Don’t be alarmed if I fall head over feet

So, in cleaning up, I find this note in an old journal:

 

January 2nd, 2007

bye bye, Delhi, bye bye

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road. (en route to mumbai, a little nervous). Looking down upon the city of my youth, I feel as though suddenly I am giving up the same youth, that I’m finally ready to be grown up. And then, battling with that is the very childish desire to burst into tears, to go back to being two feet high and knowing that my mum would always be around to look out for me.

I should be more excited, surely. This is the departure I’ve always dreamed of, the spreading of my wings at last, the blaze of glory into the sun. (icarus flew too near the sun and crash landed.) Across from my window I can see an orange pink sunset. I wish, I wish… what? That I could go home? Be the same person forever while other people say goodbye and hello and goodbye again? Nooooo, I think not. I know within my gut that this is the right thing to do—it FEELS right, clicking into my soul the way only good decisions do.

But already I am nervous, dying for a smoke, fidgety with all the gentle butterflies in my stomach eaten by a pit of writhing snakes.

What will it be like not to know anyone or any roads or have an opinion about things to do or not know the history I have taken for granted?

Goodbye, goodbye, my beautiful city.

And this comes at a fortuitous time, this discovery of an old note, written what seems like a lifetime ago. This week, even though I’ve been having fun, even though people are great, I’ve been plagued with homesickness. I close my eyes and dream of the streets I know, the people I like, I dream about my phone going off, people who want to see me, I dream about WTF and Den and Blue Frog (which I hear is opening up in Delhi soon.) Would I swap my Saturday night—watching a Sufi performance at the Old Fort, dinner at the Naga Kitchen, a house party—for a Saturday night “back home”? To quote my younger self: Noooo, I think not. But I am more than a little tormented, divided into two. On the one hand, I am having a great time, on the other, I miss being “familiar”. It took me four years in Bombay to be the person I am today, and I feel like right now I’m erasing history. Starting anew is a bit scary, isn’t it?

 

Today, I turned up Dave Mathews on my new speakers, and danced around the house till I was out of breath and panting. I was… happy. I realised I was carefree and content, in a way I haven’t been in a long time. But twilight is always the hardest time. Some people say 3 am is their time of melancholy, for me it’s just as afternoon drifts into the evening, the sky violet and orange, this is when I am saddest, this is when I long to hold on to things to reassure myself that I am still me.  I haven’t reached the wise age of 28 and a half (okay, 28 and 11 months) without knowing some truths. And the biggest truth in this case is this: you can’t get anywhere if you’re dependent on other people. I shouldn’t need my friends to make me happy, hell, I shouldn’t even need a plan to make me happy. Happiness is what you make yourself. This is what I have come to Delhi to learn. (But, but, says the small voice inside my head, I’m so lonely.  And I tell it to suck it up and deal. This is our life now, honey. This is what we have, and now we figure shit out.)

 

Luckily, I am someone who has experience with homesickness. It’s happened before, and I’m sure it’ll happen again. I just have to ride it out. In Bombay, it took me three months, more recently, in the UK, it took me a couple of weeks, and now, I’m lucky that I have old friends here, familiar faces and my family and things I care about. Just. Riding it out. That’s all.

And I grew strong, I learned how to get along

So, I just got back from seeing Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows and unlike any of the other Potter films, I actually really enjoyed this one. Of course, there were a few areas where I had to nit pick, but either I’m getting more tolerant of beloved books being adapted for the screen or they’re getting better at making them. SO GOOD. I can’t wait for part 2!

 

Big achievement was actually getting there without losing my way at all. At which point you’re going to be all, “But you used to live here!” and I am once again going to point out that I am map challenged. One. Map. At. A. Time. I might be able to multitask, but geography? Very hard to do. And then I even made it back home, except the back way to my house was locked and so I had to u-turn and go all the way back and retrace my steps, and I did all this without getting lost once, and aren’t you proud of me? Except my parking spot’s a bitch, between a pole and a motorcycle and the area I live in is notorious for bad parking, still, at least they left me a spot, and after spending half an hour reversing and going forward multiple times, I managed to squeeze it in, a little lopsided, hopped out and found my gate was locked. And I banged on it and yelled, and called friends to commiserate while I banged and yelled, until I thought, “Hang on. That’s odd that they’d lock it and the guard would be away” so experimentally, I began to yank the gate a bit and it gave, and then I realised I had either a) not realised it was open this entire while or b) broken the lock with my superhuman-wanting-to-go-to-my-warm-bed strength. Erm. Yes. Let’s say, for the sake of my already faltering ego that it’s option b. Why already faltering? Well, because today my passenger side window wasn’t rolling up properly, so I thought I’d hop out and push it up while I pressed the button not realising that turning the car on (so I could operate the aforementioned button) would automatically lock the doors. Safety feature. So there I was. Locked out of my car, which was on. Surrounded by the amused faces of all the help in the locality. Luckily, the passenger window’s a bit screwed, so it was down an inch (yes, the same passenger window I got out to fix, I get the irony here) and the driver next door stood on a chair, used two sticks like chopsticks and managed to pull the lock open. ALSO. Now everyone knows how to steal my car. Brilliant. Good day’s work, I’d say.

 

If they ask about the yelling I’ll just look very confused and say it must’ve been someone else. I’m really good at looking very confused.

 

So, all my stuff’s here from Bombay, which is awesome, because except for a gas connection, I basically have a fully functioning kitchen and I can actually begin to believe I live here now. For the moment. I hate saying “for good” because you might as well sign up for a retirement fund then. “For good” is like saying, “I plan to have no other adventures” and I hope my life is full of adventures. At the moment, I am in an adventurous mood, so I hope something fun (Himalayan trek? Scuba diving in the Andamans? Wedding in Lahore?) comes up  and I get to do it. I’ll even settle for a nice, exciting fling, leaving both parties completely satiated and with the sense that it was a job well done. But man wise, it’s been rather slow. I know, I know, I am so brand new at being single that I should take it easy. Be all wise and see what happens. But you gu-huys, it’s such romantic weather! And I always smell nice, ALL THE TIME, during the winter! And I have such nice new clothes and my hair is behaving and my flat is all ready and the terrace is really romantic coz it might get a little nippy and then you have an excuse to be really close to a person and drink lots of wine. I’m not quite ready for another relationship, in fact, I want to take it easy in that department for a little while, but to rephrase Janis Joplin, “Oh lord, won’t you send me someone nice to flirt with? Someone really cute who I won’t get hurt with?”

 

What else is nice is that my planner’s all filling up. God, I love this time of the year. And I got my first two bits of mail today—an invite and a book (for my column). It feels proper when you get mail.

 

I also really liked my outfit today, so I’m going to write about that too. Just for my own personal satisfaction, and this is the last paragraph so you can totally skip it. I wore grey riding breeches (Sarojini Nagar, with suede on the inner thighs and the bum, and they make me look very nice and skinny), a jersey polo neck thing, that I usually wear as an inner, but in this in between weather serves as a top, a vintage Chinese vest that I stole from my mother’s cupboard (she hadn’t used it in ages, it’s green silk with huge flowers embroidered on and those little cloth buttons that clasp) and new purple suede ballet flats (which pinched my toes, but I’m sure they’ll open up soon).  Okay, it sounds a bit odd written down, but I assure you it was a lovely  ensemble.

 

And if you’ve read this far, I feel like I should say something very erudite and intellectual to make up for the complete flakiness of that last paragraph, but I can’t think of anything beyond comparing The Deathly Hallows to Hitler’s Germany in the way that it was stylised and shot, very Holocaust and I’m probably very late to that realisation but it just hit me today, so I thought I’d mention it. Especially the bits when they’re in the Ministry of Magic and everyone’s being interrogated for being mudblood or half blood. Brilliant.

Falling in love at a coffee shop

I am writing this at The Market Cafe, in Khan Market. It’s not yet so cold in Delhi that you need to bundle up, but the sharp sunshine is dulling into soft gold, not hot, but warm-ish, the kind you stretch your neck out into, the kind that is good for sitting just a little while, lingering over coffee. I can still order cold coffee, though, it’s not quite yet the weather where your body craves only warm things. In fact, I’m sipping my cold coffee right now, exceptionally nice coffee, which is a good thing to remember for future reference.

 

Delhi during my favourite time of the year. What a perfect time to pick to move back, say my friends, and I smirk, like the idea’s entirely original. Delhi during the early winter is the kind of city you show off, proudly. Look, look, what I have. Don’t you wish you had it too?  We are proud of our city bathed in winter mist, we’re proud that we can have New York style, but not New York coldness, we are proud of the monuments that pop out every now and then, and proud of our people, because everyone’s in a better mood during the winter. Notice how easily I slip back into ‘we’ and ‘our’. Does anything ever change? Yes, some things do, I find myself unable to navigate the streets anymore. Often, I look up, and I’m confused about what neighbourhood I’m in, how I’ll get home from here. Apparently, my mind only has space for one map at a time, and right now, that map is Bombay. I search everywhere for the Bandra I’ve left behind, and Khan Market is almost the perfect substitute. For example, no one blinks an eyelid at the way I’m dressed (which, okay, it’s cold. I’m fairly conservative today), or if I light a cigarette. Also, I appear to be the only Indian person here. Except now, my Works From Home Companion, Nayantara, has shown up and we are all cosmopolitan, with our laptops and our typing and our Mexican food.

 

My little apartment, that I have christened The Hole In The Wall, is also shaping up quite well. When I began to live there, it was spartan. No joke. I had a mattress and a mat, an old fridge and that’s about it. Luckily, I had the presence of mind to pack my coffee machine in my suitcase, because that is one luxury I cannot do without. Also, my cat. Poor old TC. He’s never faced so much excitement in all his young life. First, I shoved a sedative down his throat, bundled him into his carrier and flew him to Delhi. I felt terrible, especially because of the looks he kept giving me, but what was I to do? People kept asking me as I left, “What are you going to do with your cat?” which I thought was quite a weird question. Uh, take him with me? And then, their looks of surprised admiration and pleasure! The fact that people are surprised that you choose to carry on being with your pet. He’s not a fridge, or an old outfit. He’s mine and I’m his, and together, we’re partners. Why would anyone get an animal if it’s a just for now thing? Unless you can assure yourself that your pet will go to someone who loves them just as much as you do, I think it’s very selfish to just dump them when it’s inconvenient for you.

 

Now, I’ve shifted locations. Khan Market on the whole seems to be having some trouble with their wi fi connections. Lucky for me, as of this morning, I have Tata Photon +, which so far, I’m super impressed by. Unlimited, they’ve promised me, with no hidden costs. It sounds too good to be true, so I’m just going to wait and watch. Back to TC. He’s now fully recovered from his move and struts around The Hole In The Wall, much like he used to strut in my old apartment. It is his, this apartment, and he knows it. Only, it may not justify the Hole In The Wall tag for much longer. My mum and I have gone a little bit crazy decorating. The mattress on the floor has been replaced by a queen sized bed with an eight inch thick mattress. It’s beautiful, my bed. It’s wrought iron, which I had painted white, and the mattress alone made me sleep the sleep of the innocent for close to twelve hours last night. A bed makes all the difference. That, and the internet. A mirror followed soon after (all these the spoils of the cheap furniture markets in Panchkuian Road and Amar Colony), it’s zig zag and retro funky and full length, painted pillar box red, a colour I love. A smaller mirror, distressed green with flowers painted on is in what I’m going to call the living room/study, along with a couple of floor cushions from Fab India. I also got some new light fixtures (the place just had some bulbs, sticking out of the wall) from Fab India, one blue denim, the other yellow paper with flowers. Tonight, a set of small armchairs arrive, done in Chinese-y looking fabric, green and gold, to match a collapsible antique Chinese chest which will be here next week and will serve as a coffee table/seating/storage space. All this bounty for under Rs 20,000. Empty apartments are depressing at first, but SO much fun to work with!

 

Clearly, I have a lot more to say, but I’m not going to inflict it all upon you at the same time. Let this be the first of many instalments, now with my internet up and running again, I have no excuses.

Kiss me goodbye, I’m defying gravity

I’ve changed my mind about cities, you know. In the past, in my head, they were always female. Big old bossy aunts, best friends, the whore, the wife, and so on. But more recently, I’ve been thinking of myself as a woman in love with two men. One’s the new boyfriend, charming, sexy, gives you lots of space. One’s the old boyfriend, someone you left a while ago, but who has (like real life boyfriends NEVER do) changed drastically in the four years since you were last together and now, perhaps, offers a more permanent relationship. In my case, the new boyfriend: Bombay, and the old is, of course, Delhi.

 

It seems to me most of my moves are made on impulses. I have a strong instinct for survival, and when a city gets too much, when you feel like all your days are just blending into each other, then it’s time for a change. Arthur Conan Doyle said, “A change is as good as a rest.” and it’s true. It is. And so, dear, dear, beloved Bombay, I’m leaving you to go back to Delhi for a bit. I’m torn in a way I wasn’t when I left Delhi the first time. The thing is I LOVE Bombay. If your hometown is actually your hearttown, then Bombay is most definitely that. But, of late, I’ve been noticing the winds of change in Delhi. It’s vibrant and exciting, and fills me with hope, something I’ve been lacking recently. Most of my close friends are there now, in Bombay, like Dubai airport, people come and go so fast that it’s hard to keep track. Almost all of the gang I know here will be gone shortly, maybe within the year. And Delhi is about as far as Colaba, if you live in the suburbs.

 

This is my friend’s column on the subject. In it, he references a post I did on when JC and I ended things, how I said, “I have good friends, a city I absolutely love” and wonders how I could go back on that so easily. Easily? It was hard. It was impulse for THIS trip, yes, but for the past few months, whenever people ask me why I don’t come back to Delhi, finding an answer has been tougher and tougher. Why don’t I come back to Delhi? Rents are cheaper, writers and publishers thrive there, I miss winter, I miss culture, I miss the roads and the people, I miss my parents (can I say that? Do I sound like a child?).

 

So, that’s why the long silence on this blog. On the recent trip to Delhi, I made my swift decision and instantly fell into flat hunting. Relocating is tough and stressful. I found a sweet little annexe (annex-ee for Delhi brokers) in a nice neighbourhood, I informed my (delighted) friends there, informed my (not so delighted) friends here and ta-dah, all set and ready to go. The most unhappy person, I suspect, will be my cat, who was unceremoniously stuffed into his carrier and taken to the vet today (you can’t fly an animal without a vaccination certificate) and who will have to spend a day or two at my mother’s house (in my room, co habiting with the dog) while I set up our new house.

 

Does this have anything to do with your break up, I hear you asking. Well.. maybe. But not as much as you might imagine. It’s true I’d like a little break from the emotional fatigue I’ve been experiencing recently. I’d like a whole new place where I can just chill, without constant reminders of my doomed relationship. But it’s also something I’ve been thinking about for a while, even when I was in a relationship. You know what it’s like to be suddenly single? It’s like—okay, so I was in Jodhpur, and I hear from him, and we’re talking about security deposits and so on, and without any warning, I started to weep. Silently, holding the phone to my ear, crying with my eyes wide open. I hung up and went into the shower, shaking a little, from the force of my sobs. I do not want to be unhappy, no one wants to be unhappy. Even now, from a distance, with a few well aimed words, he can get right under my skin. I think it’s best that I put some distance between us. (How did we come to this, my one time love?)

 

So. Yes. Delhi, we meet again.