The contradiction that’s Delhi — smoking cigarettes through a mask

Ihad barely crossed Panipat when the warnings began to buzz on the phone like doomsday notifications.

“Delhi ka AQI is above 450!” “If you don’t wear a mask the moment you get off the train, you will choke and perhaps faint before you reach the New Delhi Railway Station exit.”

Mentally, I was already dead by the time the Shatabdi rolled in. But like a dutiful, terrified citizen, I got down wearing a mask. I expected to be hit by a grey poisonous fog. But Delhi surprised me — like it always does — not with how terrible it is, but with how absurdly confident it is about being terrible.

As I reached Connaught Place or CP — the eternal queen of colonial pillars and credit card bills — the contradiction that’s Delhi presented itself with all the drama of a Bollywood film’s opening scene.

Ri