Delhi - The End

There is no start or end to this post. In fact these days I have stopped bothering about that. Call it the summer effect or re-realisation but now I’m immune to most of the things. I don’t care if I’m not an ace writer, a good employee, a good friend or whatever. Perhaps this is the only best part of being ‘unsuccessful’.
Anyhow, last night, which was Saturday, I went to a happening discotheque of the city. Thanks to my journalist friend, everything was on the house. I did not want to go home last night and this offer of free drinks was a better option if not an irresistible one. But yes, once I sipped on the ice-cold vodka I was back in my zone, away from the partying crowd and suddenly I realised that perhaps this was the best time to say farewell to Delhi………….


‘Capitol’ can be a worth visiting place for some. I’m sure it depends on your company and your mood. And perhaps that stands true for all discotheques in the world. Anyhow, this place was as urban as Madison Square. Everybody was trying to live the moment.
The place was crowded with Greek gods and goddesses. Skimpy skirts showing well waxed long legs and men wearing t-shirts that displayed their well toned muscles. Lots of Aunties, who had put enough mascara to hide their now prominent wrinkles and also their husbands as well, blissfully unaware that their husbands are busy ogling at the younger ladies than worrying about their wives. I laughed at this irony and gulped another of my screwdrivers.

This drink was the one that made me start thinking about Delhi. The DJ started playing some peppy numbers and the crowd was on its feet. I was wondering if Delhi would have been around, what would be her reaction. While I was pondering over this, a couple next to me started dancing sensuously. I looked at them and smiled; they frowned and went back to their normal steps.
I went to the bar and asked for another drink. Nearby an auntie was prompting her husband to hit the floor. She must be around 40 and I’m sure her husband would have lost the zest a year or two ago. But the auntie was adamant and she turned into Shakira. I lit a cigarette and started watching her. Another glass down and then the vision hazed.

I started looking for Delhi. I don’t know how she dances or if she likes partying. But I’m sure she is good with her moves. I wish I can dance along with her, slow, rhythmic and sensuous. Alas, the moment I realised that this will always be a dream, my vision got cleared. By now the auntie was also tired and now demanding her husband to let her smoke. Smoke! I laughed at her and extinguished mine.
There were guys who were trying their best to impress girls and perhaps hook on with aunties at least. Now since I’m under no such illusion I preferred watching. Fake conversations, phoney smiles, unnecessary hugs were served as fast as drinks. I preferred sticking to Vodka. Repeat the order, please.

Another sip and Delhi resurfaced in my thoughts. The song was about the eyes of a girl and nobody can beat my Delhi on that. Sorry. Not my Delhi. Delhi only Delhi. I tried to place Delhi with all good looking men whom she may have chosen. There were many and I know Delhi may go with someone someday. I gulped this one in rage. Jealousy. Why? I’m sure may Delhi go with someone and be she happy with him but nobody can love her more than me and when I reasoned this the anger faded away.

Another good number and I decided to shake my leg. After all I was here for partying. A girl tapped my shoulder. I was taken aback. But her hands indicated what she wanted. A matchbox. I lit the cigarette for her. We got into a short conversation. Her ‘thanks’ came with a small peck on cheeks. Not Bad I thought. Let’s go and ask every lady if she wants me to light her cigarette. But the waiter had other plans. He saw my glass empty and brought another one. I feared to lose the count and decided this is the last one.
In the corner a couple were fighting with their tongues. The girl was a bit hesitant I guess but the boy was all for it. I did not smile this time. I was afraid of being bashed. I just sipped on my drink.

I don’t understand why alcohol and Delhi comes together. I guess I’ve to leave both. Here one sip down the throat and Delhi is standing before me smiling. This time I stared back at her. She too didn’t say anything. We kept looking at each other for sometime and then it dawned. I was always looking for Delhi in history, monuments, dreams and so on….but Delhi she is life and life does not reside in these places, life moves on and so did Delhi.
I saw her taking the stairs. She didn’t even turn back. I know she will not. I know she is not wrong. I know this is the truth. But I also know if she would have been with me I wouldn’t have been in Capitol, I would have been in a garden asking her to read me a book while tasting some wine…….

So as I said there is no start or end to it. Delhi deserved a practical farewell and Capitol was the best place to do so and not the ramparts of Red Fort. But I’ll go to Red Fort to find my Delhi and I’ve no regrets in being ‘unsuccessful’ to do so….