Now that I think of it, it was pretty close.

I was at Janpath yesterday. And yes I heard the loud thud that accompanies a bomb blast. Of course I was one of the commons, and didn't think much of it. I was at my favorite book store right at the start of the bustling street, fighting the urge to buy more books. Book Land, is it called? I had just bought 20 books the previous weekend at the Delhi Book Fair, Pragati Maidan. Not so far away either. And had promised myself I wouldn't buy anymore.

But I so love this book store. The last time I visited was I think in Jan? I had lost my way and found myself at Janpath. And Pilani days came flooding back. Of leaving luggage at the cloak room at Ajmeri gate, and taking the auto to Palika Bazaar. Of lounging in the central park lawns - hoping to catch the elusive winter sunshine, hoping to feel less cold. Of being so unbelievably badly dressed and still callously wandering the circles of Connaught Place. Of checking out the movies at Regal Cinema. I remember going there straight after the XAT in 2004, to catch a movie.

I had a lovely time. I bought little trinkets, earrings and a top I'd never wear, at Janpath. And then I casually stepped in to this book place. And surprisingly, for a book store in Delhi, he had more than the 23 regular best sellers - fiction and non-fiction. So, I gingerly set down my shopping, and started searching. Casually at first. And soon, vigorously. And began to discover new titles, familiar titles, unheard of authors, charming covers. The book shop owner craned his neck to see me from behind numerous piles - "aapke liye kuch nikalen ma'am?"
"Haan Bhaiya, kuch alag dikhayiye. Indian." He fished out this Ismat Chugtai for me. Short stories. From a feminist of the early 20th Century. Intrigued, I picked it up. And with it, 6 more.
Happy day, well spent buying books and junk, in good old Connaught Place/Palika Bazaar/Janpath.

Back in mundane Gurgaon, I never managed another visit to my favorite part of Delhi. Till yesterday. When the now familiar bomb series happened. Till yesterday, when Hari was in town and we were celebrating 3 years of being together. When we first met, on the first date we ever went on, we had hopped from one coffee shop to another, never wanting the day to end. For a whole 8.5 hours. And we wanted to do that again, 3 years down the line.
So we woke up on Sat, went to the food court at Ambi, got a wrap, watched 'Rock On' in Gold Class, went to the coffee shop at Reliance Mart, had coffee together (our second stop), picked up a couple of books, and then decided to drive out to Delhi, and find a Barista. One road led to another, and suddenly we were on ShantiPath, Satya Marg, and I thought, Why not go all the way to Janpath/CP, and surely there will be a Barista to play Scrabble at?
After a few wrong turns, we were at the McD signal, and turning right, on a gut, when Hari spotted Saravana Bhavan. And then like they say, there was no looking back. Hari really misses his South Indian food in Hong Kong. In that moment, we were so excited, thinking about little idli's dipped in molagai podi, and rava dosa with filter coffee.
We ignored the Barista, drove round the block, and came back to park at Tribhuvandas. I had to leave my keys behind at the parking, and well-trained to expect this, I picked up my stereo, parked my car, and off we were.
Once at Saravanas, the inevitable '1 big argument for every visit' had to happen. And we had our pointless moments over how Hari didnt have the right clothes for a party we had to go to later that evening, and how he always didnt take this seriously. I was pissed.
So we walked out determined to find our hosts later that evening a nice piece of Indian craft along Janpath, and my boy friend some decent clothes to wear. But of course, after a little meandering, we ended up at the book store.
Before we knew it, we were piling up books to buy. Hari was so excited about his finds at the store (I personally think he reads some really random books). I fished out the shop owner from behind the piles this time, and eagerly announced - "Bhaiya, kuch achcha dikhayiye. Pichle baar, Ismat Chugtai jo dee thi, bahut achchi lagi." He promptly vanished.
I picked up a magazine 'Covert' with an interesting cover on terrorism, if I remember right. And the Frontline, on the Kashmir issue. Also, the latest Outlook. In the mean time, my 'Book Land' friend came out with 3 books for me - all of which I just had to glance at, to know I was taking with me. I was so happy. Which is when I realised I didnt' have cash on me. And the book store didnot keep a card machine. Shit. Bhaiya, ATM kahan hogi? And he told me what I alreay knew - it was in that big building - you had to walk up to Central Park and take a left and walk up many steps to a Citi ATM. Let's go Hari, these books are so nice. I really want to get them. And Thud. There was a shudder. I turned to look at the Police booth right there. There were 3 policemen right there. And everyone looked at each other for a brief moment, and got back to what they were doing.
10 seconds later people started moving. Many more people soon joined. Hari grabbed my arm, prodding me to leave. I remember distinctly what I said - 'Come on, you think it's a bomb! Nahin hoga yaar. Let's go get the cash for these books.' He wasn't convinced, but I bullied him. He wanted to cross the road. And I didnt because I knew we wouldn't come back. I turned to the shopkeeper, picked up my pile of books, asked him to keep them aside, and said I'd be back with cash. We started walking away. And I asked an onlooker, 'Kya hua bhaiya?' 'Kya malum, madam.'
We'd walked a few steps, when we realised we'd carried a book along by mistake. So we went back, to return it. It was when we started walking away once again that I realised this was serious. Anxiety was beginning to show on faces around me. When we looked towards Central Park, it seemed normal, only a little more crowded.
We quickly crossed the road, and I began to panic. We were at Janpath! If there was a bomb blast at Central Park, surely there was going to be one here. Worse, I had to walk towards Central Park, to my parking spot. It took us 3 minutes.
My car was jammed, right behind a maruti and a bigger car. I looked at the parking lot keeper. Kya hua Bhaiya? He grinned - Pata nahin madam, 10 rupees deejiye. chalan kidhar hai?
I was numb - space had been cleared in the meantime, and I could take my car out, but at the back of my mind, I was beginnning to digest the fact that it was a blast. I looked towars my car, and it was right next to 3 telecom boxes - the ones that look like little steel Godrejs on the road? My mind was in a whirl - all 3 were partly open - should I check? should I whizz my car out?
We were in front of a famous jewellery store. Were we at the next target?
For the next few moments, I dont really know what I did. I wasn't scared or in a panic. Mostly distracted. I pulled my car out, Hari stepped in, and we were on the road, away from Central Park. The traffic on the opposite side was already jammed, and a fire engine was screeching. For a moment, I thought - must be a transformer and a fire. The next instant, I could hear ambulances.
Adu called, anxious. And finally, I believed it was a bomb blast. She lives rihgt next to M-Block. Her dressing table has shuddered, but she was fine and at home. She was alarmed I was in CP, urged me to drive out, into a hotel may be.
By now, Hari and I were driving blindly. He was unusually calm. I was freaked out. Every turn, tree, traffic light seemed like the next blast target point. We ended up near India Gate, and I was so sure we're going to catch the blast here. Of course there would be one here!
We drove into a gali in darkness, when I found myself on the way back to Janpath, and tried to avoid it. There were a few men coming out of a building, and the road ahead was blocked. I quickly swerved and dashed out, onto the main road. About 40 minutes later, I was on gyarah murthi, somehow, after having driven past India Gate, Parliament, north and South Avenue. And then we headed home. People called constantly, and we didn't tell anyone we were so close, till we got home.
And now the irony of it all strikes me hard. How Hari and I needlessly fought at Saravanas. How for no rhyme or reason we ended up at CP yesterday. How I picked up a magazine called COVERT, with a cover story on violence. How I had left my keys with an unknown person at a parking lot, in an unknown spot, where terror, unknown, struck. It could have been inside my car! How those books still lie at that book store, waiting to be bought. In cash.
I am so going back next weekend.