As I was boarding the flight to
Delhi, I was grumpy to say the least. Slipping and ending up with a fracture had
definitely not been part of my plan. Long term bed rest and a sudden flight to
Delhi may eventually sound good, but when it’s suddenly thrown at you…well, it
throws you off course. And it took me by complete surprise.
But as I stood in that extremely
long line of confused people hoping to board the Kingfisher flight (confused,
because the boarding gate had been changed thrice, hoping because, well, it was
KFA, you really never know), I randomly glanced around at my soon to be fellow
passengers on the two hour long and rather painful flight to Delhi. I saw a sardarji, and I smiled. I didn’t even realize
I was smiling. But I was. And then when it hit me, I was plain embarrassed. It
was only later that I realized that I genuinely felt happy seeing that Sikh
gentleman. I just hadn’t seen that many in Mumbai, amidst all the Gujaratis,
Marathis and Marwaris, and I guess a part of me just missed the sight. A girl
of medium height, straightened streaked hair, and fair skin pushed past me to
step up to the counter and demand to know how long they’ll take. And she looked
irritated. And her blackberry had a sparkling pink cover. There were varying degrees of young well built guys looking at the time in their expensive watches. Then there was the customary
Jat club cricket team, twelve men and their coach only too happy to stare at
all the girls and the air hostesses and pass dirty looks.
I was definitely on a flight to Delhi.
My co-passenger was a light eyed
well built Punjabi boy, top three shirt buttons undone showing off his shaved
chest, rugged two day unshaved look, and flinching biceps. The second
co-passenger turned out to be the before mentioned fair skinned girl. Dilli ki
ladki, Chandigarh ka ladka. As it later turned out, they were both on their way
to Dehradun to shoot for their new soap opera, and I got to over hear two hours
worth of acting tips shared between them. But somehow I was smiling. And the
Chandigarh ka ladka was chivalrous enough to help me with my bags and stuff,
given that I was the weirdo sitting on a bright yellow cushion.
Stepping out of the airport onto
Delhi roads always makes me feel good. Maybe it’s just the sight of a nice big
road after so long. Maybe it’s returning to the city I’ve spent twenty years of
my life in. Maybe it’s all the food I can imagine myself smelling. Maybe it’s the
lack of the fish smell in the air. Maybe it’s just the fact that when you’re
here for a short period of time, you just have a good time, and love it.
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| Photo courtesy: www.happilyunmarried.com |
Over the past three weeks, I’ve
slept a lot, chilled a lot, watched TV a lot, felt my nose go numb because of
the cold, eaten enough to put the Mumbai me to shame, spent time with my
family, and remembered the twenty years I’ve spent here. I’ve met some of my
closest friends, and laughed about the funny lives we have led, and how different things are today.
I never can get myself to say
whether I like Delhi or Mumbai. I really do like both, or hate both, even if for completely
different reasons. Delhi's loved me my entire life. Mumbai's given me love.
And then, at times, both have taken clearly taken extreme sadistic pleasure in kicking my ass.
