Delhi by Metro and Foot

When I think of Delhi now, I don’t remember it through monuments or famous landmarks.

I remember it through metro stations.

For a long time, I lived on the metro. I’d get off at random stations, wander aimlessly for hours, and walk fifteen or sixteen kilometres without realizing how far I had gone. Looking back, I wasn’t really trying to reach anywhere. I was simply learning the city by walking through it.

Some mornings began at the Yogananda Satsang Society or the Ramakrishna Math. I would sit there quietly for a while before disappearing back into the noise of the city. Once, during Dussehra, I somehow ended up travelling with the monks from Ramakrishna Math. I hopped onto their bus, spent the day with them, clicked photographs, and later sent them the pictures.

Twice a month, I would find myself at Mahila Haat.

Mostly for books.

Mostly just aise hi.

Every Sunday without fail, I went to Gurudwara Bangla Sahib or one of the gurudwaras around Chandni Chowk. I spent hours there. Sunday lunch meant langar. On two occasions, I even slept beside the Bangla Sahib sarovar. The city felt different at that hour. The noise softened. Even Delhi seemed to rest.

I often went to Yamuna Haat as well. Sometimes I took boat rides. Sometimes I spoke with the boatmen. Mostly, I listened.

Evenings belonged to India Gate.

The nights felt alive. Photographers. Vendors. Families. Random conversations with strangers. It seemed as though everyone had stepped outside at once.

I kept track of cultural programmes happening across the city. Near India Gate was an auditorium I grew particularly fond of. I attended classical music concerts there and listened to Bhagavad Gita talks by Jaya Row.

I was never much of a mall person, but I loved watching movies in Rajouri Garden. I even watched Cricket World Cup matches in theatres there.

One habit remained constant.

I loved travelling to the last station of every metro line just to see what existed at the edge of the city. The final stations always felt different, as though Delhi was slowly dissolving into something else.

Akshardham felt different without a phone.

I managed to spend an entire day there without one. Every now and then my hand would instinctively search for a phone to click a picture.

Faaaaahhhhhhhh!

Somewhere along the way, I stopped reaching for it.

The place became quieter.

Or perhaps I did.

Chandni Chowk was best experienced on foot. Paranthe Wali Gali with a huge lassi became a ritual. Once, I woke up at three in the morning just to witness the chaos of Chor Bazaar near Jama Masjid. The city was half asleep. The market wasn’t.

And the food lanes around Jama Masjid?

They deserve a story of their own.

Almost every garden in Delhi deserves at least one visit.

Sometimes I would sit at Khan Market doing absolutely nothing except watching luxury cars pass by.

Looking back, what amazes me most is how much of the city revealed itself through two simple things:

the metro,

and my own feet.

I miss Delhi.

Not the city people talk about.

The one I wandered through.