The Journey To The Centre Of Delhi

The metro ride back home from Connaught Place reminded Rehana of the tubes in London which dragged themselves and were not even as spacious the Delhi metro Rail. Rehana’s trip to London was one of the most memorable trips. She enjoyed every moment of it except for the fact that one pound was equal to 100 rupees in layman’s language and 84 rupees in her calculative mind. Before picking up anything she would multiply the amount with eight, and then while admiring it she would assess its worth in relation to the money that would be deducted from her pocket. London made her realize India was still a poor country, a lot had to be done. “Gosh!! Our economy is pretty low as compared to OTHER countries. Bloody Britishers!! They stole India’s wealth and look at the currency exchange rate. No wonder India is not called 'the golden bird’ anymore. This is where the gold is perhaps…. On the gates of Buckingham palace?? Melted and used to make the queen’s crown? Maybe on the streets, No, no…Saint Paul’s Cathedral or perhaps some of it must have dropped in river Thames while being brought here in ships.” said Rehana to herself.

This also reminded her why Pakistan was also a poor country. With streets just like India, each and every nook and corner looked like India. The Anarkali Bazaar in Lahore seemed like a combination of Karol Bagh and Chandni Chowk. Even the distance to Pakistan was of mere fifteen-twenty minutes from Atari station, despite the fact that the train was barely moving. It moved at a speed of 5 kilometers per hour approximately, which was 1/6th of the speed of a rickshaw in Delhi. Looking out of the window Rehana wondered when the border would come. She kept on gazing out with full attention to find the border. But to her surprise only a piece of barbed wire separated the two countries. Like Thamma in Amitav Ghosh’s Shadow Lines Rehana was trying to find a border which would separate the green Pakistan form the yellow India as she had seen in the atlas. The people, the streets were the same. But yes, one thing was different – all the boards were in Urdu which she couldn’t understand. The best thing about Lahore was that she could buy many things. In fact much, much, much more than London as well as India. She bought secondhand books(“mind it… all penguin editions at a very cheap price” she would tell all her friends in Delhi), juttis, cloth material, ancient kalam or bamboo sticks cut in the shape of a pen still used by people to write after dipping in ink. However, the autos made her feel claustrophobic. "Delhi autos are much better and open too!" she consoled herself.

Metro was perhaps the best means to go home but rehana felt like taking an auto back home from Connaught Place. “University is perhaps the worst place to live in” she mumbled to herself, almost abusing the auto-wallah who just refused. No auto wallah would agree to go there. She felt like lying down on the road in front of Regal cinema to stop an auto, rather convince them to go. After half an hour of wait she took the subway where her mobile got stolen some months back. The white babies on the floor stared out of the posters giving her mischievous smiles. She felt like painting their faces to a wheatish complexion and reducing their baby fat so that they looked like the Indian children she would encounter as soon as she got out of the subway. Then they wouldn’t even dare to give a smile. And lo and behold! There comes one running around her begging for money. Rehana dismissed him and moved further towards the metro station.

The journey back home was an exhaustive one. There were no borders to find, nor were there any clouds she saw from the plane to London. All she could see was dozens of faces peeping inside her book trying to get the whole story with one glance in the middle of the novel. Rehana marveled at their dexterousness and brought her mind back to the centre of Delhi@ Connaught Place.