A New Delhi Cafe

Delhi has several shades. There is one that I grew up around. The South Delhi neighbourhood visited by surrounding engineering students, in Blue line buses to gaze upon the high life and feed their aspirations. In the same neighbourhood there is a local middle class which has quelled all its aspirations to explore, and is determined never to leave.

But there is another shade. Something I discovered lately on my infrequent trips back into the city. A neighbourhood of bookstores stacked with uncatalogued books where shopkeepers and customer discuss the better translation of Mahabaratha or Gurucharan Das’ political leaning and latest books. A neighbourhood of cozy coffee houses, where loners find a safe haven to be with their thoughts and a slice of cake. Or where a young women is being taught the importance of self-love by her father (or uncle) over a warm cup of capaccino.

I hated everything about Delhi when I lived here. The traffic, the counterfeit shoes, people who flaunted them, the pseudo intellectuals and their fancy DU degrees. But over the years, with every reluctant visit, it keeps registering itself as the venue of several of my life changing experiences. And today, sitting alone in one of those cafes of the Khan Market, I am finding Delhi endearing for the first time.