Tuesday 26 July 2016

ONCE UPON A TIME AT THE HEART OF THE CAPITAL.

I will always remember this one day in my life. It isn't the only day permanently residing in the luxurious private suites of my memory. But it is one of those perfect few. It hasn't to do with a war or a revolution, or a medal or a journey. It is composed only of those simple little moments that sprinkle themselves over the unlikeliest portions of our world; their purpose solely to turn our eyes into a smile and to leave a legacy behind.

But while I let this memory feast itself at the back of my head and bade it not to bother me, San, the man who wove it with me, put it down in his diary. 

I tried and tried till I begged and cried and still, against its will, the beast of a memory would not leave its feast of luxury. 

And so, with his permission, I attach this diary entry of San's here, for you dear Reader. 

Enjoy: 

THE RED VELVET AFTERNOON


Here we were, sitting side by side, right under the peak afternoon sun, together plucking the grass that lay below, as the dogs barked continuously...

It was our first meeting in this new land, a meeting we had decided ages back. Someday, eventually, definitely, and here, the moment was now.

My name is San. I call her Tiya. Tiya means "parrot". But for me, she's just a rabbit waiting to emerge from her burrow. I realised her resemblance to a rabbit later in the day -- the first time in all these years, while she came towards me from inside the metro station. 

A new city, a new place, lots of new people who looked the same, new surroundings; one thing remained the same though -- Tiya. It was just another moment waiting to be explored. The place was Central Park -- not the one in the United States, but somewhere a little bit closer to home, in Delhi, India. 

Then there came the red velvet cake. Something she made me try for the first time in my life. Needless to say, she was trying it for the first time as well. And she told me that there was no better place to do so than at Connaught Place, at the heart of Delhi.

"Aren't you getting bored? We're doing nothing over here, just sitting and waiting for the beggars to come disturb us..." she asked at one point. I could sense something in her question, in the way she threw it. She knew a moment like that was happening for the first time in her life, and she was, very diplomatically, trying to find out whether I felt the same. 

"Trust me, I am." I replied, almost with a sly wink.

Sitting there, plucking grass, looking at the giant flag of my country, I was feeling anything but new. The moment had taken me straight back to school and made me realise that no matter how old we became, we still kept plucking grass -- a sign that usually signified shyness and inquisitiveness being felt at the same time. It had taken me years to analyse that! 

No, seriously, it seemed to be quite a boring moment with a winter sun hovering right above us. Then again, I've seen a lot of boring things in life and have been a part of them. This time at least I wasn't alone. I had someone with me. And she was right beside me. And at that moment, history was being written.

There was lunch, there was a conversation that we've never since had in any of these years, there was a walk, there were stories none of us spoke, and there were two cute puppies running around as well, speaking the language of love. Somewhere, not very far, we stood, watching as things happened.

"Just another day?", you ask me. Not really. That was my first day in Delhi. It took a year, a journey, a simple metro ride, and someone for things to begin to fall into place. Tiya made it happen.

I was already thinking of our next outing together, when she called me for another walk along the inner circle of Connaught Place.

Me: "Why not... the red velvet's just happening."
Tiya: "Errr... What?"
Me: "Never mind, it isn't a very short walk right?"..... 



And here endeth the picture of a very emotional historical moment. Two people found parts of themselves under the nation's flag. And yet, the flag had nothing to do with it. 


P.S.: I still owe San seventy five rupees from our second outing a few weeks later: The Doughnut Afternoon.


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