Utterly fantastic song. Almost buttery. Slippery. It’s winter, and it figures that I miss the JatLand. Delhi is on my mind. It’s probably cold there. Somehow, this song gets into a certain winter evening mode. Yes, I am going to launch into the numerous tried and tested clichés about hot chai. But clichés have a point. They are typical. And quite often, pretty true.
Remember this post, anyone?
You don’t drink tea by cups in Delhi, you drink them by the conversations. One doesn’t say ‘I have four cups’, instead – the line reads ‘We had tea over two hours of gup-shup (Conversation)’. In the terraces of the buildings built in haste during the Partition, people in colourful shawls and muffs balance hot samosas in their hands.
Far away from here – Winter arrives in Delhi.
Everybody does need a rustic balma though. One gets tired of the assault of the erudite and urbane every once in a while. And so, the mofussil is desired and remembered. The little villages in Delhi. For some reason, just thinking about this, sends an almost curious whiff of cowdung up my nostrils. Like I’ve always said – Delhi is a village in the state of a constant mela.
(And yes, I am not going to apologize about going overboard on posting songs. Why not, I ask. Why not?)