The titanium grey TVS Jupiter swerved and screeched to a sudden halt. A speeding white Bolero — bearing a Haryana registration — missed me by a whisker, its four occupants shooting me dirty looks. I merely shrugged, pointed at the rear tyre, and pushed my scooter to one side of the flyover.
This sudden braking was prompted by a structure coming into view atop Delhi’s iconic Ring Road. When seen from a certain section and angle, a whole new shape emerged than the one I was used to — almost like a 2-D image becoming a 3-D one. Now, I don’t know much about rivers, but thanks to Heraclitus, I now know no man can ever walk on the same road twice. At least I couldn’t — not today at least. For there, bathed in the yellow glow of an unforgiving summer sun stood Pitampura’s TV Tower — surrounded by clouds that resembled flying saucers.
I have commuted via Delhi’s meandering Ring Road — amongst its autos, tempos, cars, buses, cycles, bikes, dust and grime — for as long as I could remember. However, as I neared Shalimar Bagh that day, it felt as if I was seeing the 235-metre tall TV tower for the first time in my life. A slightly crazy epiphany made me gasp. This wasn’t just any TV tower.
This was a space gun.
Just like that, a crazy speculation burrowed in my subconscious mind, and I entered a mental twilight zone where the real and imaginary coexist. As traffic whizzed past me, I started the Jupiter, and moved along the Ring Road on auto-pilot. I was too busy to notice Netaji Subhash Place — with its crowded joints — slip past; the wafting aroma of goodies being baked at Britannia Chowk failed to entice me. My mind was far away, whirring to make sense of why a space gun would be installed in the heart of Delhi.
While gridlocked at Punjabi Bagh, I saw a panicked, teak-brown Audi Q7 zigzagging across the road as if it were being chased by something, and it dawned on me that the space gun might exist to combat extra-terrestrial threats.
My heart skipped a beat, and I opened up the throttle. The engine whined in protest, and shot towards Dhaula Kuan. I crossed the malls of Raja Garden, and left the factories of Mayapuri behind without any incident. With Delhi cantonment came a whiff of fresh air, and lip-smacking kachori vendors operating out of Atlas cycles.
The road got crowded again after Dhaula Kuan, and I took the flyover over Nauroji Nagar. At the precise moment I reached AIIMS, a corrugated gate marked ‘Emergency Only’ was flung open and a steady stream of people made their way out. Battered, scarred faces stared back at me.
Alarm bells started ringing in my subconscious. A threat from space. Are we prepared for the aliens engaging in NBC warfare?
I shuddered at the prospect as the two-wheeler sped towards South Extension. The Ring Road was clogged with various flyovers under construction, and I passed Ashram after what seemed like hours. At Maharani Bagh, where I had to take a left to continue towards Rajghat, a restless urge to leave Delhi by taking the Delhi-Noida-Delhi expressway instead struck my stomach. A part of me wanted to ride till I reached my daadi’s home in Western Uttar Pradesh — a tranqil tehsil tucked amidst sugarcane fields and mango orchards — where no one had heard of space guns and ET life.
But I didn’t.
Not only because this was a silly thought, but also because if a UFO did appear over Raisina Hill, there would nowhere left to hide.
(Sami Ahmad Khan is a writer, academic and documentary producer. His second novel, Aliens in Delhi, has recently hit the stands.)