Van Chitgo - The Art of Life

They used to be exciting evenings those. With a nip in the air remarkably missing this particular year, S and I would adorn the very best of the chiller wardrobe and strut with a confidence that only divinities are proclaimed to possess. It was a swagger, an ownership of a tiny spot of the world, somewhere off the mark of real religious sentiment and yet stunningly refreshing in the festivities of the surrounding. Sneaking behind the ‘pandal’, the high of knocking the desi whiskey paled in comparison to the pure illegality of the situation . The biryani and kabab rolls proved ample support, only to be followed by the great after-smoke. In various locations, repeatedly - these actions, the jokes, the jibes; sometimes sharp, yet always known to be tender by the recipient. The big park next to united, with its winding lanes and well structured greenery was only frequented in the later hours, where serenity becomes a requirement and the touch of the cool grass on my skin was welcomed by the small of my back and feet in alternating positions.

I promised to return to her, my country, my city – in due course. This year, the pandal was bigger, whiter, grander, the goddess durga more imposing, her perfectly oval eyes, the eyes of the maheshasuramardhini boring intently into her devotees’ – some utterly struck by her power; and others, like me, exhibiting the awe that comes with a certain lack of knowledge and understanding. The generations grow older, those that ran around my feet trying to grab my attention, now strut as I did once, still struggling to make eye contact, yet in a manner more confident and devil-may-care, associated with that age.

I think of the families and the decked up mothers with their children running helter skelter. I smile in acknowledgement of the power of community and grudgingly- religion, even in times of utter chaos in the world around us. For this last weekend, where ashtmi met my memories of the visarjan, I was one with my home. I was one. Almost momentously the morning of Monday was spent (4 hours that too) battling it out in the grounds of samachar apartments playing the sport belonging to the gods and the beggars, the masses and their monarchs. The banter, the admiration of a shot well played and a ball well bowled still fuelling some revitalizing energy in many old bones of ‘uncles’ that were once ‘bhaiyyas’(affectionate term for elder brother in hindi); now much too old to be called the latter. Wives, families, responsibilities crept away for that brief period as heated arguments scented with the sweetness of victory were all that was desired. And so it was delivered.

October is here. Delhi begins to dawn it’s more chilly avatar. I smile with glee of times up ahead, albeit semi-nervously, but always confident, of decisions I made and paths I have chosen.

Posted by chitgo on Tuesday, October 03, 2006 at 10/03/2006 09:18:00 AM | Permalink