Nangla's Delhi

I have seen people tire of boundaries. But Nangla does not want its freedom today. It doesn't want this open field, where cards can be played sitting on top of the heartbeats of their own things. They don't want the tap flowing alone, where there used to be, till yesterday, a long queue, standing in which people used to spend away the tiredness of their day.

Today Nangla is like the make-up that is being spoiled. Walls painted with beautiful colours, where till yesterday one could see hand prints of henna and oil, are now sites for hammers to make their irritations manifest. Every lane was known by its fragrance, but today there is so much dust in the air that it is impossible to seek out those scents.

But people stand, giving each other support, not allowing themselves to break apart like the walls are, today. One slipper from a pair has got left on the brick lane. A bag filled with flour is hanging on a wall, but maybe no one is hungry. People are leaving, and they are leaving behing time, peeping from walls, tins and cans, lined on their window sills.

When a space is being made, people making it get so tired. Sometimes bricks fall short, at others, they realise there are no gerders, or the concrete mix has finished. But now, as far as the eye can see, there are only bricks. There is pride and a smile on peoples' faces, because their fears have taken the shape of reality. But there is a search in their eyes - for a new dwelling.

What would a daughter, now a new bride, take with herself as a blessing to make a home, from Nangla today?