Dr Sengupta lives in CR park. He is older, doesn’t drive these days on Delhi’s ever-more maddening roads but his mind does at times drift back to now faint, adrenaline-tinted memories, and a nostalgic-ache for those more adventurous times. Meanwhile, in these last few years, Mrs Sengupta has taken complete charge of their new vehicle replacing the old battle-scarred Honda City with a Kia Seltos. She drives almost the same way as Dr Sengupta did. Delhi does that to you, or, rather Delhi’s drivers battle-harden you – testing you every which way with their aggression and guile. Dr Senupta’s road tactics and adventures can be recalled reading an earlier blog-post – ‘Dr Sengupta: a road Metamorphosis’.

But back to CR Park, where I too have now come to live – not far from Kali Baari. The locality may not be at the top of the real estate ladder in the capital, but it most certainly has a nous that few other Delhi colonies possess. So, it may not have the poshest bungalows dripping wealth, but it certainly has a number of reasonably well-maintained parks that come alive during the Pujo days – ‘come alive’ may be a gross understatement here; its more like a crescendo of excitement and merriment building up from Shashthi (the 6th day of the Pujo) onwards and culminating in huge crowds and pure white-noise in the evenings on Navami and Pujo. But that’s what makes CR, CR – and, if you are hungry, after salutations to the beloved Goddess you can dig deep into a juicy seekhkebab roll.

The centre of CR is the Kaali Baari; built on an ancient Aravalli outcrop extending into southeast Delhi, it outdoes any NCR temple in terms of atmospherics (by a thousand times I would have gushed, if I were a true blue-blooded CR Parker, but its been just three years) – transporting you to another world – far to the east. The blue Goddess Kaali Murti is enchanting and reminds of another dark goddess on the banks of a lost branch of Kosi on the outskirts of Purnea in Northern Bihar.

The Kali Baari complex is also known as the Shiv Mandir; actually, its three temples – the blue Goddess is flanked on her right by Bhole Nath and by Radhe-Krishna on her left. So, she is in good company. What would they be talking about when left to themselves, at their small adda? That the land is not doing badly with the per capita marginally below USD 3000 and the capital’s roads chock-a-block with SUVs, and then not so well – what with the Delhi air breathable just a few days in a year, the Yamuna waters so dear to Krishna unbathable, and the near invisible poor without a roof over their heads using the collateral-shade offered by the flyovers as home? That it was alright if the smell of incense mingled with the smell of Bhetki in Market Number 1? That all this apprporiation of their name felt kind of constrictive? That the best Mishti being offered was still from Kamala? But was the Jol Bhora as good as it used to be a decade back? Maybe, all this and much much more. Probably, ending with a reference to the U.S. Prez trying to lord it over the world, and ending with some hearty laughter?

We moved to CR Park after living on rent in Def Col for a couple of years. CR certainly outdoes the famed Def Col in some essential parameters. Firstly, you can take a leisurely walk admiring the gulmohar blossoms in summer without worrying about stepping on a pile of gooey dog poop. Its rare to find dog poop on the colony roads in CR, while in DC it can often spoil your little amble, with you left scraping your smelly shoe every few steps. Not that CR has a lesser number of pets, but the residents are generally more careful/ meticulous in taking care of their pet’s droppings than their richer DC brethren.

Then, the trees. There are more trees in CR than in most private colonies of Delhi. Along some inside-roads they form a filigreed-canopy and there are parts where even in the peak of summer, the blazing sun doesn’t burn. The government colonies of Pandara road and Shahjahan road are of course in a different league in terms of old trees; built in the 1960s, you find 70-80 year olds or even older Peepul and Mexican Silk Cotton specimens bursting with new leaves and those heavy orange blossoms every spring from which starlings take-off and descend in synchronised, shape-changing murmurations. In CR, in front of our house, is a tall Maulsari visited by sunbirds in March and robins and squirrels in April. The Bel tree is, of course, the characteristic tree of CR, with its leaves in demand during Shravan as offerings to Mahadev.

You cannot even pretend to talk about CR without the tuk-tuks carrying passengers from one end to the other, or Kamala Sweets, which is probably the only place in Delhi you can get Mihidana, or its two famous fish markets, or Raju’s evening chaat stall handing out phuchkas in a semi-circle at a super-brisk pace, though I prefer the Delhi-ised version (Sooji ones) you get at Bengali Sweets in South Extension Part-1, or the animated gup-shup you overhear on the roads. Recently, I heard an elderly gentleman purchasing a roasted bhutta from a cart wax eloquent about the marvel that the Victoria Memorial in Kolkata was, and how the Taj Mahal paled in front of its grandeur with the poor man selling roasted maize looking perplexed turning the cob one way and the other. But to think of it, where else in the capital but in CR would you find such free-airing of information and trenchant insight.

Back to Dr Sengupta. He still sees patients late in the night – the very poor ones even without a charge. At times, it gets so late the compounder leaves but the doctor examines the last patient before turning in for the night. Doctor Sa’ab has asked me to take him to Kwality, still surviving well in the Regal building, for some Chole-Bhature this weekend. That is where we head this Sunday afternoon. But one day, I plan to take him to Chache di Hatti behind one of KM college’s gates.

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