From Capital to
Capital
by J. L.
Gupta
It was the summer of the year
1970. Rahul had just finished his Post graduation course of studies in architecture.
He had heard of Delhi. Once his ancestors had lived here. The river Yamuna used
to flow through it. Also that it has a number of historical monuments. The
biggest Presidential Palace with the largest retinue of aides in the world. As
he stepped out of the airport, he was complaining of the diesel fumes in the
air; filth and traffic on the roads and the manner in which the rules of the
road were being violated while the cops in uniform were indifferently looking
the other way. He seemed disgusted.
Being a student of
Architecture, he had also known of Le Corbusier's Chandigarh. He had read that this new city is
located at the foot of the Shivalik hills. It lies between the Patiali and
Sukhna streams. He was familiar with the
sectorial plan of the town. He had even seen various drawings of
different buildings. He was keen on seeing the city of the sun-breakers in
flesh and blood.
He
came to India. I was in Delhi to pick him up. We drove down in the good old
Ambassador car. When we reached home, the family greeted him. My wife very
casually remarked - "Delhi to Chandigarh by car is quite convenient".
"Yes,
it would be. But, I had a camel ride. Every
joint is aching. Every muscle is paining. My back and body are sore"
Having
got over the jet-lag, Rahul went around the town. He would get up early in the
morning and go to the artificially created Sukhna Lake for a jog. During the
day he would cycle around the place. He saw the whole town. He visited the
Panjab University campus. He saw the Secretariat, the High Court, the
legislative chambers and various other buildings. In spite of the strong and
sandy breeze, he found the town different from the other places. "It is
open. Clean. There is no pollution. You breathe fresh air. There are no flies.
No mosquitoes. No cattle. No stray dogs. People are not in a rush. Hundreds of
men quietly cycle to and from their offices every day. There is no honking, no
noise" - he said. And added: "It is truly the City Beautiful. It is a
place fit for human habitation. But.."
"But
what?"
"Is Chandigarh truly representative of
India - the poor India?"
"Yes!
It symbolises the future India. The India of our dreams."
Rahul was happy that he had
come to see Chandigarh. He felt that there was a kind of music in the air. He
confessed: "I would be happy to come to this place even on a camel's back.
God willing, I should be back soon". He left. He wrote occasionally. Every
time, he enquired about the 'City Beautiful' -the city with the open hand.
After more than two decades, he
came again. I was in Delhi to receive him. We travelled by Shatabdi - a symbol
of India's progress. As the train was leaving Delhi, the slums on both sides brought
a frown on his face. But he seemed to be reasonably happy with the train. There
was no over-crowding. No pushing. A good cup of tea with the morning
newspaper. A breakfast. A little chat. A
little snooze. Before long, we were in Chandigarh. As we came out. Rahul saw
the waiting car - the Indian Ambassador.
"Oh
God! You still have this monstrous gas guzzler?"
"The
government has given it to me".
"But
I heard that now India has some of the good cars. These are fuel-efficient. The
maintenance costs are minimal. Why does the government persist with this
expensive antique? Another scam?"
I chose not to answer. But as
we drove out of the station, there was a barrier put up by the Traffic Police.
It was only impeding the smooth movement of the traffic. The road was bouncy
and had potholes. There were the stray cattle, the pony carts, the cycles,
rickshaws, the two wheelers, the three-wheelers, the cars, the jeeps and
trucks. There was dust. There was smoke. People were in a rush. They were
honking. As if unable to recognise, he asked – "How far is
Chandigarh?" "We are in Chandigarh."
"Oh really? My God! What
have you done to this place? It was not this".
Rahul spent a few days in the
State. He saw plenty of flies and mosquitoes. These would not let him sit in
the open or in the room. There were the sick stray dogs that would not let him
have his morning jog at the lake. The muddy water and the frequent power
failures were a routine. The air was not
the same. The water was not the same. The lake was not the same. "Where is
the City Beautiful?" asked Rahul. Unable to find it, he left for his old
abode. From India’s capital to the States’ capital, it is the same story. Shall
we never change and opt for cleanliness? Rahul! Now Chandigarh too has a
Municipal Corporation. The members come by election! You see the result?
