Contemplating, not making any sense.

Between the heat and hopes of flying cars, Delhi never fails to surprise me. It’s ordinary for me or one of the other Delhiite classmates to stomp out of our boisterous classes during lunch because Delhi is being bashed to death by the other non-Delhiites in the class. The first thing any classmate says to me about my city is basically an insult. I’m not a very zealous patriot but somehow listening to people go on about how my hometown is seriously nothing but garbage is irksome. Delhi might not be a hill-station or some miraculously, breath-takingly clean city but it is home the same. Once you stop staying and start livingin a place, it becomes more than merely just that. You stop thinking of it as polluted and corrupted- you learn to accept it and truly love it.

 Delhi is more like a reckless king who was handed the throne when he was but a child- basically an adult whose childhood was snatched. It only partly makes sense, and is mostly very cinematic- but that’s how it comes to me. The baseline is that this city is judged without an effort at anything but. If Delhi has to, indeed, become the antagonist in the head, to come to a conclusion without reading at least oncefrom its point of view is illegal, even in books. 

It’s hard to see your mother from distance, to blur out all the attachment to her- to just see her. It’s not without effort. It is the same case of human feelings that disables me from calling Delhi, garbage or merely a union territory. I don’t exactly know the purport of this whole post but it’s just that time of the vacations, I guess, where I realize that in a few days I’ll be at my school, sleeping at another home.  

I live in this place where cars turn into bakers’ ovens over noon and streets are lava cakes of boiling tartar- where people are constantly devoted to lord Indraand air conditioners are in fashion day in, day out. A place where markets are just as prevalent as human beings themselves and street dogs are watchmen to colonies. It’s not the best place, it’s sure isn’t perfect- in fact, that’s exactlywhat it is. Perfect and the best. Home always is.