*My journey from Delhi to Dilli is not an emotional turbulent ride, so you needn’t expect that. What it really is, it is a journey of discovery. I discovered myself.*
People certainly portray Delhi in a very pessimistic light. Still, all the efforts to deter me from interning in this metropolis of our age were futile.
[So here I am, ranting out, as I travel to work.
Well paint me stupid if you want.]
As it often happens (more often than you’d want to believe)
people get jittery in a new city. New people, unknown roads, unseen alleys and stories-There is much in Delhi to send anyone into a panic attack.
I am unlike myself in this city teeming with millions.
Delhi has a very intoxicating effect on me.
I get a bizarre high here. Delhi has always made me bold, well, bolder than I really am. If you know me, and know me well,
it will be plain as a sight that I am a nervous mess; over thinker, over cautious with an OCD of time, I plan every action with intricate detailing.
In Delhi, well I am your Brave modern feministic woman, unafraid of what the day might bring.
I carry my bag like a shield, and walk unaffected in the multitudes with individuality, no matter how miniscule it might seem.
I stride through the roads and ride into men-brimming autos without flinching.
In Agra, I wouldn’t have looked twice at a public conveyance.
Delhi is a microcosm of the world, and I am one tiny speck of existential living.
3rd day in the hustle bustle of this monster city, and my back is aching, skin is tanned, clothes are sweat-drenched, but I am stronger. And I love myself.
I’ve always maintained, and still do, that I feel I am connected to this city. This feeling is a gift. If you can smell the history that leans in to you from each alley, this is Dilli for you.
My words send curses flying in the faces of people who’ve told me “stay here for a month, you’ll forget the charm, and see the vivid disgust”.
Well it hasn’t happened, and neither am I hoping it will. (Fingers crossed).
I love the buses. It’s like Grand Theft Auto, except you don’t have the handles, and also that you can really die!
It’s all humorous to me. I travel for an hour comfortably- with the minor inconveniences of a back ache and fear of imminent death- in one of the hundred chartered buses that shuttle between Gurgaon and Delhi.
The daily struggle of millions is palpable in that one hour, wherein I live a hundred lives as I interact with a fellow passenger or even the conductor.
My Dilli made me realise, we are all fighting our own battles. Yet each morning, you put on a brave face,
ignore the back ache and puffed eyes drooping with last remnants of sleep,
and strive for the day’s struggle.
Delhi will keep you on your toes, and push you till you can stand on your own two feet. Independence is liberating. Delhi epitomizes Freedom.
I’ve painted my opinion of Delhi, or yeah, DILLI, and it’s pretty as a picture.