Springtime

The fortnight I spent in Delhi was deliciously languorous. I read a great deal, watched some movies, recorded podcasts with Pupu for future use, did the sort of household chores that soothe the nerves even while tiring out the muscles and working up a good appetite, followed by deep sleep. The new neighbourhood is becoming familiar, especially the marketplace, which I enjoy visiting. The young vegetable vendor says 'bahut din baad aye uncle', while the old Sikh spice vendor greets me with a warm toothless smile, and the meat seller knows that I have come to buy offal for the dog. 

The season was just right for lazing at all hours on the balcony. There was a visit to Diggins near Gargi College for risotto, and to Ghalib's at Nizamuddin for kebabs where we are sure to be cordially recognized now, followed by a dekko of Humayun's tomb and the vast verdurous expanse of Sundar Nursery next door. Another evening was spent dining at Moti Mahal in Daryaganj: run by Hindus, yet boasting of the 'best' traditional meat dishes in Delhi, and flaunting photos of every kind of celebrity who has visited, from John F. Kennedy (I think that's a fib: it was his wife who visited actually) to Amitabh Bachchan. I persuaded my daughter to accompany me on walks almost every evening. 

Talking of books, my big discovery this time (thanks to Pupu, again) was the Bartimaeus trilogy by Jonathan Stroud. Even those who have read the Foundation series and the Dune series and LOTR and Eragon series and Harry Potter are guaranteed to enjoy it hugely. A fantasy in which an immortal shape-shifting demon with a gift for sharp repartee is the central character! As I keep saying, there is nothing, nothing more wonderful than the human imagination, and may it flourish evermore, leaving AI for the unintelligent masses...

On the drive to the airport the day I was returning, I was charmed to see one roadside aflame with palash flowers. God bless those who care so much for trees and flowers in the megalopolis, and may the other metros learn from Delhi.

Now I am back in Durgapur, enjoying (or cursing) the lonely life once more, because my mother has not yet returned from her own holiday trip. The nastiest thing of all, for me, is groggily making your own tea first thing in the morning. It rained a bit yesterday evening after five successive entirely dry months, and I am hoping there will be a repeat performance soon. Gearing up for the next admission session. It seems the last one ended only yesterday!