Go on peeps, It's time to bid Delhi a lung goodbye
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Wealth is one way to kid oneself, a compelling way, I must admit. I came to Delhi from Kolkata like Dick Whittington and his cat came from Lancashire to London, and Haji Mastan from Ramanathapuram to Bombay — to seek my fortune. Being in Delhi through the first 20-odd years of the century did feel rich, even though I am yet to host my own iftar or Holi party owing to the lack of a garden.
But my beloved Delhi has put on airs — very 'Third World' ones — for some time now. Oh, I did see magnificent sapphire blue skies in September above Lodhi Garden. But that's the thing — all the things about Delhi's siren song that enamoured me have only resulted in my boat being dashed against the rocks. All the air-purifiers and N-95 masks of Arabia will not steady this draining breath.
Stephen Hawking's editors told him that for every mathematical formula he included in his 1988 A Brief History of Time, the readership would halve. Similarly, barring for the purpose of comparing AQIs — 'Hey, it's 527 here at Ashok Vihar!' 'Damn, GK 2 is stuck at 256!' — eyes now glaze over these numbers like Piyush Goyal's many targets for the economy. And with it comes this Delhi dystopia being normalised.
Delhi's air poisoning is already great fodder for wisecracks and memes. 'Real men smoke, legends breathe Delhi air,' and an opaque grey picture with the caption, 'Woman in a thong standing at India Gate' are, so far, my
