3rd June, 2014

"Thousands of ghosts in the daylight
One day we all disappear
We'll walk till we get to the harbor
They'll never know we were here..."

In the Wilderness 4th June, 2014

Under the lazy January Sun,

The grass lush with winter dew,

Invited the melancholy straight

Out of my being, as I lay savoring

The delicate deliquescence around,

The tickle of the blades of grass,

And the sight of you,

Radiant under the illumination,

Half-asleep, half-distraught

At the lingering menace of 

A relentless grasshopper,

Who seemed to appreciate 

The kiss of your hair on its feet,

As much as I loved its caress,

On my cheeks, and face.

The festivals of light, the nights 

Of endless applause, made known

By the indefatigable illumination,

Conjured by incessant fireworks,

Released from the ground, 

And terminating in crescendo,

Inches above our selves,

And us in flight, of the relief

After years of strife, of love,

Of hallucinations that come

To mark youth and its many

Blind faiths, With the mild

Pungency of burning gunpowder

Igniting dreams that were to

Later need suppression, cruel.

**************************************************

It is dark now, has been aching

Eternally, this loneliness.

As I have been looking for you,

In this endless hollowness.

In this world, turned dark now,

Baby, I look for you,

In the wilderness.

FIFA WORLD CUP 2014. ALL UPDATES SO FAR.

23rd June, 2014 

I shall have a personal bone to pick with anyone who denies that the Chilean team deserves to go far in this tournament. What beautiful (possession)-control. #NetherlandsVsChile.

In other news, Spain scores a 3-0 victory over Australia, with goals from Torres, and Juan Mata (along with one from Villa). Reminded me of the Mata-Torres camaraderie moments from their Chelsea days together. Only this time,both of them actually scored. #SpainVsAustralia #SelfDeprecatingHumor#ChelseaFC

#FIFAWC2014

22nd June, 2014

1. It is time for Boateng Vs. Boateng

#GermanyVsGhana #GODEUTSCHLAND.

2. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is MIROSLAV KLOSE.

Two minutes in, and a goal!

#GermanyVsGhana

3. What a great game of football. For a terribly ghastly first half, the second half more than made up, and how. Ghana, the underdogs, proved to be quite a scare for Germany, and at a point looked all set to win the game, albeit with quite a bit of pushing and shoving, and foul play, which was somehow ignored by the referee, until the yellow card for Sulley Ali Muntari at the last minute. 

The apparent mistake on the German part was to bring Schweinsteiger and Klose on so late into the game, when it was too late for them to effectively deliver too well. Now, since they are both recovering from injuries, this strategy could work out well in the long run. Letting them rest in a non-crucial match such as this one could reap rich benefits from their presence in later, more crucial matches.

Anyway, that's that. Germany still leads the group.

#GermanyVsGhana #FIFAWC2014

21st June, 2014

1. Remember, Carlos Queiroz was the assistant manager of Manchester United, circa 2008, when they won 1-0 aggregate over Barcelona in the Champions League semifinals(and eventually went on to defeat Chelsea in the finals).

Are you still surprised that Iran(currently managed by the same Queiroz) has managed to keep Barcelona's poster-kid Messi-led Argentina goalless so far?

#IranVsArgentina #Goallesssofar #PossibleDraw

2. Very well played, Iran. But Argentina had the luck, as well as the Lion. Saved them from a very embarrassing draw.

The last minute wonder reminded me of the Germany-Italy semifinal in the 2006 World Cup where 2 goals were scored by Italy by Del Piero and Grosso - one after the other in the extra-time, pushing Germany out of the cup, and Italy into the finals.

This is the stuff World Cup Legends are made of.

#CarlosQueiroz #IranVsArgentina #Messicre #FIFAWC2014 #CUPdates

20th June, 2014


And Latin America keeps trumping Europe, over and over and then some more. #ItalyVsCostaRica #FIFAWC2014 #BryanRuiz #NowBeginningToWorry

19th- 20th June, 2014

And we witnessed Suarez flushing England down the sewer,

#CUPdates #FIFAWC2014 #SouthAmericanSupremacy#Theyalsolegalizedweed #WorldCupOfTheDarkHorses#AlmostNamesakeWIN #LettingHisClubNationDown

19th June, 2014


1.Go Chile.  #WorldCupOfTheUnderdogs #ChileVsSpain

2. The Andes rise much higher than the Pyrenees. If you know what I mean?

#WorldCupOfTheUnderdogs #ChileVsSpain #ChileanDefense#JohnnyHerrera

3.Not like I particularly enjoy rubbing salt on other people's wounds, and I hate being an asshole, but Spain, this was payback for 29th June 2008 and 7th July, 2010. HA HA.

Sincerely, 
a fan of the Germany National Football Team.

#SpainVsChile #WorldCupOfTheUnderdogs

• 16th June, 2014 

• 
  
• 1. Oh Hummels, what a beauty!
  
  #GermanyVsPortugal #TheWorldCupNowBegins #TwoNilLead
  
  2. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand a thiiiiiiiiiiiiiird, and we're only at half time!
  
  #GermanyVsPortugal #TheWorldCupNowBegins #ThreeNilLead
  
  3. Stop dreaming of goals, Portugal, all that you're gonna get tonight are the cards.
   
• #GermanyVsPortugal #TheWorldCupNowBegins #OneRedOneYellow
  
  4. The referee is doing a better job of protecting the Portuguese against the Germans than the players themselves. 
  
  #GermanyVsPortugal #FIFAWC2014
• 
  
• 5. Poor Fábio Coentrão. First, Nani's selfish walkover, and now, this. Poor boy.
  
  
  #GermanyVsPortugal #FIFAWC2014
• 
  
• 6. Thomas Müller. Well done. Very very well done. 
  
  #Hattrick #GermanyVsPortugal #FIFAWC2014 #FailRonaldoFail

• 7. The fatal error on the Portuguese side was to have invested too much faith and hero-worshipping into their singular "Best Player of the Year". Let him take all the penalty kicks, keep him at the centre, basically, just be subservient to his glory. Look, how that turns out. Hah. Germany, what a classy win!
  
  Brilliant, brilliant day for the German nation. Schumacher first, and now this. Yay!
  
  #GermanyVsPortugal #FIFAWC2014 #4-0
  14th June, 2014
• 
  
• Personally, I was hoping for a six-goal-difference win for Netherlands. But, 5-1 was good enough. For now. #FIFAWC2014 #spainvsholland #RVP

Buiya Goes To XLRI 15th June, 2014

So, the elder sibling left for XLRI, Jamshedpur today. First time that all four of us in the family will be based out of different cities. Feels strange as I witness the long-lost childhood blurring into a tinier speck on the horizon.

23rd June, 2014

Haan, phir bhi baatein kabhi toh hoti hi thi,
Par baaton mein se jaan kahiin gumshuda thi.

Yaadein, toh aise yaad aate hain (28th May 2014)

किसी अंजान शहर की कोई गुमनाम गली के

बगल में ठहरा एक अंधेरे मकान में 

एक बूढ़े इंसान के मुर्झाते साये में

खेलते दो बच्चों के किल्काडियों को सुन

दादाजी के शॉल की खुशबू, या फिर

छज्जे पर नींबू-शरबत पीने के वह

सांझे का ढलता सूरज याद आता है, 

यादें तो ऐसे याद आते है… 

किसी नये दोस्त के आवाज़ के सिलवटों में

तीसरी क्लास का बेंच वाला साथी,

और restaurant में नज़दीक के टेबल पर बैठा 

अजनबी की आँखों में, ग्यारहवी का 

वह प्यार याद आता है, और रंगीन 

एक शाम की मदमस्त जवानी में 

एक birthday के शाम का शोरगुल, माँ की आवाज़,

और तालियाँ भी याद आते है… 

Hostel के सीढ़ियों से छत पे चढ़ते वक़्त,

एक पेड़ के झलक से, बचपन के आम का पेड़,

उसपे चढ़ना, और फिर गिरना याद आता है,

और नशे में डूबे वीरान रातों में,

पुराने गीतों के Youtube-y मुदाख़िलात से,

एक अर्से की भूली हुई, यादों के किसी गुमराह

कोने में बसी लोड़ियाँ याद आते है,

हाँ, यादें ऐसे ही याद आते है…    

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Kisi anjaan sheher ki koi gumnaam gali ke

Bagal mein thehra ek andhere makaan mein

Ek boodhe insaan ke murjhaate saaye mein

Khelte do bachchon ke kilkaariyon ko sun,

Dadaji ke shawl ki khushboo, yaa toh phir,

Chhajje par nimboo sharbat peene ke woh

Saanjhe ka dhalta sooraj yaad aata hai..

Yaadein toh aise yaad aate hai.

Kisi naye dost ke awaaz ke silvaton mein

Teesri class ka bench waala saathi,

Aur restaurant ke nazdeek ke table par baitha

Ajnabee ke aankhon mein, gyarhvi ka

Woh pyaar yaad aata hai, Aur rangeen   

Kisi shaam ki madmast jawaani mein,

Ek birthday ke shaam ka shorgul, maa ki awaaz,

Aur taaliyan bhi yaad aate hai. 

Hostel ke seedhiyon se chhat pe chadhte waqt 

Ek pedh ke jhalak se, bachpan ke aam ka pedh,

Usspe chadhna, aur phir girna yaad aata hai,

Aur nashe mein doobe viraan raaton mein,

Puraane geeton ke Youtube-y mudakhilat se

Ek arsey ki bhooli huwi, yaadon ki kisi gumrah

Kone mein basi loriyan yaad aati hai.

Haan, yaadein aise hi yaad aate hai. 

C'est La Vie - 31st May 2014

How easy it is to dream, when one is young, isn't it? To conjure up colorful worlds of reckless abandon, while sitting in classrooms as the teacher drones on about some irrelevant Mathematical theorem? The possibilities seem endless, the best years are all up ahead. Everything seems believable; success actually seems achievable. Nobel Prizes to the Bookers, Oscars to the Grammys, everything, we're taught to believe, is as likely to become ours as the next person's. The best relationships as well as the severest heartbreaks are yet to come, the first bank accounts yet to be opened, the promise of the first kiss lingers on the horizon, or rather, on the opposite end of the classroom, where the attractive batchmate sits, looking equally lost. The driving licences, the college-years, the many parties, the voting rights - everything is impending.

And then suddenly, you're a grown up, and the best of all the years have passed you by ! Now, every dream has to be carefully weighed out with scales of realism. The economy is shrinking, the jobs are like bad jokes life played with you, and forget being a millionaire at twenty-five, you're hardly making enough to pay your rents. The clogged drainage in the bathroom doesn't get automatically cleaned out by the domestic help- you have to pick up the semi-eaten morsels out of the kitchen sink with your own hands. The parents are growing old, and now look at you with quiet eyes, that never for once reveal their desire to be taken care of, for fear of damaging your dreams, of impairing your wings. The stench of eternal mediocrity, that you could easily ignore before, now seems to be your constant, albeit unwanted, companion, someone you are now realizing you need to make peace with. The bills keep piling up, the finances need to be kept tab of. You drive, not out of adventure, but out of necessity, and your votes are capable of only bringing douchebags to power, for they seem to be the only options. The first relationship, and many more after that, whizzed past you before you even knew what was happening. The many wrong turns you took, the mean words you said, the many hearts you broke, and the many people who broke yours, linger on as haunting blemishes on the life you were dreaming to build solely out of coruscating successes, and universal acclaim and love.

~ C'est la vie ~

FilmSchool And Such...

Last night, I revisited my old blog after quite a while. And after an even longer sabbatical, did I get down to reading the other blogs linked to mine. Those that were started by, and used to, some time back, narrate the stories of the lives of those who I used to then call friends. Time dented some of these friendships, and as between boats that drift away amidst a gale, or sometimes even at calm sea, their voices do not reach me any more today, and neither does mine, them. Funnily, I discovered, most of these blogs too have since turned silent. The tales they had begun to sow have remained unfinished, only half-narrated. It is as if a tempest drowned their voices, like their beings got lost along the way, never to be found again. Making my way from one abandoned blog to the other felt like walking into a cemetery - very quiet, very distant and reeking of buried-and-long dead hopes and unheard-and-oft-forgotten stories. The whole experience also rendered stark the loneliness, the chasm created in my life due to the departure of these people - most of whom, at some time or the other, were cardinal to my happiness, much akin to the loneliness, the sense of loss, that typically plagues a visitor at a cemetery.

******************************************************************************

There was a time in my life, post-school, when I was a spoiled-little-kid. I woke up when I pleased, slept when I wished to, and there was no upper-ceiling on the pocket money, thus making way for countless fine dining experiences, and hanging out at up market eateries and cafeterias, gorging on endless desserts- all at the most expensive eateries around the city. The air-conditioning in my room would be on all day and through every night. The situation intensified when, after my life altering accident, my parents started keeping no stones unturned to keep me out of depression's way. In addition to the previous liberties, suddenly, I had become the priority behind every policy implemented at home, Looking back in retrospect, I probably let them dote on me as much as they did because in my head, the justification was clear. I was dealing with paralyses and crippling handicaps at the age of twenty, so I let their attention and energies fuel my sustenance. "The parents' child is back from the dead, it is their duty to indulge the child"- I probably felt. Food kept me happy, the calories kept piling on, and when I left home last August, I was a ginormous seventy six kilos.

The first thing that staying away from home took away from me, was my sense of entitlement, the feeling that if, at home, I got adrak-wali-chai at six every evening, or if my wardrobe magically replenished itself with clean clothes, it was because of my right to such things. If before moving out of home, someone had told me that I wouldn't have, at one point of time, a bed to sleep on for close to two months, I would have probably never even gone ahead with the move. Shortly after I moved to film-school in Pune, however, for two months, I shared a two-bedded room with six other men. There, not only was there no air-conditioning, I just had a mattress to myself , to sleep on, on one 8ft*4ft area of floor space. The bathroom had to be shared with all the other inhabitants of the room as well, and my idea of "personal space" that I grew up guarding, defending and nurturing, was suddenly decimated.  The funny part, however, was, none of it hurt my self-confessed gigantic ego. None of it felt insulting or beneath- me. It all felt normal, almost a part of growing up. If I was dealing with the presence of six other men in my immediate vicinity all the time, I realized, so were they. I was just as much of an intrusion into their space, as they were in mine. Frankly, even the inconvenience wasn't as bad as I would've imagined it to be, had the situation been described to the old-and-spoilt-me. I had suddenly been yanked out of the cozy bedroom of my protected upbringing, and into the front yard of my adulthood. Today, with every hour of laundry that I do, or every cup of coffee that I make, or every time I have to sweep the bathroom floor, I am grateful for the years of comfort that was afforded to me, throughout my growing up years, by the folks back home. However, at sixty six kilos today, I am also grateful for the coming-into-my-own that staying alone has intimated to me.

*

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The scary part about dreams coming true is that the realization that the Utopia you dreamed up, the reality you have today, isn't quite as fulfilling as you had dreamt for it to be. 

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Residential college,in a strange city, is a funny place to be in. While you stay on campus, and acquaint yourselves with all the other residents of the campus, the non-necessity of venturing out of the campus retains your unfamiliarity with the city around you. Soon, the campus becomes an island, of known faces, and familiar idiosyncracies, amidst a wide sea, or city, of strangers. Film school, in this regard, is pretty similar to the small neighborhood- towns I have chiefly spent my childhood in. The Institute has a Central Lane, just like all of those towns would. If you took a stroll down that lane, especially in the lazy hours of early evening, you were likely to, at some point of time or the other, meet most of the residents of the town. Same is the case here. If on a late Sunday evening, I take two walks up and down the road that is the Spinal Cord to the Institute, I do invariably, end up meeting, or passing by, most of the residents of the campus, including the dogs.

***************************************************************************

The parties, they never stop here. From 7 am weed, to 5pm beers, the babydolls as the more experienced alike, refuse to stop painting the mundane dullness of the brass world with the intoxicated shimmer of their golden selves. The bells of the hearts keep chiming at the jubilation around birthdays, and productions, and festivals, and folk nights celebrating distinct cultures constituting India, and sometimes, even without any occasion. However, for a place brimming over with so much Art, and so much creativity, and so much hope housed in every vein of every person walking its grounds, for a place with such glorious yellow and orange on branches of trees heralding the advent of Spring, for a place with such over-friendly canine companions, the Institute does become a lot to handle, a lot to process, and a lot to survive at times. Despair looms large, and is kept at bay through frivolous conversations, endless chatter, or just about anything that keeps away the having to come back to bed alone at night, and grasp certain fundamental truths about life's limited possibilities. The dreams at times start reminding one of once-upon-a-time's nightmares, and the depressiveness starts seeming imminent....

****************************************************************************

(To be continued...)

Gumraah

Khabar hai ki, jisko humne ek arsey se

Bade dhyan se dekha tha,

Woh jo galiyon se guzar kar,

Raat ke siyaah aasmaan ko

Shawl ki tarah odhkar,

Bade hi naazuk kadmon se,

Humaare muhalle ko aata tha,

Woh jo tanha aa kar,

Khwabon ko jagaa kar,

Humaare angon ko sulagata tha...

...Woh aaj, humse naraaz,

Kahiin chhupkar baitha hai,

Humaari adhoori kahaani ko

Bin muqammal chhod,

Humaara woh chaaNd aaj

Gumrah ban baitha hai.

************************************************

ख़बर है की, जिसको हमने एक अर्से से 

बड़े ध्यान से देखा था,

वह जो गलियों से गुज़र कर,

रात के सियाह आसमान को

शॉल की तरह ओढ़ कर,

बड़े ही नाज़ुक क़दमों से 

हमारे मोहल्ले को आता था,

वह जो तनहा आ कर,

ख्वाबों को जगा कर,

हमारे अंगों को सुलगाता था... 

...वह आज, हमसे नाराज़,

कहीं छुप कर बैठा है, 

हमारी अधूरी कहानी को

बिन-मुक़म्मल छोड़,

हमारा वह चाँद आज गुमराह बन बैठा है ॥ 

Kyon?

मैंने अगर आपसे तब पूछा होता की,

आपकी ख़ामोशी का लिबास पहने

किस ज़माने का ग़म छुपा बैठा है?

आप के आँखों कि नमी से,

किस अर्से का तक़ल्लुफ़ बयान होता है?

आप के होंठों के थड़थड़ाहट में  ,

किस पेहलू में छुपाए धड़कनों का साज़ है

तो शायद अपने 

खामोश ज़ुबान से,

नम आँखों,

और थड़थडाते होंठों से

आपने कोई तो जवाब दे दिया होता … 

मेरे ना पूछने में

इतनी भी कैसी चुभन थी

कि आपने दुनिया से ही

रिश्ता तोड़ दिया?

There Are Places I (Shall) Remember... 4th February 2014

Making my way through a chilly February night, past the familiar sights of Ring Road, of Safdarjung Enclave, of Aruna Asaf Ali Marg, and JNU, when I entered my room in Vasant Kunj tonight, I was hit by a feeling of loss, stronger than I had been expecting. Everything lay exactly the way I had left them about a month and a half back. Within seconds, my life of half a year came back to me. The partly-unmade bed, the quilts and bed sheets lying lumped together- as if comforting and protecting each other from the cold- all my clothes strewn around the room, the dried up bathroom floor, the Queen poster above my bed, the green lights - given to me on Diwali by someone who had warmed November up by his presence - garlanding the television on the wall, the Vodafone Internet modem I used for Internet connectivity here, the multiple empty Hot Chocolate, Nescafe and Nutella containers that I never bothered to throw away, the jute bag bearing the World Health Organisation logo- given to me by an uncle when I arrived to stay here, in August- one that I had hung behind the front door and never got around to dislodging from there even once since then, the books on Advertising- a course that had brought me to Delhi, a blue scarf that I had managed to procure out of one of my closest friends at IIMC- my Karol Bagh auntie- that I would also wear in class with my pairs of jeans and shirts(with the Bangalore Uncle, Mr. Chaithanya commenting - "very surprisingly, you do manage to pull this weird ensemble off as well"), the empty Ballantine's bottle and glass reminiscent of one particularly wild night around Diwali - all of this lying around, just as I had, running late and rushing to catch a train to Calcutta, left them - brought back so many memories...

...Memories of my first time away from home, my first time staying alone, completely by myself, like an adult, with no one to take care of me, or to pester me. Unlike most people, who graduate from home to hostel, to finally living alone, my first tryst with independence was marked by the complete, stark "alone-ness"(and I do NOT mean loneliness) that this place offered to me. I slept when I pleased, I woke up as I wished(though, usually, in time for college), I went up to the terrace with some food when I so desired, made myself as many cups of coffee as would keep me happy(having learnt how to make coffee here itself), climbed over the gate when I got too late in coming back at night, kept wondering what the warning sign asking one to be wary of "Non Ionized Radiation" meant. I danced by myself to the music played at the parties at the farmhouse next door and ordered countless meals from Hawkers and AFC's kitchen, and watched countless episodes of Harvey Specter's squabbles with Louis Litt, and bonding with Mike...This room saw love materialize, saw several varieties of despair as I desperately tried to figure a person out, gradually understanding him and accepting him for what he is. This room was for when my best friends trooped in to surprise me on a day I had overslept and missed college, found the door open, and found me lying on my bed, half-naked, and woke me up to a torrent of laughter.

I can't help but recall, after the decision to not put up with family here in Delhi, and the subsequent four days of house hunting to disappointing results, when I first set my eyes on this room, it had been love at first sight. The decision had been made then and there, and I had moved in a couple of days later. Today, on my last night here, as I try to soak in as much of this ambience, of this room, as possible, I am reminded of one cardinal truth about life. People attach a lot of importance to staying in touch with each other. This, they believe, would help them stay in touch with their past. Yet, for all the clinging on to other people that we do, as we tread through life, we forget that our past was necessarily made up of, besides the people, the places and the times we lived in - how the flowers smelled that day, how strongly the sun shone, and how much dust flickered through the sunlight pouring in through the ventilators. And thus, though the people live on( at least for a while), the times we lived in die, and with them, so does our past - never to be brought back to life, exactly similarly, even with all the people involved.

For the Love of Delhi

When I returned to Delhi in June of this year, I had old memories of the city coloring my vision, just as much as the anticipation of a new life. It took me a little bit of convincing myself to learn to be objective about the city, and not let my past seep into my present or (what was going to be) the future, in any way, positive or negative. I was, after all, making a much required escape from my home town, after feelings of claustrophobia and an over familiar terrain, along with sudden estrangement from a majority of people I had held dear, had begun to take over my being, after six years in the city. I needed out, and I was getting a way out, and I needed to make the best out of it.

Cities are like people. They greet and interact with different people differently, leading to a variety of opinions being formed about them by outsiders. Some are more universally loved, like New York, others are more frequently dissed, like New Delhi. Speaking of New Delhi, most outsiders complain of the unfriendliness, primarily. They say that the men are boastful, obnoxious and lustful, and the women are loud and snobbish. The dominant popular opinion is that the city is unsafe, it is dishonest, arrogant and non-inclusive. They speak of the ridiculous amount of power held by some, who could go around making everybody else's life a living hell. Even with a nod acknowledging that some of those things are certainly true, to an extent, I say, one needs to look beyond the obvious, and acknowledge the ways in which the city is worth celebrating.

Delhi, to me, is a beautiful city. The roads are wide and clean(er than the rest of the Indian cities). There is no offence to the olfactory senses like what one has to suffer in Kolkata or Mumbai. The roads, at least in South Delhi, are clean, and the metro, is almost sparkling(despite the commuter-load). There is almost as much beauty in the chaos of the North, as the order in the South, with the resplendent lanes of Chandni Chowk, and the maddening chatter of KamlaNagar. Also, the people of Delhi look splendidly beautiful. It is not just the tall, fair version of Punjabi beauty one would normally associate with the city I speak about though. Sure, the dazzling dames and the bewitching boys are a treat to the senses, but strangely enough, even the average auto-rickshaw driver or the old man travelling in the metro- they all look beautiful, going about their life, with indomitable energy and spirit- something that Delhi seems to infuse into everyone.

Again, how can you ignore the contradictory charm the city possesses? The city is as new as the pomp and parties of Sainik Farms and the extravagance of DLF Emporio, as it is rooted and timeless in the magnificence of the Qutab Minar, or the endless lushness of Lodhi Gardens. It is as much grandeur as the bungalows of Vasant Vihar as the comfort in the close-knit community-lives of Janakpuri. There is as much power concentrated around Lutyens' Delhi, as there is hopelessness and discontent at Savda Ghevra.

The Delhi I once knew was the city of someone very close to me. The city I know today, is the city that is mine. Yes, I am an outsider, as I have been to every city I have ever been in, but if I feel at home anywhere apart from around Ballygunge in Calcutta, it is in Delhi. Not even for a day after returning did I feel even slightly out-of-place, it was almost like I was assimilated right in. From the upbeat euphoria at Safdarjung Enclave to the eventual quiet seclusion at Vasant Kunj, the city made me fall in love, over and over again.

For me Delhi has been therapeutic. It has been the auto journeys to and from college, where I see the city pass by, bustling, and indifferent to my existence - making me feel secure in being a stranger to everyone around me - the kind of security that typifies every individual, who like me, is perpetually on the run. However, the people I got to know in college, at the same time, make me feel as much at home, as a stable, sane, secure individual appreciates feeling- therein exemplifying another contraction.

Delhi for me has been the evenings at SDA Market, the lunches at JNU, the Diwali at Lajpat Nagar, the Metro rides to and from Connaught Place, the maddening crowd of Rajiv Chowk, the evening walks at Barakhamba Road, the getting drunk at Hauz Khas Village and the getting stoned at Gurgaon(not really Delhi, but you get the gist). It has been the best friend suggesting Al Bake shawarmas, it has been Aunty momos at Amar Colony with somebody very close to my heart, it has been North Campus and Mezban with the little pixie, and the evening coffees with Karol-Bagh-ki-Auntyji. It has been two jokers from Noida- one exasperating, and one entertaining, one girl who loves Emraan Hashmi too much, one unclejee from Bangalore, one girl who advised me to stop running from my past, a South Delhi bimbo, a theatre actor, a girl with who face-to-face Hi's were too mainstream, a perpetual-tourist, this Himachali who became my husband, among many, many others. I have met people from Bombay, and Lucknow, and Dubai, and Pune - representing some of the regions that influence the culture of the city- a condensation of people from all over India. In that, Delhi is to India what the USA is to the World- a colony of outsiders, with a culture formed out of links to everywhere. Delhi to me is as much the Banoffee Pies and Mississippi mudpies at the Big Chill Cafe, as the evening chai at the National Institute of Immunology, or the cheap Chinese from Hawker's at Vasant Kunj. It is as much the photography walks at Hauz Khas as the food hunting at Sarojini Nagar. It is as much the heat of June as the chill of December ,as much the Luchi Mangsho at Chittaranjan Park, as the Malleshwaram Cross Dosa at Carnatic Cafe, as much the Diwali lights at Khan Market as the creepy darkness at Lado Sarai... and I could go on and on.

It is December, it is winter - my favorite time of the year. The city is deliciously cold, and there is a poignant fog that looms over the city in the mornings. The nights are noticeably colder, and sometimes, here in Vasant Kunj, it becomes a little difficult to even venture outside of the room with just one sweater on.  There is absolute joy in basking in the winter sun on the terrace,  and even in lying all cosy and comfortable, underneath the blankets, cuddling up with oneself.

With a possible move to Pune on the cards, I do not know how much longer I have in this city, or how frequently I shall get to visit, either. Delhi has given me too much to treasure, too much to love, and too many fond memories to look back at. It has been integrated into my system- an even more indelible part than before. I am departing for a while, tomorrow, with a heavy heart. But, I shall be back. I do not know exactly when, but I know, it shall be soon. And no matter where I go, this city, with all its lights, and scenery, and people, and color, and love and madness, shall travel with me, a fragment of my mind, a faction of my soul, a follicle of my heart.

So, before you judge Delhi, or hate it without having been introduced to the place properly, based on what everyone says, give the city a chance. Rapes and scams might keep happening here, but from what I have seen, love and longing for more happens more often.