Dilli Dur Ast

(An old rant parked in the Drafts folder, posted today.)

Dilli Dur Ast. True for all lesser Indians.

One reason it was easy to write about secessionist movements with an open mind was that I did not grow up in the capital city. I grew up in Bombay, watching Delhi kids get every fun opportunity; Delhi roads improve on each holiday, and Delhi get all the hype--acutely aware that we paid more tax. Even when I was in school, I knew that.

Growing up in Maharashtra, with stories about Shivaji's rebellion against the Mughals, resentment towards the imperial centre was part of one's inheritance. The story of Shivaji's alienation and isolation in the Aurangzeb darbar captured the non-Delhi Indian's continuing daily alienation in so many ways. Early encounters with Delhi bureaucracy (mainly in libraries) reinforced that. I love that story; it rings so true.

Today, living in Tamil Nadu, everyday a stubborn-if-irrelevant holdout for the idea of India in the face of an almost isolationist, Tamil-only nationalism, I watch how this continues in every sector. After starting the NGO, I realised that all the funders are Delhi-based, and so one had to go to Delhi to meet them. Even so, Delhi organisations seem to have first dibs on funding. But that's one thing, and since we do not have FCRA, it quickly became irrelevant to us.

Now, I watch with varying degrees of irritation and resentment--varying with how hot Chennai is mostly--the Delhi-centrism of my colleagues in the social sector. When statements for 'Indian women' and the 'Indian women's movement' emerge, and have been drafted entirely by a small cluster of Delhi women; when they acknowledge each other's work, while loads of others remain invisible and unheard; when they nominate each other to this and that... it seems the rest of us do not exist. Sour grapes? Envy? Resentment? Check all of the above. But remember the kernel of truth somewhere within: Delhi is so far away that we only start to count when we move there or stand with them. On listservs, social networks or other platforms, we can only speak for the exotic and distant, never for India.

I want to say, I am not really from Tamil Nadu because I did not grow up here. I inherited Maharashtra, Tamil Nadu and India, so don't put me in a box. No matter how clearly I speak, I feel like I have to shout to be heard. No matter how prescient my writing, it has to be written by someone from Delhi to matter. (And I am not even raising gender here, that cross-cutting, all-crushing reality!)

On a panel on nationalism many years ago, my colleague presented a paper titled with a quotation, "I have seen India, and it is us." The paper was about UP politics, but really it is in Delhi and around Delhi-ites that I have remembered it most.

Yes, Delhi is today far more cosmopolitan than when I was growing up, and the truth is that some of my best friends are Delhi-ites, even though they might prefer to think of themselves as Delhi-based. But the Delhi charter continues to say to others, "Oh, you're there?" in a tone of surprise. Is there really life beyond the Yamuna and the Aravalli? Non-Hindi speaking life?

It is now possible to commute to Delhi, going in the morning and coming back by the end of the work-day. But is it possible to communicate with Delhi--with official and non-official Delhi? I am not sure.

Delhi is still too far away from all of us. And this is a rant from someone who has Delhi connections and can speak Hindi. How must this feel for others? What are the ramifications when this alienation comes from a federal system in a centralising political culture--for language and culture, for finances, for political autonomy? We all know the answer.

Thoughts about Delhi 2

It's wonderful to be in a city which takes cognizance of India's diversity as much as Delhi does. This city has changed so much, from the provincial but accidental darbar seat of India to a truly multicultural, even cosmopolitan city. I have sensed it before, but this time I can really tell. Maybe Delhi has become more this way since my last visit and maybe the contrast with Chennai--and my life--is just that stark.
Chennai, on the other hand, feels more and more provincial. Determinedly monolingual, monocultural, insular, even xenophobic... at the risk of being inundated by hate-mail and worse, I have to write this. Chennai doesn't feel like India.
This is the India I grew up in. Delhi still has traces of it. A continental national vision that has slowly, steadily made a melange of its determinedly North Indian cultural base. Nehru's India is still alive in Delhi--physically and now, culturally.
I want to say I feel like a foreign tourist because Chennai doesn't seem to belong to this country at all. But more, I feel like an exile coming home.
Bombay also used to feel like another world. And I used to say when I worked here twenty years ago that I stayed and worked in Delhi but lived in Bombay. I would compare Delhi to Aurangzeb's darbar where I was like a visiting mansabdar with a very small mansab. Shivaji.
Now both Delhi and I have changed, I come from elsewhere, and this feels so delightful.

Last night, I was at the DIAF concert featuring Bhai Baldeep Singh singing Gurbani in Dhrupad style for the first hour and then Aruna Sairam singing Bhakti music in eight languages in the second. Aruna Sairam and I come from the same India: where all these languages and all this music is ours to enjoy and cherish. I also really enjoyed the first part, and relished the idea that I could access and learn about something new so easily here.

On another note, though, in a continuation of my earlier reactions to Delhi experiences, I heard the DIAF organizer say this was India's largest arts festival and thought: really? One whole month, Margazhi, dedicated to the performing arts and now spilling past the month on either side... that's surely a good contender for the title.
I could also understand why Carnatic performers enjoy their 'season' concerts so much. It must be so nice to just sing and not be in explanation/translation mode.

Thoughts from Delhi

I am in Delhi after almost a year and a half, and driving into the city in the fast-disappearing twilight, I cannot believe how much more construction there is everywhere. My memory tells me where we should be but I cannot spot any of the landmarks myself. Delhi looks like a growing, booming, dare I say, modern city to my eyes.
I am also struck by how clean it looks. As always.

Indo-Stalinist Architecture: A New Masterpiece

The Ministry of External Affairs is getting a new home on Rajpath, that magnificent road in front of Raisina Hill, and it will be designed and built by those masters of Indo-Stalinist architecture: The Central Public Works Department.

Gautam Bhatia, PWD Classic on Rajpath, Indian Express, January 26, 2008.

Now the difference between Bombay and Delhi will be the difference between Indo-Gothic and Indo-Saracenic buildings in the former and Indo-Stalinist buildings in the latter. If we were to read the skyline and the landscape as text, what would we learn about the two cities?