On returning to Delhi and finding it changed for the better

There is something rejuvenating about coming back to a city I’ve as good as given up on, and to discover it is twirling through a second life.

Delhi as a city is trying on a new personality and almost everyone seems to be in a hurry to own a new identity. An established hotelier has sold his hotels to start a small design company that promotes indigenous metal work. A venture capitalist has given up his acidity-giving, adrenaline-lined pace of life to focus on promoting his first love — jazz.

Mid-life fitness is making the pot-bellied, skinny dentist an obsessive, super fit marathoner. The ridiculously rich, auto-parts manufacturer is using all his time and business contacts to launch a restaurant of his dreams. A prime time anchor is quitting to make vlogs for his own page.

As I posed in my acrylic crown and a lehenga-too-long, the distinguished designer-turned-photographer for the hour claimed this is only the second time he had shot something so eccentric.

We fed off the electricity of creating and it occurred to me that this second innings bug has spread because a lot of us half-pointers either feel dangerously burnt out, unnecessarily stuck, boringly successful, frustratingly ambition-less or our health or family circumstances have forced us to rethink what we want our lives to look like.

Then there are the millennials who’ve arrived and changed the game itself. We never grew up wanting to be environmental innovators or YouTubers. Now, if you want to compete with the millennials (which, of course, you do), then you have to have foolproof reasons why you’re not into the environment or the net.

Embracing and mastering a new skill set, vocabulary and thought to stay in the A-game is redefining our own character and needs. Getting a twist to life from the additional learning has meant we desire a different vibe.

The pockets of cool that have mushroomed through Delhi did not exist when I entered this economy and society.

We had hotel coffee shops, Sarojini, Nirulas and house parties. We were happy to drive to the border for our beer and get our kicks jumping up to touch the underbelly of the planes at jumbo point. We never felt deprived nor suffered FOMO. There was nothing out there and we didn’t know any better.

This Monday, as I sat sipping frozen margaritas with my chaddi buddy at the packed The Piano Man listening to live jazz sung in a resoundingly, rich Indian accent, I wondered if we would have known how to appreciate this tiny, mirrored, boudoir with velvet curtains and trumpet chandeliers back when we were the Madonna worshippers, in love with Hot Choc Fudge and anything made from brightly coloured plastic.

But today I can’t get enough of bar hopping in my much-changed childhood city. From one underground speakeasy to a pop up disco to ATM — not the cash dispensing one but the cash and beer guzzling one that you need a code to get into it.

As my morphing friends change careers, look after growing brats and ageing parents, grapple with their spare useless cash, the Delhi I knew is changing into a city with a buzz I know I will miss. This trip I’ve spent much of my days stuck on the road and it’s not the swirling ATM lines that has caught my eye, it’s the fact that everyone is standing patiently — from the construction wala to the manicurists to the occasional socialite aunty.

I live in Japan where the national pastime is queueing, and it’s become part of my DNA but I never thought I’d see a Delhiite queueing for hours without complain. I say this with great reverence.

Yes, there’s much gossiping and chai-sipping but it’s orderly and largely peaceful. This sense of cashless emergency and communal distress for the greater good has brought out an inherent warmth that has too often been usurped by aggression, anger and entitlement. I will miss this newly relearnt welcoming spirit.

There are somethings that never change in this city — the huge, stylish parties that you never pay a yen for.

When I first met my French husband at one such party many moons ago, he said, downing his seventh glass of Vevue Clicquot and licking off the last of the lobster on his plate, "This is unique to Delhi, anywhere else in the world this would be considered a magnificent gala and you’d be paying top dollar for it."

Then he dragged me to the reflecting gold aluminium dance floor because his favourite DJ from Ibiza was just about to start his set.

Having grown up here, I never thought about these big little luxuries that I took for granted till I was paying to attend a cheese and wine art event in Tokyo. I will crave these big Delhi parties. I will miss walking into a fresh, déjà vu conversation from five years ago. The delight of connecting and laughing with friends without context.

I will miss having history that allows you to hang in silence or laughter, where you can indulge in talkathons or dance-thons or say "let’s get out of here, go back to anyone who’s willing to host". I will miss just being with these people from my city (that I’m reclaiming) all for a good time without agenda or effort.

(Courtesy of Mail Today.)

Also read: Is there more to nightlife in Mumbai than Delhi?