Delhiwale: This place a poem

Lodhi Garden, celebrating its 90th year, contrasts ancient beauty with modern chaos, as poet Tikuli Dogra reflects on its timeless allure and love.

The moon feels older than time. Yet once, there was no moon—only the collision that made it. Lodhi Garden might not appear as timeless as its crescent moon (see the park’s night photo), but it does look very, very old, owing to its centuries-old monuments and its huge unwieldy trees with wrinkled trunks. The park, actually, is young, landscaped by colonial-era hands. This year, it turns ninety. Last week, this space traced the garden through the lives of a few Delhiwallas. This week, poet-artist Tikuli Dogra (insta handle @tikulli), who lives in south Delhi’s Vasant Kunj, offers her poem drawn from the park paths.

Lodhi Garden might not appear as timeless as its crescent moon, but it does look very, very old, owing to its centuries-old monuments. (HT Photo)

Lodhi Lines

The fringes of the day lingered

on the ramparts of Lodhi’s tomb,

flowed onto the octagonal walls

and their tall arches and columns

that stood like trees of life

recalling that glorious past.

Sunlight played hide and seek

on the buildings as it sought its path

among silhouettes frozen in time.

I took a path shaded by arching trees,

the earlier crowds had thinned,

and love was all around—on the rocks,

behind trees, on the eight-pier bridge,

on the steps of ancient mausoleums,

in quiet corners screened by bamboos,

it even sprawled on the sloppy lawns

unconcerned by the scattered graves,

or the cacophonous roosting birds.

Love doesn’t care about the mundane,

nor does dust from the ancient bones

of the dynasties that shaped Delhi.

I passed happy, laughing children

as they teased ducks by the pond,

in the shade of a flowering Kachnar

and then sat, eyes squinting in the light,

a blade of grass between my teeth,

watching the never quite empty sky.

The shadows of leaves stirred

as a breeze blew through the trees,

a pair of cooing doves paused to listen

to the rustling whispers around them,

from the parapets, dark birds flew

like fragments of charred paper

rising from a flourishing fire.

A kite watched from a lonely turret,

hoping for prey in the afternoon sun.

Leaving the comfort of shadow play

I took the familiar path back to reality

harsh headlights, noise, groping hands,

streets filled with catcalls and swearing,

dust and fumes choking the city’s lungs,

green grass merging into concrete,

and night, now creeping across the sky

hiding the many sins of a crowded city

more ruinous than the ruins I left behind.