As the year enters into its autumn, it may not be the best time to be a romantic in Delhi but it is certainly poetic. The afternoons might still be unrelentingly humid and constantly challenging, the mornings and evenings though kiss you ever so gently, almost like a little baby touching the rugged cheeks of his father as he picks him up after a hard day at work. Every morning before the sun rays play with the ripples of the Yamuna waters, it is all so quiet, all so calm. Not a sign of the notorious pollution, no noise of ill-tempered motorists. Just you and Nature.
The birds chirp so softly, from a branch here, from a twig there. The temperature is for ever plunging – the winter is waiting in the wings – the leaves have the faintest drops of dew, the grass is green and moist. All around are leaves, some yellow and brittle, others fallen and withered. They may not make for the best aroma but they certainly make for a lovely picture as you walk down the wide roads of New Delhi lined with ageless tress on either side. The trees provide a canopy even as autumn leaves bring up a yellow and brown carpet at your feet. Ashoka and neem, ronjh and acacia, pilkhan and peelu…the trees are easily identifiable.
And their wilted leaves, lying adjacent to black carpets of Lutyens’ city’s roads make many a weather beaten man smile.
Of course, in some parts of the cities, people have been trying to have evergreen trees, almost like bringing a polar bear to Delhi. The evergreen trees, strong and sturdy have not the joy of the trees that shed their leaves twice a year.
They are adaptable, they are more than just survivors. Around this time of the year, the old leaves cover the floor, new ones kiss the stem of the plants and trees. This is the moment that arouses the poet in men, and happily they pick up their camera to step out and capture the beauty of the city now going through a rebirth.
Some day, when you leave your bed with the birds, step out, and discover how the sun rays slant across the thinning leaves of the trees, how the little nest you had never noticed in the tree behind your balcony is very much perched atop the intersection of a couple of branches.
Some day, step out of your home and see the peacocks flitting about in the green belt adjacent to the Fleet Street, some evening see the deer soak in the mild sun of the evening before a day dies and darkness descends upon us all. Ah, the melancholy of autumn!
