The Capitol has a reputation for throwing surprises, every now and then. Be it the self-professed crusaders against corruption or the local weather, Delhi outwits us all.
For some time now, I’ve been struggling with the city maps, travel guides & hotel brochures. All roads lead to the city where it’s raining in the month of March. All roads lead to the city I haven’t been to in years, to shrug off the burden of the vainglorious lost years.
Contrary to popular belief, it never was my political affiliation that kept me grounded then. It certainly never had anything to do with writing maverick-ish columns in regional dailies calling crooks, as ‘crooks’. For all I knew and I cared, there was this girl next door who just wouldn’t let me be somebody else. From Polkadot crop tops to a thick lining of Kohl to designer shoes to her designer cellphone, she was very much like the city unfolding in the evening. Like the political coteries around the South Block, there was an aura of mystique surrounding her.
The 19th day of March it was. Another financial year was ending, we had aged by a year and the job had gotten even more monotonous than it was the previous year. There were no football matches on a weekday & the only respite I had was cozying up to a sumptuous bowl of Pasta that tasted atrocious for anything Italian.
Late at night, it poured. Though expected, it was unusually serene and breezy outside. I could have opened a bottle of the connoisseur’s delight, the Old Monk. The only thing stopping me was somebody running amok on the terrace. The thud was getting more and more audible with every passing minute. Somebody was indeed jumping around on the terrace at this hour in the rain. Not that it was an incredibly stupid idea, but it was also disturbing.
For the sake of a good night’s sleep, I made a quick sprint upstairs to conduct an inquiry in to this nuisance. The shower had gone torrid & the view was even more translucent than it was from the window. After a brief session of peeking, I noticed a figure emerging in the rains. The way she had her hair go down to her shoulders, and by the unintimidated grace of her feet, I had recognized my neighbour, who had chosen to take no offence on my unregistered surveillance.
By the time the rains receded, I had found a reason to keep slogging the city. For all things right and wrong, the ‘Dilwalon Ki Dilli’ is an apt name for the city. In the matters of the heart too, the Capitol has the reputation of throwing surprises.
This is a guest post by Vibhuti Bhusan Routray. V.B. is a PR Advisor, a FC Bayern München Fan, a Columnist, the Convener of the Communications Cell (Odisha Pradesh Congress Committee) and the Founder of Charlie 4 – an initiative for budding EDM artists, among other things. You can find him on Twitter here, and on Tumblr, here.