Delhi Diary

I am no wide-ranging traveler -- and no, I am not comparing
myself to an Ibn Batuta, a Periplaeus, a Marco Polo, a
Huein T'sang or even many of my motorcycling brethren who
have been to more "places" in this country (and world) than
me. In fact, when I say I am no wide-ranging traveler, I mean
to say that the average salesman of medical prescriptions,
software, etcetera must have been to more Indian (and oh yes,
foreign too) cities than me. It's not that I find it tough to
travel or am demanding when it comes to arrangements, etc. It's
just that most of my "chosen" traveling, as in the traveling that
comes from an urge to see the world, or is fueled by footlooseness,
has been on my motorcycle. And somehow, from the very beginning
of my days as a motorcycle tourer, the heavily laden, thumpingly
noticeable motorcycle has comes across more as an encumbrance
than a facilitator of traveling through the "city".

Which brings me to the time I had ridden from Karol Bagh to
Noida on the Bullet, with the Ladakh carriers (bulky Doodhwala
type of panniers meant to carry "survival gear" for man and
machine and other odds and ends up through the snow and slush
of Nallahs and mountain passes) freshy fixed to spend the night
at a friend's place. And how I had survived Delhi's chaotic
traffic and gaalibaazi (I did let loose a lot of gaalis too,
nobody seemed to mind much) and a couple of hits to the
Ladakh carriers in order to reach Noida.

If this wasn't enough of a thumbs down to the
motorcyclist-traveler in me, what happened two days after
totally swore me off from thinking of Delhi as a place to
go see, visit, feel, ride through and experience.

Oh well, nothing much happened. I was to set out for
Chandigarh (and Manali), so to say set out on the road
to Ladakh; but I started late (from Ghaziabad) and hence
was well and truly stuck in the traffic for well near 4 hours
in order to just get out of Delhi. Unless you have done this
yourself -- sleepless, hungover and on a (heavily laden) heavy
bike, cursing into your helmet, sweating into your jacket and
motorcycling shoes -- you can never really understand the pain
and the scarring of the psyche that it results in.

As such, my motorcycle has been parked more on beach sand and
highway verges and turf and the good earth, than it has been
in a "city".

Okay, I do exaggerate a bit, the traffic in Delhi is not the
only reason I have not ridden from Red Fort to Qutub Minar or
wherever else to wherever else, after all Hyderabad is at least
3 days of hard riding away. But then, first impressions are
first impressions and most of us don't change our impressions,
do we? We do lie a lot, but in my case I don't have to do that.
So there, as -- I have outlined in my ramble up above -- my
first impression of Delhi was "loud, pretentious, horrid traffic".

Or maybe I was exposed to the underbelly of the city, it's
road rage, it's concrete and claustrophobia and anyway never had
the luxury of spending time in it -- on my first visit or later --
to get a feel of its character.

But then, compared to seven years ago -- these are different
times, I am progressively realizing that there are times when
travel doesn't have to mean the Bullet, space that lets my mind
trip doesn't have to be an open sky and wide expanses -- the
impersonality of a hotel room is not that bad in terms of
spaciousness...

So who knows, maybe I will come again to Delhi, and -- like
this time -- again check into an obscure hotel in a not well
known road / street / bylane. And watch the throng of endless
Rickshaws (my hotel was on Sadar Road) and Tongas go by, unaware
or unconcerned by the note-taking of my writerly eyes.

And eat -- like this time -- deliciously fresh and totally
unpretentious food -- kulchas, bhaturas, paranthas,
samosas... -- from quaint roadside thelas and shacks and -- a
little more permanent -- hole-in-the-wall hotels.

And -- like this time -- travel in the Metro, again.

Thank you Delhi.

Post Script -- You know how it is, I grow old and forget things;
or there is so much to tell that even a long ramble like this
doesn't tell it properly or that since most of my writing on
this blog is more or less like a conversation with myself and
as such, there is a lot that has been said earlier, written
earlier, elsewhere...

Whatever.

I forgot to mention in the blogpost up above that one of the
warmest persons I have ever met in my life has been a
Delhite -- on the road to Chandigarh (on that historic ride
to Ladakh in 2005). I forgot to mention that this nice guy
(who incidentally was a Bulleteer who has been to Ladakh
numerous times) struck a conversation with me (on his own)
gave me a lot of tips on riding in Ladakh, nazar uttaroed me
(in a very bikerly way) for being crazy enough to set out
all alone at the end of the season and then also asked
me to look him up on the way back, saying he would like
to know how my ride was.

Surprisingly enough I remembered and called him up
when I was near Delhi (way back from Ladakh and
Chandigarh) and then this gent sent someone to
meet me and guide me to his factory and then
literally sat on my head until I agreed to stay
with him at his place.

Yes, you read that right, I rode through most of Delhi's
traffic to stay over at a perfect stranger's place. Blame
it on his large-heartedness and warmth. Or blame it on my
once-in-a-while-ability to be gregarious.

Either way, as you can see Delhi has been warm to me
for quite some time.

Thank you (again) Delhi.