Delhi, Mumbai and a search for home
I am not one to write long eulogies for cities. Not because you cannot write eulogies for cities. You definitely can.
Each city has its own personality, and if you listen intently to the hubbub of the city, it will speak to you. I think of cities as almost people. Each with their qualities, faults and quirks. I also think people have relationship with cities. I have for sure. I’ve lived in Delhi on and off for most part of the last 7 years. Delhi has been my faithful companion through thick and thin. Delhi saw me graduate from my first college. Delhi was there when I first fell in love (or so I thought at the time). Delhi was also there when all was darkness around me and i confined myself to my room despite the beauty of Delhi blossoming all around me. Delhi has been the one constant through my adult life. I was telling one of my friends yesterday, that I and Delhi are at that stage in our lives where we are not speaking to each other, each busy with their commitments, a little upset with each other. But that I also know that over time we will resolve our differences and come back to each other. In what shape and form I do not know, but we will. And yet in this post I am cheating on my city beloved to talk about Mumbai
Mumbai, a longing for a new life
For some reason, I find myself going to Mumbai at the slightest opportunity I get. It is partly because some of my dearest friends live there, but it is also because Mumbai calls me. It speaks to me; in hushed tones, and sweet dreams. It speaks to me through people, stories and ambition. It speaks to me in the cool breeze that hits my face at marine drive and Carter road. It speaks to me in the shoddy restaurants I visit which serve the best prawn fry and fish cutlet. It speaks to me in the sea of people swarming every street, increasing the heat in an already humid city. Surprisingly, it speaks to me the most when I am away from it. My little affair with the city has been going on for more than a year now, with 5 trips in the last 1.5 years. And every time I come here, Mumbai teaches me different things.
For example, in the summer of 2022 when I was there as an intern, it taught me that Mumbai is a very professional city, everyone is busy all the time, and people mostly keep to themselves. At first, I found it odd. I found it odd because I was used to Delhi where people breathe down each other’s necks and forge deep bonds even at workplaces. So naturally, I thought of this as being cold and rude. I thought of Mumbai as being cold and rude. It was also always sticky and wet, which certainly did not help. I did not enjoy Mumbai at all during that time. I remember going back to Delhi like a separated child going back to his mother.
My next tryst with the city was in January of 2023. Thankfully, i was on vacation and could see Mumbai for the first time as an adult. It excited me - the walks around Fort, South Mumbai and Kala Ghoda. The weather was nice and the cool breeze certainly helped. I found myself being attracted to the city for the first time. But it was not the act of being a tourist in Mumbai, visiting the iconic places and engaging in cliches which attracted me to the city. It was an invisible sense of belonging that had cropped up in those few days which made sure that I left Mumbai with a sense of yearning to come back. And I did exactly that.
Since then I have visited Mumbai four times. I was required to be in Mumbai only one of the four times, and the rest three times I’ve been there just for the sake of being there. Which many find bewildering. They ask me why I waste my precious leaves to be in Mumbai, and not go roam around the beautiful landscape of India (which is a valid point, well taken). Every time I have left Mumbai, I have left it with a stronger yearning to return. It is a mixture of the city being inhabited by some of my best friends, intellectual inspirations, and an incomparable sense of awe.
The discontents of Delhi
It is also the allure of starting fresh which attracts me to Mumbai. Having been in Delhi for so long, I feel like my life has become a khichdi here. My relationships with people, work, places, food - everything is tangled. Sometimes I want to run away from Delhi. Because Delhi is a catalogue of my past. And i want to run away from my past. I go around the city carrying people and memories with me everywhere. Sometimes, the burden is too much to carry. Sometimes, I do not wish to create new memories for I fear they will catalogue themselves in the same shelf of half-lived life. Alphabetically, mind you. It is very difficult to rid the city from your past visions of it. The ghost of my past haunts the ruins of restaurants, gardens and roads. It is everywhere I go, silently in the corner. Reminding me of my age. The ancient-ness of my being.
And with all of this khichdi, sometimes, the far way land that I can get a second chance at life seems to be the island of Mumbai. It may be escapism. But it would not be the first time I have been accused of it. Maybe it is escapism. But I think not all battles are worth fighting. Some battles are lost the moment you begin fighting them.
I wish I could still love Delhi. I still do, but i am not sure. This city has everything and I firmly believe it is one of the best cities in the world. The infrastructure is great, housing is not exorbitant, gardens are lush, and culture is abound. it is a city steeped in culture, history, and warmth. But I cannot feel the warmth anymore here. I think my time is up, sooner or later. I wish I could relive it all again. The introduction, the love, the obsession, the intimacy. I still remember the first day I came to Delhi as a young 18 year old. I remember that Divyanshu. Wide eyes, ready to take on the world.
In the end I struggle to realise if I am rejecting Delhi or if Delhi rejecting me. I want to relive Delhi again. I told my sister recently, that I will try to live in Delhi as if i am visiting it for the first time. The enthusiasm of a tourist. And deep down, I am afraid, of falling in love with Delhi again.
It is an interesting time. I have called Delhi my home for the longest time. Despite I never having had a familial house here. To me, my journey ends when I reach Delhi. I’ve always felt at home glancing at the dark blue signboards typical of the MCD. And now that Delhi and I aren’t speaking, where do I go? Mumbai calls me, but Mumbai is also far, very far. Mumbai is all the things I am not used to - cramped spaces, humid weather, no metro and exorbitant prices. This ever changing relationship with places, a fractured sense of home reminds me of a poem by Agha Shahid Ali - Postcards from Kashmir.
I wonder what I will fold into my hand. I wonder what will hold me. I wonder if the Jhelum will ever be gushing with waters for me. I wonder if the Himalayas will be as vast as my memory of them. I wonder, and i wonder.
I can relate to every word you’ve written. After rooting and uprooting myself from city to city and flats to flats within a city, I am finally in a place where I feel at home wherever life takes me.
Lovely writing! The pursuit of home has in itself a haunting beauty and can be addictive.