Trees that have progressed too daringly beyond the river bank will raise marooned heads from the rushing water. The rains will create fertile islands where farmers will grow cauliflowers and cabbages, melons and cucumbers. On weekends, the entire Delhi, from both sides of jamna-paar (no social divides in my city), will hang out on the river. Thousands of country boats will float. There will be shikaras, peddle boats and yachts. Hawkers will sell balloons, bouquets, ice creams, tea, coffee, momos, jhalmuri, burgers and popcorn. If you feel thirsty, you will help yourself from the river. Don’t look shocked. You know nothing about my Yamuna.
The 14th century saint Hazrat Nizamuddin once saw an old lady drawing water from a well. He asked her why she was not using Yamuna’s water. She said, “I have nothing to eat. Yamuna’s water is so tasty that it induces hunger. Since it would stir up my appetite, I do not want to have water from it.” That’s my river.