Hello, have you seen October?

I’m in Connaught Place. William Dalrymple’s City of Djinns — A Year in Delhi is in my shoulder bag. I take it out, flip through pages and stop at page 46.

Mid-morning. In KG Marg: the biker in a full sleeve shirt. In Hauz Khas: the ruins partially hidden under mist. In a bungalow in Green Park: blankets drying off on balcony railings. In Kinari Bazaar: quilts on sale. In Matia Mahal: beggars wrapped up in blankets.

HT Image

Hey, this is feeling like October.

I’m in Connaught Place. William Dalrymple’s City of Djinns — A Year in Delhi is in my shoulder bag. I take it out, flip through pages and stop at page 46.

“… October was a season of strange and fiery sunsets… Compared with the months before the temperature was suddenly quite bearable. Up in the high Himalayas the first snows had begun to fall and cool winds were blowing down, quenching the fires of the plains. Though it was still very warm...”

True. It is still warm. See, the park above Palika Bazaar is empty. Its grass still has patches of brown. In winters, it should be wet and green, and the park ought to be crowded with people wanting to snatch a slice of Delhi’s dhoop. But this morning is so hot, even though it is October. The sun is not pleasing. The sky is not totally blue. Far away, the LIC building is shimmering behind a dusty haze. The pigeons, too, are flying restlessly. Searching for shade? There are hedges, plants and flowers, but no trees, no shade. No refuge from the heat that has become only less intolerable now. Look, a man is sleeping, under the shade of a rubbish bin box.

I take a few steps on the lane skirting the park above Palika Bazaar and suddenly chance upon LIC building, but this time there is no haze around it. Instead, two giant trees are framing it into a pleasant portrait. I slip in. Suddenly, shade. The temperature drops. The air nippy. Almost cold. Ah, now it’s October. Happy Diwali.