Friday 12 August 2011

Dill-Hi

When you know you are a Delhi-ite:

When you see a Que n still shout over the top of your voice n reach the counter;
When you know that the girl knows that u r ogling @ her n don't deter;
When you ask for help as your birthright and never thank;
When you do not pick up calls and never do call back;
When you honk your third car's horn just to clear your throat;
And then you navigate it like a bike, whether on nh-8 or chandni chowk;
When you pay respect to mothers and sisters of others after every third word;
When all of east is chinki, south madrasi and rest an unknown world;
When summers mean AC and  monsoons mean AC as well;
When exaggeration is routine and truth is a sad tale;
When breakfast means paranthes and Sundays mean India gate;
Then Delhi lives in you my friend and dil-hi tera fate!

Guys, I have just touched the tip of the proverbial iceberg, keep adding to the fun- come on there are many more stereotypes of saddi Delhi

Monday 1 August 2011

To GUR-GAON

Calling you a village would be an insult:
No! not to you, but to the villages
That boast of bountifuls of water, space, trees and air!
So, my dear city
Of dust, dungeons and the damned,
Of pervert opulence of matter
And deplorable deprivation of spirit;
Of smiling motors and frowning faces,
Who rides whom, you wonder in a traffic jam.

Of towering money factories of concrete and glass,
And of the roofs of blue, torn sheets
And floor of dust of those who make them.
Of people advising others in other shores
To make/save another billion,
But hagge to save the ten rupees off the rickshaw puller!

Of caffeine powered hyperactive nights,
And drowzy blues of morning;
Of planned accidents and unplanned meetings,
And of shuffling priorities and
Swinging opportunities;
Of crawling pace on roads
And racing aspirations on laptops and smartphones.

Of people trying to hide their emptiness
By wrapping themselves, in a mall
Filled objects they need not at all.
Of blurring lines of GO and STOP,
Of pouring spirits to dry throats
From a glass bit by bit,
Of vain attempts to fill an emptiness of spirit.