Delhi is like the ugly looking mistress you despise at first, you see her as vile, dark, cheap, filthy, pointless and disgusting. And then, ever so gradually as and when you start living with her, she begins to grow on you, Gently, passively, slowly turning that disgust into acceptance and finally to admiration eventually culminating into a love of sorts you would never have known. The veil of ugliness recedes ever so slowly almost musically. And what lies beyond is a regal treasure that has stood the test of time, deep, mysterious. That continues to stand tall after the numerous scars etched cruelly on her face since the day it came into being. Plundered, looted, raped and the magnificence simply stays, Like nothing ever happened. She wears her scars as proudly as her unreasonably loud makeup. There is no deterring her. Men have been hard to her and yet she smiles with the composure of a queen. Spellbinding, that smile. You sit with her and listen to her stories, of the plunders of the men in the past and the present and how she would still choose to live the life the life of a whore given a chance. You see the woman in front of you, the one who disgusted you in principle, and the one who is proud of what she is and will continue to be. And yet, you tend to see that nothing, no filth in the world could snatch her regality from her; she’s a whore, yet closer to Allah than most of her white collared clients. Don’t get me wrong, she doesn’t discard the filth, accepts it as graciously as it does its rich regal inheritance of beauty. Her tongue as honey laden as a lakhnawi tawaif, will not hesitate another minute to unite your mothers and sisters on the slightest provocation. Her tobacco laden blackened teeth won’t exactly reflect beauty as you have come to know it. And yet, when you look at her, you search within yourself for the supposed despise, disgust. All in Vain. In her you come to slowly reflect the amalgamation of the past and the present into one beautiful romance. And all the domes, the minars, the dargaahs, the gateways, the bazaars, the old wall, together with the jungle of concrete cast a spell on you that you would never decipher. And somewhere looking at the horizon, with the domes and the minars calling out to the endless skies, the answer will hit you, Delhi has got you! You my friend, have fallen in inexplicable, unreasonable love with the mistress. The one you very comfortably despised as cheap, dirty, vile, and filthy! Her eyes now have oceans of deep blue mystery, her flesh, like the mighty walls of beautiful ruins speak stories of the times witnessed, her sexual appetite that of an inexperienced newlywed, and you, can never come out of her charm anymore! Not for nothing did Ghalib choose her as his last abode! In her you could see the chaos and filth of the men who continue to plunder her soul, Or in her, you could see the magnificence of what has been, and what is to come! The stories of grandeur and equally regal romances! In the city still prepared for many more!
She is not your desire, nor a habit yet my friend she is not going let go of you!
Inspired by nome other than the maestro Khushwant Singh
