Musings of a Delhi Boy

It was a merciless afternoon in Delhi.

The mid-June Sun was determined to wreak havoc with its belligerent posturing, the oppressive heat exacerbated by blasts of searing loo* (the hot winds that are typical of Delhi summer). The weatherman termed it a ‘severe heatwave’ and advised a slew of precautions. I, for one, diligently adhered to these protocols.

However, that morning, I had to attend a meeting in Bhikaji Cama place. I left home at around 10.00 AM- the ride took about an hour. Even at that time, it was hot and stuffy, but bearable.

It was not a very long session, and was over by noon, wherein I ambled towards the exit, lost in my thoughts. It was in this frame of mind that I slipped onto the rear seat of the car, which, unfortunately, was parked in an unshaded slot. To my sheer horror, I felt as if I had been made to sit on burning coal inside an inferno, although the driver had put on the Air Conditioner, but, unlike in the morning, now the machine gasped and heaved for breath, and instead of spreading cool air, hot blasts were thrown in.

It was in this scenario that we veered onto the Ring Road from in front of Hotel Hyatt, and reached the incline of the Barapullah Road, at the AIIMS + Safdarjung Hospital junction. How I wished we could move fast, but Delhi traffic snarls being what they are, it was to remain a pipedream. To beat the ennui, I started browsing through my mobile phone at a snail’s pace, hoping that it would divert my attention, and make the ride less painful.

Alas!!! That was not to be.

Momentarily, I looked away from the screen and gazed outside- only to be shocked beyond words- as I saw a handcart, loaded with construction grade steel beams, being pushed by a lean, middle-aged man, sweat dripping from his brow, like a torrent of monsoon showers. He was barely clad, wore torn rubber chappals which would have offered no protection from the burning road. His head was covered with a piece of dirty cloth. Desperately, he struggled to hold on to the grip of the handle, and stabilize the handcart, lest it roll downhill. Within the few seconds that it took me to cross him, I saw him swoon, and stumble.

Shortly thereafter I reached the office, and after a sumptuous and gratifying lunch, sprawled onto the chair behind my desk, feeling drowsy- aftereffects of the hearty meal and the almost chilled environment. But despite this, I felt uneasy. Initially, I thought it was due to overeating. But then, in a flash, my mind zeroed onto the stumbling, or (was it) collapsing handcart puller. Shaken out of my reverie- I contemplated as to what might have become of him. And then, slowly, my thoughts shifted gears- metaphorically, the gun now pointed towards me. A chain unleashed in my mind, at breakneck speed- sharp pangs of guilt began to scald my conscience, unprepared for the onslaught.

Was I accomplice for his predicament? Could I have done something to assist that man, that unknow man- one of the lakhs of faceless people who struggle daily to stay afloat in the heartless megapolis, of what has become of my beloved Dilli. Should I have stepped out? Could I have given a shoulder? Was I being selfish, delusional of my own safety & comfort?

At that point in time, I was stunned to an extent that I could not do a rational analysis of what had unfolded. But even now, when years have gone by, at times, my conscience is challenged. I am not able to give it closure- although, at times I think of giving myself the benefit of doubt- within those few seconds- could I have assessed the gravity of the situation differently and acted differently.

Well- for me, the jury is still out!!!