नमस्ते I’ve been here in Delhi for two months or so and I’ve finally got the whiff of a sniff of a whisper on the wind of how I feel about one part of this complex wonderful terrible mesmerising city. And that tentative conclusion is this, bare-boned and embarrassingly banal:
The things I love most about Delhi are often the things I hate most, too (sometimes one following the other in quick succession – or perhaps simultaneously).
Let me explain.
I’ve just been to buy a lock for my front door in a tiny locksmiths in nearby Bhogal market. It’s raining and this part of the world looks pretty ugly today. The tiny shop is filled with dozens of people, some of whom you speculate might be there daily, just hanging around or its close brother ‘helping’, offering loud advice on every transaction.
I wanted a special type of lock but this wasn’t clearly understood partly because I couldn’t remember the precise name. So, in the middle of the shop, with a dozen-strong audience watching every stroke of the pen, I started to draw the lock I needed on a tiny scrap of paper, in all its isometric projection imprecision.
Deadlock! said the man behind the counter.
Yes! I said, remembering.
Off scuttled a young helper.
He was right – I had forgotten the name. My bad. A deadlock. When he slid it out its scruffy box I was delighted to find it so completely similar to how I remembered it. A couple of people picked it up and rotated it in their hands, curious of how it might have elicited such glee. Overjoyed I asked:
Can you fit it?
Nahin, he said.
Oh.
He picked up his phone and made a call. Sunil will fit it. He’ll be there tomorrow.
In short, this palaver is representative of the kinds of transaction you’ll find commonplace when performing menial chores in Delhi, perhaps in all of India. Some are more arduous, some less so, but let’s take this as fairly typical.
A whimsical, comically-absurd performance
And here’s the rub. On some days, like for me today, this felt an amazing adventure, a reminder that I was in a place with which I am unfamiliar, a challenge to the memory and the mind, a moment where the senses were bombarded with new sensations, the mind stretched and made more supple. It felt wonderful as I looked out onto the rain-filled street, a moment that I shall not forget, even for all its commonplace-ness, in fact, because of that.
But on other days, it will feel excruciatingly frustrating, evidence that nothing ever works here like it should, a nail in coffin of the hopes and dreams that Delhi will ever feel like home.
Each event is a crossroads that you can take to joy or pain. The busy shop will feel either vibrant and pulsating with energy; or noisy and claustrophobic. Needing to draw a picture of a lock will feel like a whimsical, comically-absurd performance; or a horribly demeaning, unnecessary and frustrating part of the process of not being understood. Having your expectations thwarted regarding the cost, time and duration of a job will add a colourful sense of drama to your day or invite you to pull your hair out in despair.
It’s the same series of events but it’s how you feel about them that changes: in Delhi, the things one loves the most are also the things ones hate the most, too.
*Update: waited in all day for the locksmith to fit it. When called, he said he was a few hours late because it was raining. Later, he said he was ill and couldn’t come over as planned. This bit I hate. नमस्ते
Keep Calm and Curry On 