Low life no more

Thu, May 22 01:15 AM

Last night I dreamt I went to Central Park again. The zig-zaggy pathway wound away in front of me, twisting and turning as it had always done.

And finally, I was inside Central Park. That old Central Park when there was no Rajiv Chowk metro station, no crowd of 'decent' people lounging around.

Where everything used to be secretive and silent. Where bushes were wild, hedges untrimmed, and trees unwieldy.

Soon a cloud came upon the moon and the dream faded with the moonshine. I was back in the real world where that old Central Park exist no more.

That old desolation has disappeared. So has the unruly greenery under whose shadow prostitution and hashish puffing were carried out discreetly, away from prying eyes.

That world is lost. Around seven years ago, this public garden of ill repute was closed down.

Delhi was building its first subway system, and Central Park would be the hub. Once it was taken over by the DMRC, the park's benches were disposed off, its grass turned over, its trees fell, and, finally, all of it was dug up to build an underground railway terminus - Rajiv Chowk.

In the dying days of 2006, Central Park was re-opened to Delhiwallas - with a new life. Out went the wilderness.

In crawled the civilized trappings of newly planted trees, artificial pools, cemented pathways, polished railings, and an amphitheatre (for Bhangra concerts?). Also, along with ancient trees, social misfits who had made this park their home were also 'uprooted'.

That's how one more island of untamed existencewas tamed by the civilised 'colonisers'. The smug carefree middle-class Delhi claimed another victory, and embraced the new Central Park with open arms.

Last weekend I went there and found the park at its bourgeois best. Sunday picnickers were lolling around sun-kissed lawns.

Sober couples reclined on grassy slopes, happy families posed for digicams, and young pranksters pranced about. Cascading fountains shot up water in sprays.

Young damsels walked barefoot in the cool water of the shallow pond. A lone man played guitar.

While under our feet shuttled metro trains (the underground life too has been taken over and renovated). Now Central Park shines with 'nice' people.

The social rejects - addicts, homosexuals, eunuchs, prostitutes and other lonely souls - have been evicted. The new park, as a middle-class paradise, has shorn away the low-life.

But where did all those people go, now that their sanctuary has gone? The family-friendly public garden still reverberates with the memories of its lost souls. They must be missing their Central Park, but few miss them.

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