Dear Mr. Miller,

May I call you Sam? Please allow me to introduce my good self. Myself Tapas R. I know what you might be thinking, “What is this R.?” You see Sir, I am from a South Indian family where it is customary to add a lot of initials either preceding or following one’s name. It is also possible this is so because our names are impossible to spell in the Roman script (even the best approximates do not capture the pronunciation and inflections of the said name). What can I say, we R. like this only. (I apologise for the silly pun, Mr. Sam Miller Sir.)

I sell books for an online bookstore in India called Flipkart.com, whereupon I chanced upon your marvellous tome, Delhi: Adventures In A Megacity. At once, it was as if the Gods were communicating with me - I had this intense feeling that this book of your esteemed authorship might be of adventures in a megacity, perhaps even Delhi. Throwing caution to the wind, I picked it up then and there for my personal perusal.

You see Mr. Sam Miller Sir, I don’t think it was mere coincidence. I had only just come to Delhi from our offices in Bangalore, a city which also happens to be my birthplace (although I left it no sooner than had I turned 3 months old). “How wonderful!”, I said out aloud … this book shall guide me, a stranger in a strange land.

I must interrupt my own train of thought here, if you will kindly permit. You see Mr. Sam Miller Sir, I have a colleague here who has been chauffeuring me in his Maruti 800 even since I got to Delhi, so I have not really had the time to discover the city on my own. What further coincidence then, when the day I picked up your book - mere happenstance - was the day this said colleague had other appointments to uphold faithfully, thus leaving it wholly upon me to traverse a considerable distance in this new city, all by my lonesome.

Shutting our premises, I gingerly made my way out the bylanes of Ansari Road - effectively my starting point - heading due west for Karol Bagh, my temporary domicile. I planned to seat myself comfortably in a rickshaw and imagined 7-8 kilometres passing by, just like a fleeting sneeze. This was (un)fortunately not to be. The sums the auto-fellows quoted would have bought one the Kingdom of Travancore, I kid you not. “120 rupiahs, 130 rupiahs”, they said! “Daylight robbery”, I said! One of the auto-fellows kindly pointed out it was past daylight, the time being 8 o’ clock pm.

I thanked him for the semantic correction, and asked him to kindly show me the direction. I would walk it if I had to, but not pay these thugs and lumpen louts a single naya paisa. “Thataway”, he pointed. And I walked.

As I faded in and out of the umbras and penumbras of dim-lit street lamps, I could not help and notice peoples’ stares. Now you might be guessing Mr. Sam Miller Sir, that a South Indian in Delhi would stand out like an Englishman amongst the Irish, but please allow me to correct your misconceptions. It was nothing of the sort. It was not because I was South Indian that people stared - it was more because I was a South Indian with long hair and a goatee and tattoos. That you must admit, is a little, how should I say, a little “left of the middle”.

I also had a burdensome laptop and large noise canceling headphones crouched on my neck. The combination of this put my Innate Indianness in ambiguity.

My coping mechanism is such situations always has been to make like the ostrich. I promptly pulled out your tome from my holdall and immersed my nose into it. And wonder of wonders, you advocated walking in Delhi! By the time I reached home, I had read half your manuscripture!

Admittedly, the 7-8 kilometers whizzed by less like a sneeze and more like whooping cough, but I am not one to split hairs. I enjoyed myself immensely, which is when I first decided to write you a letter. But providence had more in store for me, praise the heavens. I was kept delayed by a lot of petty tasks that ate into much of my time.

This same colleague who has continued to chauffeur me has left unexpectedly for Bangalore on work, leaving me to fend for myself once again. I am now a veteran of the streets … I have I imagine started looking less like a South Indian and more like a Sikh who has just returned from England. So much so, I have even given directions to strangers, strangers who are inhabitants of Delhi I might add. Their license plates betray them.

I was determined to send you this letter by the Monday after the Independence Day weekend … so Monday the 17th I woke bright and early, bathed twice, put on freshly washed and ironed clothes and decided to get to work early, so that I may find some time to compose this letter to your esteemed self.

Stepping out onto the footpath of Karol Bagh, I searched eagerly for the autos that circle like vultures over carrion. Strangely, not one was to be found. I stepped out of the bylanes and onto the main road … still none. I briefly contemplated taking the metro, but abandoned the idea for reasons now clear to me.

I searched further … still not one to be seen. I passed Karol Bagh and inched closer to Jhandewalan. Then further down to Ramakrishna Ashram Marg … no auto yet. I continued heading further east, approached CP where the metroline plunges underground, made a left … still no Auto.

I was getting frantic. Where are all the autos who chase me like boys chasing girls?

Went on down below Minto Bridge (which is still in the process of being widened) and walked up to the “thulla” at the intersection. “Where can I find autos today?” I politely asked. He laughed in my face. “Where have you been?? Don’t you read the papers … there’s an auto strike called, today and tomorrow. No auto!”

Aah, the tubelight went off in my head. In my haste to leave home so that I can catch an auto, I had ignored the newspapers that would have informed me that no amount of haste would get me an auto.

So I walked on down, passed a couple of roundabouts, reached the Delhi Gate across from the Kotla … went further down still and made a right at the “Lohe Ka Pul”, and I was at last at work. 90 mins after scheduled.

Post 7 o’ clock pm, I assured myself, I would indeed get time to write to you. Not to be! The workload from the 3 day weekend had caught up, and I was tied up till 10 o’ clock pm. It was ten past ten by the time I locked the office up. Even the watchman was visibly upset; “You people disturb my sleep when you leave so late” said the watchman. A sleeping watchman. I missed the irony at that time, because I had other things to look forward to. Like my 8km walk back home.

You see Mr. Sam Miller Sir, the metro counter shuts by 22:22 (so I am informed), and by the time I’d get to Pragati Maidan, the barn doors would have been locked with the horses long bolted.

So with a smile on my face, I retraced my steps … not entirely so, because I’m used to the route my car takes. Although I fully understand that one-ways don’t apply to humans, I am bound to comply by them.

It is half past 11 when I get home. No one is worried (mostly because I live alone). A cold shower and a hot dinner later, I finally sit down … to write you this letter.

Alas, it’s 2am Tuesday. I have missed my deadline, Sam. I hope you will understand and forgive me accordingly.

Till Then I Remain,

Yours Faithfully,

Tapas R.

Title : Delhi: Adventures In A Megacity
Author : Sam Miller
Published by : Penguin Books India
Published : January 2009;
Imprint : Viking
Special Price : Rs 424.00
Cover Price : Rs 499.00
ISBN13 : 9780670082315
Edition : Paperback
Extent : 304 pp
Classification : Non Fiction