!
Where kings lay buried and their tombs remained raised.

Between the ruins, she had me walking and ambling
Once our feet complained, we lumbered on man powered machines,
It wasn’t as if this city had missed the industrial revolution,
But rather as if the revolution had missed the city.

If it weren’t the ruins, that she would have me get lost in,
It was the magical Chandni Chawk, an intersection of moonlight.
The lanes were narrow, overflowing with people and their wares
As visitors tip toed through, buying clothes, cards and delicious fares.

With lunch taken care off, in a fashion that fitted the Mughals,
We walked in search of more culture, to find a poet’s home,
An artist that remained in squalor during the Delhi’s difficult years,
In a haveli that catered to his passion, his art and his tragic arrears.

It was clear to me, that day and next,
I was in old country, perhaps older than most
History seeped at every corner, modernity in the end,
And littering of deliciousness lay haphazardly in between.

Even under the looming Qutub Minar,
Amongst the endless pigeons,
This orange cat wasn’t done,
She had Lewis Caroled me under.

It was city that was always significant,
A jewel that had attracted the western Mughal dynasties,
As kings came and conquered, they also surrendered
And ceased to exist, except in glorious tomb like structures!

A town of good looking Indian people,
Albeit sometimes sadly with malignant glares
Nosier than most, they stared, they dared
The only regret, I had about this great city on which I tread.

Most others had raved about the glitzy malls that incensed traffic
The larger than life Indian bling in their long winded dresses,
A city that housed government diplomats of all nations, and their BMW’s
A capital no doubt, of a young nation, with very old shoulders!

But I stayed true to its other side, one of art and magical stories,
As if she had shown me a movie set, with props now being real.
There was color here, there was monotone, and there were real characters here
It was a city of magical set like proportions, and modern distortions.

Who would have known, that this city I had revisited,
Was capable of so much love, this Dilli of hers,
But she only needed a cupid, a cat with an orange hat,
To shoot the arrow, on a spring evening, albeit in a metro that!

For Upasna, for being Dilli’s billi superbly.