Fleeing has been a long-standing part of Delhi tradition. Throughout its thousand-year history, the residents of Delhi have been massacred regularly, by Babur, Nadir Shah, and the British, to name a few. Not to mention Muhammad Bin Tughlaq. There has been a lot of fleeing, although most of them failed to run fast enough. As, a result, the few remaining original residents are clustered in a small corner of Old Delhi. They don’t come out much, and who can blame them?
The Delhi of the modern era provides many new reasons to flee. During my first week in Delhi, after twenty years in Kolkata, I went to a wedding. I found myself in front of the dessert counter, waiting for fresh kulfis to come. I was flanked on either side by two sweet little old ladies. As soon as the waiter arrived, with a tray full of kulfis , the little old ladies jabbed their elbows into me from either side, one in the liver, one in the solar plexus. While I was doubled over, they piled their plates high with kulfi and yelled out ‘Chunnu! Munnu! Come! Come!” As I clutched the counter for support, trying to catch my breath, the thought occurred to me, which I did not act upon, that I should flee this city as quickly as possible. Even now, when I think about it, I feel the city was trying to send me a message. I was mugged by grannies within a week of arrival, for kulfis . My sense of foreboding only grew. Soon, I found new reasons to flee. For example, I spent the first six months wondering, why is everyone so angry with me? Did I do something wrong? Eventually I realised that people here just liked shouting, and didn’t always mean you any physical harm. Although sometimes they did. Therein lay the dilemma. I solved this problem by deciding to shout right back. I also point out that I know senior police officers, and reach for my mobile phone meaningfully. I introduce myself as ‘Chaudhry’, very clipped, with a tilt of the chin, as a result of which most people from Haryana salute me. In this way, I have adjusted. But if you don’t want to shout, you may choose differently.
Another reason for fleeing Delhi is VIPs. We have them like fleas. You may try to avoid them, but they crawl all over you. They hold up traffic. They jump your queue. They occupy the first twenty-three rows of every cultural event. They are constantly inaugurating pavilions at Pragati Maidan, once they’ve been emptied. They occupy one-third of the police force, to form a protective ring while they go shopping in Khan Market. There are more VIPs per square foot in Delhi than any other place on earth, and their number is increasing. They’re running out of Black Cats, with some unfortunate victims having to settle for other colours. It’s a lesson in what happens when you let things like this get out of hand. If you live in Delhi, it’s probably time to flee. On the other hand, you may be lucky enough to be living in a place with just a few VIPs. Don’t let them grow. If you see them getting too uppity, pull them down. It’s the only way to go.
In Shovon Chowdhury’s most recent novel, Murder With Bengali Characteristics , Agarwal has access to VIPs, but they are not always helpful
