March. Sunshine is chasing me wherever I go, its golden tint bursting through the flawed canopies of Delhi. Warmth, with a slight chill teasing my cheeks. Silence, with the odd honk from an impatient traveller.
Delhi has been unforgiving on many days. I’ve had the dry January wind cut through my nostrils as I walked against the traffic on cold, dark evenings. I’ve witnessed the wrath of the elements as a sultry afternoon has given way to torrential sheets of rain. Hollering, quarreling, bickering and littering–you name it, we have it all here.
But on some days, when the light is just right, and the bougainvilleas sway in unreasonable celebration, the city is unbelievably loving.
This year, I visited the city after three long months in Mumbai. I have a new home now, along with a wide, wide area of cityscape that drenches in a whole new shade of sunshine. So coming back to where I grew up is a breath of relief sometimes–just like when you settle onto your bed after a never-ending party with people you barely know. It takes a while to let the jitters calm down, your skin feels a little itchy and irked sometimes, but if you give yourself a second to breathe, you realise that your heart has already fallen asleep in the comfort of familiarity. And now, all you want to do is close your eyes too. But I digress. On this visit, I went back to all the things I love about the city. Mandi House, with its wide roads that lead to the best chole bhature in town. Ubers, that unlike in Mumbai, wait for you to hop in and enjoy a convenient road trip. And people who know me better than I know myself. It’s the part of Delhi you don’t catch in the movies. It’s the long walks in sprawling gardens and art busting from every nook and corner. Bougainvilleas colouring the streets and the man with a mouth organ enchanting coy families into tapping a foot behind the slated pillars of Connaught Place.
The trip ended with a delightful journey across the city as I cruised through its central vistas to reach the airport. We passed the giant bungalows, spanking new underpasses that have changed the face of the city and many, many roundabouts that now pose as bouquets of spring blooms. It was only when we took a left to enter the clear skies of the area we call India Gate, that I realised–it was in fact I had been chasing the light, and enjoyably so.
