A Letter

When I moved here over two months ago, at the beginning of a new year, I remember thinking to myself- this is going to be insane. I'd done the whole living in a big city on my own before, but never in India, and more importantly, never in Delhi. I panned out the next few months in my head- I would hate it at first, I was sure. Then I would begin to like it and wonder what all the fuss was about, then something would happen and I would realise- yes, this is going to be hard.That's where I am right now with my nemesis, Delhi. So, I write this letter to you, as a fresh start, a new beginning (albeit two months too late).

Dear Delhi,

You are a swine- and stubborn as hell too. Just when I think I've got the better of you, you strike me down for a week with your viral infections, that almost sends me back to square one- defeat. But then, I remind myself of why I'm here- not just to start a new job, but to try and understand why people for hundreds of years have been drawn to you. And I swallow my pill. 

How do I understand you? I try to make some sense of the stories mostly, that make you what you are. Of the barefoot young boy who sells Open Magazine (which probably has a story about him in it) to me at a traffic light. Of the young gay couple talking about prejudice towards their identities and coming out to their friends. Of the chowkidhar that raps his stick past midnight in my colony. Of the taxi driver who is too afraid to tell me that he's lost his way because he is new to the city. Of the 11th grade test tube baby. 

There are so many already, and as I struggle to weave them together, I struggle with my feelings for you. You don't mean much to me just as yet. Right now, you are just this- a melange of pictures that I have seen. But to be heard, Delhi, to be truly heard, you and I will have to meet somewhere in the middle. I hope we can, I really do. 

Love, 

A dilli-dallyer