I look at my watch. 9.56 am. “Ain’t I a little late for my morning walk?” I say to myself as I drag my feet towards the three-kilometer mark.” Just then my overenthusiastic friend chirps. “Wow! Three kilometers… this is so exciting. Just look at the way Delhi is running today… I am so proud that I am running too!”
Running? Did she just say the word R-U-N-N-I-N-G? Oh yes I had forgot, we are at the Hutch Marathon and no part of my body except my nose is running. But if a marathon means dragging ones feet along with the crowd with your arms and face buried under layers of sunscreen lotion, (which eventually wears off with the sweat) then, yes, technically speaking, we are running.
The three-kilometer mark takes me down the memory lane… to 7.37 am of the same morning. “Aaaaachhhhhu,” I sneezed just when I was about to get out of my house. I realised I made the biggest mistake of my life. The sneeze triggered a torrent of oohs and aahs. “Oh my poor baby… you sneezed… you’re not going for any run-shun. This is bad omen.”… I tried to protest … “No darling… you sneezed after all. Ok just sit for sometime and then go.” I protested again… “SIT” and I obediently sit for exactly six and a half seconds and then barge out again with another “Aaaaachhhhhu” followed by another scary, earth-shaking “Aaaaachhhhhu” that completely demeaned my mother’s screams.
Now after two hours and 21 minutes, I am wishing I had listened to my mother. But then, yeh hai Dilli meri jaan... and despite all superstitions… Delhi is running.
“You know we can always back out,” my friend wisely says as I sneeze out my 23rd sneeze of the day. She points at a couple of ‘desi-turned-mod auntyjis’ who were back-tracking from the other side of the road. For a moment I am forced to think that it is the best idea to ever have cropped up on the face of earth. But then the athlete inside me suddenly springs into action… No way… I am not a loser… and with a fire in my eyes, I start running. My friend follows me. About half a kilometer later, we reach the four-kilometer mark... the athlete inside me has had her seven-minutes of fame and is now looking for an auto-rikshaw on the other side of the road.
“We should have got a camera,” says my friend breathlessly as I cling to the lamppost to regain my breath. I look at her blankly… I think she gets the hint and shuts up automatically. We cross the road and reach the other side of the road. An auto stops. A paan-chewing autowaalah pops out. “Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium chaloge?” I ask. “Phiphty Rupees madam,” he says promptly. Before I can respond he drives away. I give up. I look at the other side of the road… people were still running.
Despite the autowaalahs… Delhi is running.
After the four-kilometer mark, I realise that the run isn’t that bad. My friend is busy talking about her latest crush. Just then I hear people shouting slogans. “Nahi chalegi nahi chalegi, Dengue –gardi nahi chalegi” I see an army of bankers from Standard Chartered marching towards us with a gigantic cardboard Baygon spray and an even more gigantic mosquito. “That’s a good idea… even we should have thought of something,” my friend interrupts. Idea? She’s talking about ideas… and all I can think of now is Odomos. The killer mosquito bites in the morning and I am wearing half sleeves without a drop of Odomos on my body! What if there is an Aedes aegypti casting an evil eye on me from some open manhole? “Nahi chalegi nahi chalegi, Dengue –gardi nahi chalegi” I repeat after them. For a moment I find some solace in those slogans… and then I walk on.
Despite dengue… Delhi is running.
The crush talks continue. I collect water-bottles from the Kingfisher stalls and stuff then into my little marathon pouch. I drink the water, spit it out, splash it on my face and then throw the bottle on the roadside… “I am a real athlete,” I say to myself as I throw away another bottle. A kid of about six quickly picks up the empty bottle and stuffs it into a big jute bag. Something strikes me. “Wasn’t child labour completely banned in India?” says the activist-cum-journalist inside me. I ask the kid, how much he’s getting for doing the job. “Do sau rupaye de raha hai wo uncle,” he says enthusiastically. I am taken aback by his enthusiasm. There goes my first investigative story. Still I try. “Kaunsa uncle?” I ask. The urchin runs away… just like all the other people in the crowd.
Despite child labour … Delhi is running.
We were now nearing the six-kilometer mark. The crush talks have ceased, all we can think of now is to reach the stadium as soon as possible and get some breakfast. All I had since morning were two cups of Maggi tomato soup. Helicopters are hovering us with cameras. “Can’t we get a lift in one of those?” whines my friend.
“Kyu baby lift karu kya?” echoes a voice from nowhere. Wow… is that an Akashwani? This really works. The Akashwani is followed by a prolonged flying-kiss. I see a couple of ‘roadside king Khan wannabes’ on an auto showing their teeth. If they think they are making an offer I can’t refuse, then they are sadly mistaken. I ask them lift their respective mothers and sisters instead. They scoot off … and Delhi runs. Despite these flattering eve-teasers… Delhi is running.
Now I am on the last leg of my ‘run’. Should I start running now? If despite everything Delhi is running, then why can’t I? Are a bad headache, a running nose and a flurry of sneezes, that big a hindrance? If Delhi can run despite high-headed autowalahs, child labourers, dengue, rowdy buses, flattering eve-teasers… then why can’t I? So I run. I run for Delhi… just that my run is in slow motion.
