Monday, January 7, 2013

North and South



No, I'm not going to write about Elizabeth Gaskell's compelling industrial novel. Rather, drawing from its title, I'm going to dwell upon the great climactic divide that exists between the north and the south of my country, between a city I love and another which despite my frantic attempts of disownment, clings to me as my second home. 

Delhi reels under an all-time low of 1.9 degree Celsius, they say. Off late, it has been reeling under many other lows, a desperate coming together of anger and anguish threatening its very existence. Once again, India's proud capital has been slammed as the most dangerous city for women. Despite the scathing shame, the city trudges along as the ever-bewitching fortress of culture and glamour, and for me, it has always been like the forbidden, fatal lure of an old lover. 
It was only last month when I was there, feeling the beginning of the quite popular Dilli ki sardi (Delhi's winter). On a balmy December afternoon, we had wondered amid the enchanting ruins of the Qutub Minar, smitten by its stunning architecture and the cacophony of the restless parrots adorning it. Then on our way back to the hotel, we had devoured steamy momos near a bustling metro station of south Delhi. The husband, being a huge fan of these mouthwatering Himalayan dumplings, has to have them whenever in the city. Later in the evening, I had met a dear old friend over cups of Darjeeling, seasoned with university nostalgia, Rumi and the literary perks of being professional editors. He disclosed his nascent fascination for monkhood, whilst I shared my long-cherished desire to live and teach in a small Himalayan town. It was beautiful - the interweaving of reality and illusion, that dreamy reunion of what was and what could be.

Down south, things in Hyderabad are starkly different. There's no winter. Other than that elusive nip in the early mornings, temperature barely dips below 17 degree Celsius. There are booming sales on winter-wear in the shopping malls and there are forced dahlias and roses, those quintessential winter blooms in India, adorning the balconies. But there's no winter. When we go out for post-dinner coffee gatherings on weekends, I carry a flimsy shrug with me anticipating moments of 'what if', but they just never come. Each time I open the wardrobe, I stare and sigh at the neatly arranged Kashmiri stoles hanging patiently in there. There's no winter. There never was much.


9 comments:

  1. Just imagining the texture and colours of a wardrobe full of Kashmiri shawls *sigh*
    We are in the dark time here, when rain drips incessantly from the eaves, the cedars and the tip of one's nose (as it drips from one's jacket hood!).
    The tragedy in Delhi is in the paper every day so it's lovely to read about your affection for the city and rambles through it.

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    1. I remember the 'dark times' very well and how depressing living through such days can wet. Though I don't particularly miss them, I don't like this confused Hyderabadi weather either.
      And I'm afraid the shawls will just have to languish away in the darkness of the wardrobe. Sigh!

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  2. Like Pondside, I am drooling over the idea of a row of Kashmiri shawls to choose from.

    Delhi is in the news indeed, although there is little new to report, there is always a mention of the anger of the young people.
    I can’t help wonder if the men in the news reels really mean what they protest over; would they themselves be tempted to abuse women if they could continue to get away with it?

    I have been to Delhi for a week’s work at an international conference and I loved the city. I am sure we were not shown the dark underbelly which every big city has but a colleague and I did once go for a walk through the streets surrounding the hotel (Oberon?) and I was moved to tears by the sight of the people who instantly surrounded us. The trip was more than 20 years ago.

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    1. That's how incredible India is, after all - you'll find slums just at a stone's throw from sprawling shopping malls and five-star hotels. Such is our rampant economic progress and so much for being an IT hub!!
      The hotel you mention must have been Oberoi.

      And regarding the men in the protest, I have always had a very confused stand. It usually looks quite weird, in India especially, spotting them in rallies concerning women.

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  3. Hello Suman

    Cups of Darjeeling and sipping tea with a fond friend is a beautiful way to celebrate life and momos look delicious I have not tasted one yet.
    Your shawls are strikingly beautiful. Enjoy your week

    Helen xx

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    1. Dear Helen, thank you for the lovely shawl complement! Yes, small joys often go on to make some of the big moments of our lives and I've always been a firm believer of that.

      Hope you are all set for the art show. Wishing you tons of good luck.

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  4. Dear Suman. It's a lovely post. The shawls are wonderful!! Now I have to wait.... ;-)

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    1. Thanks for the comment, dear Celine. Yes, just a month and some days more, and you'll be shopping for one of those shawls for your own! :-)

      PS. I'll get back to your mail soon!

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  5. When I hear you talking of no winter I find myself wishing to escape from my freezing location, here in eastern Europe is -17 degrees C just as I write. I enjoyed reading of your lovely and romantic promenade :). Maybe even more than Gaskell's novel :)).

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