Super drunk. The garden of Lodhi. There are totas, bayas, kala papihas, pujas, minas, babylas, kauvas, ulus, gaurayas… Flowerbulbs, kayaks, beautifully named cyrias, cabutars and of course white bantakas – the latter jump in front of the pond, in massive groups, without showing any physical distance, without worrying about a coronavirus pandemic.

Most of these birds are of course not visible because it is late in the morning. In the evening, the birds that live in Lodhi’s garden tend to fly from their shelter to the sky.

But you can hear their sounds. And although it is impossible to distinguish the different species by their pronounced chatter, we know what they can be, thanks to the panels painted with names and images of birds scattered around the garden as if they were drawn in a children’s handbook.

At a time when everything that seemed ordinary becomes unusual, a walk in the garden of Lodhi turns out to be the thing from which dreams are born. A walk along the tree-lined paths gives the visitor, who has walked around the house for so long due to the blockage of the corona virus, the eager energy to relax the spring after a long compression in the box.

It’s a fascinating feeling of freedom.

The garden was reopened only a few days ago after a slight closure. The access time is limited, from 17.30 to 11.00 and from 16.00 to 20.30.

While the return of the rest of the city remains risky (the virus doesn’t slow it down), the empty Lodhi Garden intruder pours into your backyard liquid from a private park you never had. There’s almost no human presence. There aren’t enough tea trays, soft drinks, luddup meat and name badges that are constantly jumping out of trees and bushes. Even the grass seems wild and untouched. Many dogs lie lazy on muddy hedges, so they can probably stay cool in warm weather.

In the two and a half months since the garden was closed, the appearance hasn’t changed much, and yet it looks so different. Perhaps because of his long absence of regular human visitors. At that time, every day before Christmas (before the wreath), the area was full of romantic couples of all ages who came here to escape the prying eyes of the world.

Their current disappearance illustrates another human sacrifice of the pandemic – no doubt many loved ones were unable to unite in these difficult times.

(Now a rare masked runner passes by).

In the past, it was almost always impossible to find a place on a park bench. But for now, in the new normal mode, the benches behind the benches are empty. The saddest performance takes place in the garden in front of the mausoleum of Mohammed Shah Said (the same monument where, in the days before the Koronne, a small group of calligraphers gathered every evening to attend their daily Urdu calligraphy class). Here is an empty green bench under the tree, around which dry leaves have been scattered – as if it has been a long time since anyone has crossed the threshold to pick up a bench with a loved one or a book. The environment makes you feel like you’re an abandoned sanctuary.

At least play with the idea of coming to Lodhi’s garden now, carefully and with masks and disinfectants, to test it in his newly acquired crawlery.

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