Dear Delhi,
Let's get a few things straight right
here. This letter is going to make me sound fickle- perhaps as fickle
as the state of the monsoon, or the water in my taps at home.
I'm writing this letter to you to let
you know that you have a secret superpower- one that debilitates
anyone you choose to use it on, Maybe you don't even choose to
use it; maybe it gets exercised purely by virtue of your existence.
There is possibly nothing else in the world that I have encountered
thus far that sets off an explosion of existential angst inside me
like leaving you behind. Every time I walk out of the airport and I hear men
merrily cussing at each other in a language that's so familiar, even
when I walk into a WC at the airport (which has become almost some
sort of a ritual) and find a faucet trying to catch my attention, my
first thought is one of unparalleled joy- I'm home; and
the very second thought is that I'll be leaving in just a few days.
That's what you do- you make me feel bipolar. I get into that old
WagonR at home after months and take it out for a spin. All those
months away from you haven't affected my ability to drive on your
crazy roads. This feels natural; not the clean, linear, high speed
streets of far flung lands to the west. I'm on one of these
beautifully paved highways right now and I can't say I don't love
the sight of cars zipping by, but it's not home.
I can't say I've
never complained and grumbled about you. Just last week, I was left
at home without a drop of water for a few hours almost every day.
I've been concerned for a long time that you're crumbling under the
weight of those you support. The metro's crowded, the buses are
crowded, the streets are crowded. The other day I was stuck in
traffic for more hours than it had rained that day. I was yelling my
lungs out that day about how you couldn't handle a single season
without problems, whilst feeling somewhat ashamed at my reduced
levels of tolerance. Having said all of
that, I spent the entire twenty hours on the plane that carried me
away thinking about you and waiting for my next return to swing by
soon.
Like every other time I've dragged myself away, I agonized
about situations where I wouldn't have to leave and how I would find
other things to be bothered about. Like every other time I've dragged
myself away, I wondered if this was all worth it, but I guess the
promise of the future must be, or I wouldn't have willingly put
myself through this for the last two years. You've got me thinking about the purpose of life on more than one occasion.
All I want you to
know is that no matter how much I complain when I'm there, not a day
goes by when I don't think about being back to give you an opportunity to exercise your superpower.
Sincerely,
Existentially angsty
