Vignettes From Land Holy and Dirty

Silchar:

An early morning text from a fuckingawesomebitch. I qualified the Delhi University entrance test for B.A. English Honours. Yay.

“Respected parents, as much as I love Architecture, I want to do this instead.”

Drama.

Tickets booked for New Delhi.

Bye bye, pleasant summer sky.

New Delhi:

The sun burns patterns onto my skin.

Midnight strikes. First cut off. Delhi College of Arts and Commerce, otherwise known as the college with the depressing, ugly buildings. And inefficient, rude office staff. Traveling from one table to another with more papers, forms, certificates and photocopies of those certificates than two mortal hands can carry. Frustrated people. Slowly moving fans. After going around for two days for a simple admission procedure: Aaj aur nahin, kal aye. A girl tears off her forms in teary anger. Somewhere a parent threatens to go to his old friend, the principal – or was it the chairperson?

Yours truly is now a DCAC student.

Three days, the second cutoff and a few more annoying hours at DCAC later, yours truly is a student at Kirori Mal College.

*insert happy theme music*

Red Fort. Jama Masjid. Humayun Tomb. Dargah Nizammudin Auliya. Qutub Minar.

No rain here. People dying because of floods back in Assam.

Haridwar:

4 am wakeup call. Sleepwalk to the car. Short weekend-in-the-middle-of-the-week weekend. Plug in the earphone. Fiona Apple. Sleep. Wake up. Muzaffarnagar, Uttar Pradesh. Breakfast at fancy resort. Shekar Kapur’s The Sadhu. Sleep again. Wake up. Pine trees and milder weather. UK. Uttarakhand, not United Kingdom. Kilometres long traffic jam. Haridwar. Humanity at its worst. Humanity at its best. Bhajans set to the tunes of item numbers. Bells ringing. “Uttarakhand police aapko Devbhoomi mein swagat karti hain.” Gushing Ganga. Dirty Ganga. People drinking Ganga, bathing in Ganga, washing in Ganga. Guru poornima. Crowd on crowd. Lodge room opening out to terrace looming over the ghat. Monkeys on the roof. Monkeys on the terrace. Monkeys on the light posts. Monkeys on the temple shires, above the gods. Evening aarti. Synchronised fireworks. An reddish tinge over the scene. Devotees crying and chanting. This unbelieving heart quivers. Reason returns in a while. Night falls. Tiny specks of blessed fire floating over the river. Jai Ganga Maiya. Jai Bhole Nath. Jai – watch where you’re stepping. Beads and shawls. ‘Off season rebate, madam!”. Studying the ghat from the terrace under the pale shadow of the full moon. Midnight walkers of the ghat. Naked bodies on show. Slowly sleep comes.

Rishkesh:

It’s raining in Haridwar as we leave it for its cleaner, less famous sibling, Rishikesh. A giant Shiva bids us farewell. Never see you again. Porcupine Tree on the earbuds. Sleeps comes again. “Bhaiya, aa gaye.” It’s raining hard. A crowded parking lot. 10 rupees worth plastic, green raincoats. With hoods. A guide from Calcutta. We get mistaken as Calcuttans.Temples built where the Pandavas had prayed. A suspended bridge named after the flawed god-king of Ayodhya. Temples built for the ficklest of reasons. A government approved museum cum jewellery shop. White stones from the icy mountains sparking fire. A ek mukhi rudraksh. "Not for sale, saar, only watching." Sriyantra to maintain the vastu of the ghar, for the surakhsha of the parivar and sukh shanti of all. A navratna necklace. “Action with phasion, madam!” Rains? Where's the rain? Raincoats gifted to the driver. Bye bye, Rishikesh. The giant Shiva passes again. As does the Ganga, muddy with soil washed from the mountains. Lunch at the yoga baba’s humble 5 star medical cum yoga cum whateverelse centre. Shanti shanti shanti hi. Bye Uttarakhand. Bye Uttar Pradesh. Oh hello again, burning Delhi.