Three years ago
Life began to change subtly. I moved to Delhi and did not care to make much of a new city, a new kind of people, a new lifestyle. I thought, okay, I'll just take it in my stride. What could happen, right? I refused to feel homesick, or let myself feel the drastic change that this city, its air, its sun and its dust were. I thought to myself, let's just take it one day at a time; and take it one day at a time I did.
Three years later
I look in the mirror and attempt to find the girl who came to a new city, thinking she was ready for the world - armed with an open mind and an ability to make friends easily. This girl was soft, though she thought she had hardened. She thought she was stronger than she looked, but she did not know how much stronger she would have to be for the things that life threw at her. She trusted easily, laughed loudly and did not feel alone often. I search for that girl and ask myself if she is still there. A voice immediately answers, "yes," but it falters by the time it reaches the second syllable of the three letter word, as if seeking reassurance. I laugh and murmur to myself, aren't all of us looking for reassurance for something or the other? I look in the mirror one last time, looking into the eyes of my brown eyed reflection wondering if eyes are indeed windows to the soul.
****
Three years ago
There was a new course of things in order. A new distance to cover in more than one way. On one hand, there was the distance that had begun to creep into love itself, established, taken for granted love, one akin to that which is felt for brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers, one that is felt for loves that last lifetimes. On the other hand, there was the physical distance, from everything and everywhere I needed to be. Every place was so far away, I felt so far away from all these spaces and places that were mine to make my own. And yet, everything was fine. One day at a time was doing its job well.
Three years later
Routines are more pregnant with habit and emptiness. There is a strong essence of normalcy in them, like the one you have when you put one foot in front of the other to walk. Without thinking, my hands reach towards the front pocket of my bag to take out my headphones. Plugging them in, I press play and activate shuffle, settling myself to stare at faces and colors and clothes and shoes for the next fifty minutes as my mind sings along, muddles and thinks random thoughts. Traversing this distance every day this is a routine of what life has become, its all its glory, all its welcome comforts, all its daily discomforts and all its habit.
****
Three years ago
Things begin to change. Feelings dormant rise to the surface, bubbling and frothing, demanding to be made sense of. A search for myself in this transition has become the state of my mind. Transition itself has become the state of life. Relationships old and new attempt to redefine themselves and me, through them. Questions and confusion with moments of clarity and happy coincidences are all the highs and lows that matter really. "It is only the moments that are going to matter when I look back," I think to myself and try to navigate through this labyrinth that I've been in but am just beginning to see.
I listen carefully for an announcement rings overhead signalling that I have covered the distance. It comes and I make my way towards the door.
Three years later
The routine goes on as usual, the only difference being a certain fondness that has come to be associated with it, despite all its drudgery and apparent emptiness. "Is it really empty," I ask myself while looking at the tens of faces in front of me, at all these different lives converging, like mine, for this brief journey. I see routines like mine and feel a certain empathy with these complete strangers, these people I know nothing about except that our paths have crossed for a limited amount of time for no reason other than we are all in transit, albeit to different destinations. In these unfamiliar faces, I see reflections, merely superficial but connected by a very thin piece of thread for the shortest period of time.
There is a pause and my legs automatically move towards the door to mark the halfway milestone of this everyday journey.
****
Three years ago
This is my first journey by myself - a young girl in a big city, refusing to acknowledge it, the special treatment that it demands and the perspective it gives. I make my way atop the little overbridge inside the Rajiv Chowk metro station to go to the other side. Looking for signboards and making my way, I happen to glance down. What I see stops me in my tracks.
Three years later
I sigh to myself as I reach my usual halfway mark. This is it, I think to myself. Trying to coax my unusually heavy heart, I make my way to the overbridge connecting the two platforms; thinking along the way if it will still have the effect that it did on my first time here. I wondered if the sight would still overwhelm me or would I just have gotten too accustomed to it. My steps hesitate while I consider that possibility. Regaining my pace, I make my way up, and look down.
And there it was, the first sight that made me realize how my life had changed and was going to change. The sight that made me stop and stare, that made me see the monster of a city that I was living in in terms of its sheer expanse - both physical and psychological, and how it threw my mind and my heart wide open to this gigantic maze and myriad of emotions and places and things that I had only imagined so far.
Here was that sight again. There were throngs of people with a thousand different stories and a hundred different destinations. They were all moving in a maze of directions, jostling, pushing and just walking to get SOMEWHERE. There were not four or eight directions here; they seemed to be infinite. They were all movement and voices and shuffling and HEADS. That is all I could see. They were head moving in every possible directions and moving so close to each other that it seemed like there was no space for anyone else to step in; but then more people came and joined the buzz and the frenzy and yet they were all MOVING. And they kept on moving and I kept on staring at this sea of humans in this seemingly tiny space.
The sight overwhelmed me three years ago and it overwhelmed me yet again. I have survived this madness, I thought to myself, and I have even grown fond it! I had lived in this baffling city and I had been changed and shaped by it, even though I thought I did not let it get to me. But it had. It had seeped in like smoke through a keyhole and is some sneaky way, become a tiny part of me. Its voices, its sounds, its routines and its air had made their way into some reluctant part of my being and now that the time had come to leave, that little reluctant part was making all of my being hurt.
I walked down the bridge and waited for my metro. I mimed along with the announcements. I smiled because it was bittersweet. On my last metro ride in Delhi, I thought of how it was how Rajiv Chowk that shocked me into feeling this maddening place and now it was Rajiv Chowk and its madness that was hard to say goodbye to.
I sigh to myself as I reach my usual halfway mark. This is it, I think to myself. Trying to coax my unusually heavy heart, I make my way to the overbridge connecting the two platforms; thinking along the way if it will still have the effect that it did on my first time here. I wondered if the sight would still overwhelm me or would I just have gotten too accustomed to it. My steps hesitate while I consider that possibility. Regaining my pace, I make my way up, and look down.
And there it was, the first sight that made me realize how my life had changed and was going to change. The sight that made me stop and stare, that made me see the monster of a city that I was living in in terms of its sheer expanse - both physical and psychological, and how it threw my mind and my heart wide open to this gigantic maze and myriad of emotions and places and things that I had only imagined so far.
Here was that sight again. There were throngs of people with a thousand different stories and a hundred different destinations. They were all moving in a maze of directions, jostling, pushing and just walking to get SOMEWHERE. There were not four or eight directions here; they seemed to be infinite. They were all movement and voices and shuffling and HEADS. That is all I could see. They were head moving in every possible directions and moving so close to each other that it seemed like there was no space for anyone else to step in; but then more people came and joined the buzz and the frenzy and yet they were all MOVING. And they kept on moving and I kept on staring at this sea of humans in this seemingly tiny space.
The sight overwhelmed me three years ago and it overwhelmed me yet again. I have survived this madness, I thought to myself, and I have even grown fond it! I had lived in this baffling city and I had been changed and shaped by it, even though I thought I did not let it get to me. But it had. It had seeped in like smoke through a keyhole and is some sneaky way, become a tiny part of me. Its voices, its sounds, its routines and its air had made their way into some reluctant part of my being and now that the time had come to leave, that little reluctant part was making all of my being hurt.
I walked down the bridge and waited for my metro. I mimed along with the announcements. I smiled because it was bittersweet. On my last metro ride in Delhi, I thought of how it was how Rajiv Chowk that shocked me into feeling this maddening place and now it was Rajiv Chowk and its madness that was hard to say goodbye to.
