Aug 02, 2010 01:08 AM
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"Jinns not d-jinns... the D is silent!"
"What gins? you mean like fancy spellings for alcohol?"
"It means the djinns, as in the jinni, bhoot, the djinn of the lamp! It's a travelogue about Delhi."
This was a usual conversation all through the month that I read this book.
When I picked it, I thought I was the last Dilli-wala to be reading it, but to my surprise even avid book readers have skipped it. Basically because what is about this city that we haven't read or heard in mythology and history during school and college? But is Delhi city any of that?
In 9th standard at school I had mugged up that Delhi was the 'legendary capital of the Pandavas', but not for a moment in all my years here (since birth) have I seen this city as that. I have visited old Delhi innumerable times, but never for once have I seen any trace of the British empire and the post-partition pains.
City of Djinns was an experience in itself... a Dilli experience from the eyes of a Scottish--William Dalrymple.
The non-fictional writing is about Dalrymple's stay in Delhi for a year and his experienced through trying to know the city better. The beauty of the book comes from the seamless weaving of the history, geography, mythology and reality of Delhi city--all four varied and different from the other.
Since it is a non-fiction, there is not much of a story that I can do a synopsis of here. But let me try and mention the part that touched me the most.
I never had a special patriotism for my city before I saw how Kanndigas feel for Bangalore or Tamilians do for Chennai or Bengalis for Kolkata. I always wonder what's the whole fuss about? Not that I support such divide within the country, but after reading this book, I know that it's always good to have some roots and to stand by them.
We make the oldest family in my neighbourhood. In my peers, mine must be one of the oldest families in Delhi. My ancestors came here in 1946 from Pakistan. My grandmother has lived here for 64 years now. She and my grandfather used to talk in Punjabi and so we are called "Delhi Punjus". At school whenever I had to represent 'my' state, Delhi was never an option, for there's nothing peculiar to Delhi's culture. It has no common language, common culture, common cultural dress, common dance or singing form.
The national capital of the country is projected as the most historic land often, but Dalrymple shows you the culture of the city, or the lack of it.
A clear take-home from the book remains---This city has always been raped and looted, by mythological rulers, historical emperors and western colonialists. Today, it's free state and is respected for housing the country's government. But each of of us who calls it home, are ruthless and insensitive towards it. Millions are here just to work and take back home whatever they can. The treatment that Delhi faces today is no different from what the Mughals or the British did to it.
I read this book during my 20 minutes Metro train ride each evening, something I have been doing for years now. But for the first time I noticed that when you look outside the train, the city has a skyline. It is the sky, blocked by short buildings in a near distance (since the metro bridges don't stand too tall). But all the same, that visible end of the sky turns dark gray when it gets cloudy and bright orange when it's nearing sunset.
It appears to me as the quite end of this unsafe, road-rage-filled, traffic-jammed, noisy, selfish city.
