Last week, an old friend who lives abroad landed in Delhi for a visit. This gentleman — let’s call him Bro — was born and brought up in Delhi. Unfortunately, in May 2014, when India, as predicted by Nehru, was awakening to life and freedom, Bro quit India and moved to London.
But Bro remained a patriot. Like me, he is a big devotee of the Supreme Leader and a fervent believer in the India growth story. I was excited to meet him after 11 years.
When we finally shook hands, the first thing he said to me was, “You know, flying back from London to India, it feels as if I’ve moved from a developing country to a developed one.”
This column is a satirical take on life and society.
“I know,” I said. “It is because of Vikas.”
We loaded his luggage into my luxury, non-polluting, diesel SUV and set off for his 7-star hotel in Lodhi Estate. But on the way, things started happening to him.
First, his face turned an ashen grey, exactly the colour of the Delhi sky in November. Then he sneezed non-stop 122 times. Then he started coughing, and coughed all the way to the hotel where the guard stopped us at the gate and called the manager.
The manager informed us we won’t be allowed in as they have a policy against coughers.
“He is not a ‘cougher’,” I said. “He just has a cough.”
“Our guests are paying through their nose to stay here, sir,” he said. “But your friend has a running nose.”
“His nose is not the one your guests are paying through,” I pointed out.
“Sir, the cougher will spoil the vibe of our hotel.”
“My friend has a reservation,” I said.
“We will refund everything,” the manager said, before breaking into a Level-3 sneeze that blew the turban off the guard’s head.
“You just sneezed!” I said. “This is pure hypocrisy.”
Bro tugged at my sleeve. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” I asked, but he couldn’t answer because he was busy scratching himself. His body was covered in red rashes.
“Take me to a doctor.”
“Shall we go to Apollo?”
“No,” he said. “I prefer Apollo’s beautiful sister Aphrodite.”
On our way to the hospital, he coughed so violently one of his lungs fell out. Thanks to my reflexes, I caught it before it hit the floor. It was my first time holding a live human lung. It reminded me of the filter inside my RO, except Bro’s lung was sparkling clean. I handed it to a passing nurse for safekeeping.
“Where is it from?” she wanted to know.
“From here,” I said, pointing to Bro’s heaving chest.
“This lung’s protective coating of smoke, tar, PM10 and PM2.5 is completely missing. What happened?”
“Sister, he has been living in the U.K. for many years,” I said.
“U.K.?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s a poor country where they don’t provide free universal access to particulate matter like we do here in India.”
“That explains it,” the nurse sighed. “No wonder he is struggling to breathe.”
The next morning, Bro underwent emergency surgery where they installed a new lung coated with a double layer of charcoal and cement dust. He was discharged in three days, and he’s perfectly fine now. His cough is gone, his rashes have disappeared, and he spends hours at the ITO signal without a mask. He was so comfortable at 900-plus AQI that I sent him in my place to cheer for my son Kattabomman on his school’s Sports Day.
“I always knew this whole brouhaha about Delhi air pollution was just smoke without fire,” Bro said, lighting a beedi. “All living things adapt to a changing environment, and true Delhiites are no exception.”
“That’s called evolution,” I said. “I hope you realise what a big mistake it was to leave Delhi for London. In just 11 years, your lungs lost their native resilience and became so lily-livered they went into GASP 4 when GRAP 3 was in force.”
“You’re right,” he nodded. “But I want to ask all those chaps creating nuisance doing protests for clean air. How did people survive the Ice Age? Did anyone protest back then for hot air?”
“Good point,” I said.
“And how did we survive the dinosaurs?” he went on. “Were dinosaurs less dangerous than air pollution?”
“Erm… Bro, I don’t think humans survived the dinosaurs.”
“What do you mean?” he said. “We are here today, aren’t we? But I see no dinosaurs.”
“Never mind,” I said. “But I agree. Pollution is not the problem. People are the problem.”
The author of this satire is Social Affairs Editor, The Hindu.
Published – November 28, 2025 12:59 pm IST
