Opinion Once there was a Delhi winter, now we have a mask

In 1983, I saw a Test Match for the first time at a stadium. The day was made even more special by Sunil Gavaskar slamming the feared West Indian pace quartet to all parts of the ground. Just as many of us were thinking that the picnic had ended too soon, the teachers in charge of the school outing decided to extend the trip and celebrate the Little Master’s record-breaking century by treating us to goodies at Wenger’s. We sang loudly, mostly out of tune, during the short ride from the Ferozeshah Kotla, as Delhi’s main cricket venue was then called, to Connaught Place, not yet Rajiv Chowk. Diwali was barely two days away, and winter was around the corner. Little did we realise then that in times to come, the excursion would turn out to be precious for something much more than Gavaskar’s feat or the festivities that lay ahead. The songs we sang at the picnic came back to me while reading a prominent doctor’s advice to stay away from Delhi for the next six to eight weeks.

The memory of that school trip was triggered by a friend’s invite: “Come, stay with me in Chandigarh for a few days; the AQI is not too bad here.” I couldn’t help but smile wistfully at the irony of how things have turned out in the last four decades. Winters were the time to invite friends and relatives from outside the city. Delhi’s air was gauged by the citrusy fragrance of the blooming saptaparni flowers — who had heard of AQIs then? It was time for families and friends to come together, spread out chatais at the Buddha Jayanti Garden, Nehru Park, India Gate lawns, or Lodhi Gardens, and lay out simple homemade fare — paranthas, puris or sandwiches stuffed with spicy potato fillings, sometimes lavished with mayonnaise. Or, spend time at the city’s monuments and take in the calming effect of the incense at the Sufi dargahs. Or play gully cricket.

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Today, the acrid air has cast a haze over memories of Delhi’s smellscape — the buttery flavours of the nankhatai at the streetside peddler’s stall, next to the school bus stop, that seemed to signal there’s more to life than end-term exams. The fragrance of the bhaturas being fried at the neighbourhood halwai, which would make the wait for a Sunday treat a tad too long. In any case, scents and smells mean very little in a world in which masks and air purifiers are basic life support. But then, they too can only do so much.

As a coughing fit draws to a close, I cast a glance at the air purifier struggling to keep PM levels under control. There was a time when people in Delhi would wake up to the smell of the morning dew.

Das Gupta is Senior Associate Editor, The Indian Express