An Evening in Delhi

(To Whomever it May Concern: Most of the characters and events mentioned here are fictional. Any resemblance to those living or dead MIGHT be or MIGHT NOT be a mere co-incidence. So please don't try to screw my life :P)

“Is this the real life?/ Is this just fantasy?/ Caught in a landslide/ No escape from reality/ Open your eyes/ Look up to the skies and see….”

The Bohemian Rhapsody echoed through the walls in Namit’s room. His twin brother Amit was furiously playing his favorite tune on the guitar and humming the song. The view of Amit sitting on the balcony with a guitar made Namit restless. How could this eccentric fellow be so tragic on a Diwali afternoon!!

“Amit, your packet of cigarettes is burning out. I can’t believe you finished the whole pack while playing the guitar.”

“Yes, my dear brother. That’s what life does to people. Can’t help it.”

“What!! Come back to senses you ……”, Namit tried to lower his  voice, “ I can’t comprehend your intentions when you come to Delhi? Obviously you don’t come here just to meet me. You go out and party hard with every second beautiful girl you meet here. In fact, you know the girls in my college better than I do….”

“….Yeah, and then I come back to your room from the parties, pick up the guitar, take a smoke and sit down as if I am the biggest loser in the world. I know that my dear. Say something new bro.”

“Amit, why don’t you just focus on your career? You are in such a good position. A little bit of dedication now can take you to great heights.”

“Namit, I never knew doing honors in science can make someone so unromantic like you”

“And I never knew doing engineering can make someone a hopeless romantic like you”

Namit gave a grim look and continued, “Have you heard of the association called FOSLA. You join that. I can bet they will make you the president there.”

“FOSLA!! What is that?”

“Frustrated One-Sided Lovers’ Association.”
*************************************************************************

Delhi! The mesmerizing capital city of India. Far away from the balcony in Mehrauli, Amit could view the towering Qutab Minar. It soared high like the pride of this city which has borne the brunt of many a generation; this city which has been the seat of rulers over centuries. Rulers who have changed the destiny of this great nation.

 The city of love. The city of power. The city which has taught him how to fall in love. The city which shaped his illustrious career. And maybe even destroyed it!

It was a walk from the Chawri Bazar metro station to the Jama Masjid. It was the taste of royal Mughal food in the restaurant of Karim’s that allured him. She was sitting next to him, ordering every expensive food item available there. Sheena or Sheela or…..?? He could hardly recollect her name. They had met just the previous night. And there he was, taking her out for a royal treat. He knew this incident would lead to another session of “change yourself-live a better life-blah blah” lecture from Namit. His twin brother has been trying a lot to mend his wayward ways. Namit.  The only person in this fast-paced city who cared to care about him.
*************************************************************************

“ You know, I always have wanted to be a social-worker. And do something for my people. For my country.” She was speaking to Amit in a serious tone. He had never envisaged that a boozed-up woman can be so serious. He had always thought girls get over-emotional after being drunk. But here was the big exception in front of him.

Damn! He couldn’t still remember her name.

She was high with two shots of vodka and she started talking patriotism in front of him. She might have probably started feeling she was a Sonia Gandhi giving political instructions to the distraught Amit in front of her.

Namit would have definitely told him, “ I don’t understand what do you get by spending money on these girls. Better give the money to some beggar who would really need it.”

Namit knew Amit would never mend his ways. His twin brother. His alter-ego. Amit would continue to be the hopeless romantic.

Amit and the wannabe-social worker girl walked through the crowded Chandni Chowk market.

They kept on walking, Amit listening to She-Whose-Name-He-Couldn’t-Remember’s blabbering talk until they reached the Jantar Mantar. The observatory which showed the erudition of the ancient Indian astronomers.

“You know Amit, I met Anna Hazare here. I gave an application to him. And he agreed to listen to my request.” Amit thought it would be wiser to ignore the drunken lady’s words. He was getting restless to reach his brother’s room.
*************************************************************************

“Yes, it is true. She actually met Anna Hazare”, Namit’s statement almost choked Amit who was trying to have a glass of water.

“What! Namit, don’t tell me you have started boozing.”

“No. I am serious. I know the girl well. She is from my college. She went to Anna Hazare when he was in Jantar Mantar and gave a letter to him describing the plight of Irom Sharmila Chanu.”

“She knew about Sharmila!! She looks so dumb!” Amit had not yet recovered from his state of shock.

“I don’t know why engineering students think that they are the cleverest lot in this world,” Namit patted his brother, “yes, she knew about Irom Sharmila Chanu of Manipur. The lady who has been fasting since a decade. The lady who has dared to raise a voice. The lady who has been on a hunger strike demanding the removal of the Armed Forces Special Power Act from her home-state.This girl went and told Anna Hazare in front of the elite crowd that if a few-month long hunger strike from Anna was enough to grab the eyeballs of the whole nation, then why are people so silent about the sufferings of this brave lady who is being fed through her nose for many years; who is being constantly arrested and re-arrested for no reason. Why can’t Anna Hazare bring her to national limelight just the way he has glorified himself.”

“And what did Anna say?”

“He has agreed to visit Manipur and meet Sharmila. No one in the huge crowd of politicians, activists and erudite could care to remember about Sharmila. Everyone was too busy bashing the government and venerating Anna Hazare. But this young girl had the guts to raise her voice. I don’t think you or I could have done that brother.”