Halt! Slow down to feel the anguish rush.
One with the sound, the smoke, the fury.
Covered in dust, in noise, in twigs of autumn.
Peer at the clock, squint at the red.
A cosy hibernation, broken to enter this cityscape.
Bang! The steering wheel takes the brunt.
Concrete pillars — dust on dust.
Pile of skin and bones, buried under shards.
Strobing bulbs — smiles on a veil.
What are we trying to cover, from whom?
Hazy grey — air under smoke.
The world is burning, not necessarily crimson.
Glaring headlights — car on car.
Smoke of fiery anger exiting the back shaft.
Autos gliding — miles on miles.
We’ve forgotten how to stop, how to look out the window.
Numb ears — honk, honk, honk.
What did you say? I don’t care.
Iron skeleton — soot on steel.
Hey there, Dickens. Welcome me to your world.
A man in a car — ha ha ha.
A child crying, “Let me breathe.”
Connectivity — line across line.
Where do the pigeons perch, on the cables or the metro tracks?
A conversation — scandalised exclamation.
On the other end, a lack of surprise and utter acceptance.
Roaming Delhi in November 2021 is not going down as one of my best memories.
On an ordinary evening on the second day of the month, I broke my hibernation to step out into the city. It was two days after Diwali — the festival of lights, and a cab trip was fixed for me and my brother to visit our cousins at the other end of town — Vasant Vihar. Little did I know about what was awaiting me.
The landscape of the city was astounding, if not heartbreaking. Right from the word ‘go’, our hatchback sized cab was caught in a swarm of cars trying to cut past each other. The air reeked of urgency. What the matter at hand was, I do not know.
I am used to the soft pink wall of my room now, along with the vibrant brown headboard I peer at during mini breaks from the laptop. On this particular evening, though, my vision seemed to be affected by a grey cloud of dust. I was caught thinking about the moment when you enter an old, unkempt house and feel the urge to see what it would look like once the thick layer of dust was wiped off the furnishings.
Delhi’s air quality index is currently running at an all-time high. No wonder, my lungs had begun feeling like they were churning stones that night.
But beyond all the dystopian elements the cityscape posed, what struck me the most that night was a conversation.
Upon entering my aunt’s house, her husband caught on to my dizzy state and asked me what was wrong. When I told him how surprised (and scared) I was at having witnessed the city’s condition, he simply waved his hand in dismissal and said, “This is how it is. You’ve been living here for over 20 years, don’t you know?”
I know. But does that mean it’s too late to do anything about it?
The social media meme culture has taught the Gen Z population to follow its heart, to not waste time on things it is not sure about, and to work the hours and build what it believes in. I choose to believe in these little moments of revelation. I believe that it doesn’t take populist propaganda to make a difference. I believe that the world sees a revolution when a person heeds a revelation. No matter where it comes from and when.
If the tea in front of you is going cold too soon, do something. If the leaves fell too late this autumn, do something. If you’re sweating more than you think you should, do something. If the city looks grey, do something. If you’re waking up too late, wake up at least. This is how it is today, but this is not how it should be.
