Delhi is home, where love resides, rest comes and goes…

Life there after marriage was a new world. One which enriched my understanding of diverse Indian cultures. languages, people and what not…Archives of memories is long and large … from windows, doors, pots and pans, shops and flyovers, moments of joy and festivity, longing for the far distant as well as times of uncertainty and the struggle of holding back the precious..

In the middle of this.. I cannot but remember and miss Uncle Sharma, an unusual Sufi soul, in his simple khadi kurta pyjama with a gentle and happy demeanour. An atheist, he lived in the neighbouring flat with his wife in Mayur Vihar phase 1.

In his 80’s he enjoyed reading books, poetry and was writing a book on Mir Taqi Mir’s life and works. He rarely left the house except when he went for his walks.

His beginnings were from a small village of Ludhiana’s poor farmer family. A studious, hardworking and humble soul, his brilliant mind ensured him a high posting in the government service. Every evening he used to take two to three pegs of the local Indian MacDowell’s whisky.

Our immediate connection was Urdu a language he wrote and spoke beautifully given he had studied in Islamia College in Ludhiana. Whenever I would manage to engage him to talk, our conversations ranged from the everyday mundane to anything under the sun. Sumedh and I both adored him.

Uncle passed away two years back, I was not in Delhi…