My Khidki in Khirki
When somebody asks me, “So, how do you like Delhi?”, in my head, I’m rolling my eyes because, honestly, in the last three years I haven’t been able to connect to the city in a way that I can say I belong here and I can’t explain why. And, 9 out of 10 people who ask me that find it appalling because I’d like to believe I’m someone who appreciates culture, diversity and an amalgamation of identities, yet Delhi hasn’t struck a chord with me even though it boasts of a rich variety of exactly all those things.
The very idea of making an effort to go out and explore in order to make the city a good experience for me is an ordeal. I’m an ambivert and enjoy social gatherings, but this city has brought out the introvert in me in the sense that I struggle to gel into a crowd and find fitting in a gathering of people a struggle. However, I also acknowledge that it is an issue with me and probably has nothing to do with Delhi in itself because how can a city that has welcomed so many people with open arms be a reason for this, right? I don’t know, but maybe it’s a two-way process.
For everybody who Delhi has successfully welcomed, the people too were the ones that came with the intention of belonging here, with the belief that this is their home, even if temporarily. I failed in that aspect.
Luckily for me though, I reside in an area that compelled me to get out of my house and take in the air of the city, while it was still breathable. Albeit after a period of two years, I did.
I found myself a khidki (window) to look out from, I found it in Khirki.
The Press Enclave Marg has an identity crisis of its own, honestly. All autowallahs ask where exactly I want to go — Malviya Nagar or Saket. The Malviya Nagar metro station falls on that road. Yet somehow, the Google Maps will tell you it is in Saket. Just a 7-minute walk along the pavements on the same road is Select City Walk. Before that is Max Hospital and just before that is Press Enclave, an elite cooperative housing society — all included under the ambit of Saket. On the opposite side of the road is a world of its own that comprises Hauz Rani, Khirki and Khirki Extension that come under the Malviya Nagar category.
While the Malviya Nagar category is what is more inclusive in the sense that people of all religions, nationalities and lingual identities are welcomed. Khirki and Khirki extension in particular house Afghans, Uzbeks, Russians and Blacks from Kenya and Nigeria in particular. As you cross the road, the rents of houses increase, the rate of property in general increase, the autowallahs become pricier, the food that is served in restaurants gets Westernised and the people become uptight.
Yet, on that very side lies Max Hospital that has been a safe haven for refugees from all over the world. They come here to be treated and have only good things to say about their experience here. Just between Max and Press Enclave lies the Kadeem Zere Muslim Eid Gaah, popularly known as Hauz Rani Eid Gaah. Even though it falls on the side that counts as Saket, they like to believe they “identify” more with Hauz Rani and Khirki. And here is where I found myself at unusual peace for the very first time in Delhi.
For somebody who loves cricket, I felt stupid for not knowing that there was a gem right beside where I stay. Every day at around 5 p.m., after Asr namaaz, children from a madrasa associated with the Jameela Masjid come to play cricket at this open ground which is ideally meant for praying on Eid. Residents nearby tell me that on the occassion of Eid, the ground is jam-packed. The congregation or jamaat extends beyond the gates those two days of the year too.
Between Asr to Maghrib, the kids have the liberty to spend their leisure time as they will. They can play whatever game they want or sit an observe after a busy day spent in taaleem and ibadat. Even though for them, these are not looked upon like tasks but a way of life they chose, they choose to spend that one hour period by playing cricket or watching others play. I visited them every day for a week straight, initially just observing and enjoying some classic gully cricket and hearing all about the ek tappa out hai kind of rules and eventually, interacting with them about the game.
The boys that came to play were aged around seven to sixteen, all of whom found a common love for the game. Their audience were the in-charge maulanas, hafiz, the owners of the Afghan restaurants across the street or just the common Afghans in their Pashto-clad Kurtas and the younger kids who apparently, were “still too young to hold the heavy bat.”
They were all pretty shy considering they rarely have an interaction with the opposite gender but I spoke to Muzammil, the most welcoming and enterprising of them all. He told me about which parts of the country the kids were from. Most were from neighbouring cities of Haryana, followed by UP — mostly Bareily, Azamgarh, Lucknow and Kanpur and a few from Gujarat. They all liked Delhi. Not because there was a lot to explore or because it provides many career opportunities or because it was a metro city but for a simple reason, they made friends that turned into family.
Muzammil and a few of his friends (who were too shy to even tell me their name) also spoke to me about cricket. And, that was the most exciting bit of my conversation, OBVIOUSLY! I found out AB de Villiers, David Warner and Virat Kohli were the popular ones among them — calling that an interesting combination is an understatement.
I also spoke to the person in-charge, Maulana Mohammad Zahid. (I have translated the crux from Urdu to English, haven’t translated the lines I thought wouldn’t do justice if translated) He said, “Do come everyday. Inka haunsla badhega. Point out their flaws and help them work on it. They enjoy when they are asked questions and jab attention milti hai. Do come often, if not everyday, to motivate them.”
I asked him about what they’re provided with. He said, “We provide them with two bats and balls each, good quality. We provide everything in general too.”
They have allotted a specific time for leisure in their routine. I think that’s the on-ground reality of people in madrasas. They are criticized by mainstream media as an institution designed to feed youngsters with thoughts that won’t benefit them as individuals or as citizens of the country. Just during September, I was watching a panel debate about the government emphasizing the need to “modernize” these institutions. But one of maulana’s lines in particular made me think if there really is a need for external intervention to make these institutions realize that they need to keep up with the times.
He said, “Yeh bachche har jagah se hain. Maximum Haryana and UP, that one is from Bareilly (points at one), and this little one (closest to him in proximity) is from Gujarat. Ghulne milne ke liye yeh achcha hai. Yaha aake unko maza aata hai. Zarurat bhi hai, bahar nikalna chahiye, dekhna chahiye,” insinuating that this one-hour daily outing is an ice-breaker and ideal leisure.
Chennai Super Kings and Sunrisers Hyderabad were the two IPL franchises really popular among the kids. The disheartened partisan Royal Challengers Bangalore fan in me couldn’t help asking, “Kisi ko RCB nahi pasand?”
“Meh, they always lose,” echoed many in unison.
“But they have Virat Kohli, AB de Villiers… mast hain woh log,” said one of the elder kids.
“Chahal bhi acha hai,” chimed in another one.
They all got back to cheering and running around as one of their best bowlers was smashed for a six.
I walked back home with a sheepish smile. I had two things that I couldn’t get out of my head, one, a friend once telling me that playing versus a Maulana XI is dreadful because he was muscled for four consecutive sixes in a tournament and two, this poem…
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
- William Henry Davies