- Notes on fist day in the city after a travel of ten days
I was back in the city after ten days of travel, seven of them on a bike across the sands and colour of Rajasthan. I stepped out to meet a friend, not very far off from my place. The interaction with the city starts with small things - the pace of people on the road, the manner and tone of people, the traffic congestion, the patience level of people and the ease of getting affordable public transport.
The city in question is New Delhi and I do this routine very often. The city and I whizz past each other many times during the day, the city leaving more impressions on me than I on it. This is how I believe, people belong to a place – by daily interactions, by watching, by talking, by listening, by reacting, by meeting people and by dipping in the dyes of the cities’ colour.
That is why, when asked this usual question, ‘where are you from?’, I am tempted to quote (Paulo Coelho I think) ‘I am from many places’ as reply. I have lived and more importantly belonged to many cities. The language I speak, the food I like, the clothes that I wear, the pace with which I move, the way I deal with people is not a product of one city or ‘culture’, rather it is a mixture of many. Of course, the recency and primacy (maximum time spent) effect are always there, not to mention the effect called 'parents'.
I do not get into this long line of thought for answer, often I respond, ‘I am from Delhi’. I do reflect some hues of the city now – aggression in manner and talk, creating and grabbing an opportunity where there was none, hubris, loudness in tone, decreasing civic sense, dwindling concern for others and restlessness.
Restlessness has not been entirely a product of Delhi, and has been with me since I was a child, but it found its fullest expression in this city. Delhi is not only the political capital of India but also a huge melting pot of different cultures and events of the country and the world. There are many things to see, so many things to do, hundreds to meet and million things to learn. This is unlike Bombay, where you see people but do not observe them, where you talk to people occasionally but do not know anything about them, where there are many meetings but no interactions, where everyone is trying to save that one-hundredth of a second and either rushing to or from home to make money. Money is the life-line or blood of Bombay, but Delhi itself is Delhi’s lifeline.
Restlessness is like fire, the more oil you put into it, the more it spreads. I have realized it that the more things you do, the more things you see and the more people you meet to get rid of restlessness, the more it grips you. Its like a habit, the more struggle, the deeper you get into the quicksand. Repetition only makes the bondage more certain. Fire can not be put out by more fire or by a different kind of a fire. What is commonly understood as patience, and what Robert M. Pirsig calls ‘gumption’ in ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’, is probably the antidote of restlessness.
After travelling for six-seven hours a day, on the average for six days, at an average speed of 60-70 kmph, one’s gumption improves, more so if you are not driving. I will talk about that last part – ‘the gumption of the pillion rider’ in a later post. But for now, a distinction has to be made between the inner and outer pace. There is an effect no doubt, on the body and mind, after a long journey, which results in urges to continue the motion, but one gains an inner patience. If you are riding for six-seven hours out of your own will, without doing what most people would do in a situation like that, such as listen to music, talk over phone, read a book, chat with people around, look at different people/things etc, you got to have something within you, to keep you sane. That ‘something’ is gumption or patience.
So, it would be fair to say that I had a shot of that gumption or patience which I do not know will last for how long. The effects were obvious in the interactions that followed with the city. Four auto-wallahs refused to take me and after a walk of half a mile, the fifth one wanted a higher price, but I waited till the sixth agreed. I could not notice anything till now, then, the auto-driver took a longer route with more expected traffic than the one I usually take. But, I was silent and not worried. Words refused to come out of my mouth and my heart was not restless. Out of the auto, I took the sub-way which I usually do not, considering that a waste of few seconds, I risk my life and sanity by crossing one of the busiest roads in front of AIIMS. Inside the sub-way, people were there usual hustly-bustly selves, brushing past you to get somewhere, but I did not seem to mind. Inside the hospital, I saw people waiting outside the elevator and took the stairs, one step at a time. I usually find that pace boring, so I either run or take two at a time. I could sense that shot of gumption at work then.
That gumption was again evident while chatting with my friend Sakina as well, who was there for operation of her child. She also lost her elder brother that morning. I was calm, my reactions muted but not without empathy. I had no long speech or ejaculations to give but a simple tightening of lips and nod to convey my feelings.
On my way back, this gumption helped me to absorb all the information without much disturbance. At the metro, I was not in my usual rush to get into the first metro I see enter the station. I chose to walk the distance from metro station to my home, taking a longer but more silent route. The walk was very relaxing, one step at a time. I was conscious of all my breaths and steps and their rhythm.
I was in no hurry to get back home.
Note: This is not the last post of Jajabara Trip III; this is about the last day. More posts on Jajabara Trip III - Royal Rajasthan on Royal Enfield would follow soon.
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