Delhi, O Delhi…

I stretched my tired limbs as I got off the train. But I couldn’t take too long to stretch like a lazy cat. I had to watch over my precious luggage. After all, this was Delhi.

After wading through rows upon rows of seedy, betel-chewing men, offering rides in autos and taxis, I made it outside. (The tone in which they spoke made them more likely to be pimps than auto-drivers, so I stayed clear of them. After all, this was Delhi.)

Eventually, once outside, I breathed in the fetid air, and caught hold of a somewhat non-shady auto-driver. After bidding goodbyes to all friends and peers, this friend of mine and I sat down in the auto, having negotiated the necessary fare. (The auto-wallah claimed that the meter didn’t work. After all, this was Delhi.)

Right next to the station, there was a massive traffic jam with people honking all around. The prompt and worldly-wise auto-wallah promptly mouthed a few obscenities aimed at someone’s mothers and sisters, looked at us for support, and proceeded to carve out a route by going against traffic in a one-way lane. After all, this was Delhi.

The next day, at the bus stop, I saw the usual urchins leering at the pretty girls, the crowd rushing to get on to the already overflowing bus, the conductor trying to fit everyone into the bus, and passengers shoving others in. After all, this was Delhi.

And now, at midnight, as the dust settles, I look at the city lights twinkling merrily at me. I hear the sounds of the city, as it whispers to me. I hear its heartbeat, I hear its plaintive cries asking for relief from what we are doing to it. I feel one with it, I feel as if I belong…for, I am its soul.

After all, this is … Delhi!