The story of how I grew fond of a place I hadn’t even visited.
While newspapers and news channels kept screeching about how unsafe the city was turning into,
I was still coming to love our vulnerable capital.
Reflected hard on what was attracting me to Delhi.
The first time I stood on Delhi land,
It was at the New Delhi railway station.
My girlfriends and I were on our way to Manali
And when our train halted at the Capital,
We stepped out.
I looked around like I was taken to a park for the first time.
My eyes soaked with chaos.
My mind drowning in thoughts.
Within a month, I was back in Delhi.
This time, I stayed longer than the last 15 minutes.
I was there for two days.
I felt the winters.
Smiled at the peeping sun.
Got stuck in traffic. Quite like Bombay.
Sometimes it reminded me of Goa as well.
And then it reminded me of a person.
The person who spent some time in this city, and loved it too.
And on my way to the airport, I realized why I started liking Delhi.
I was actually in love with the storyteller and not the story.
Every lonely moment I had was filled in by thoughts of this secret love.
I began missing this almost-something-person.
Only then did it dawn upon me that I was in love with someone,
Even I didn’t know.
And since these stories were narrated,
I gradually started falling in love.
Falling in love with someone.
Falling in love with the city,
Because he was in love with it too.
A month later, an opportunity knocked at my door.
A new job, but it required me to relocate.
Relocate to Delhi.
I was still in love.
So I jumped and grabbed it.
I confessed my love.
No, it didn’t reciprocate.
Weeks later, I decided.
I decided to bid adieu to Bombay and go to Delhi.
I took up the job.
I was ready to set out on a new journey.
I was ready to write a new chapter.
And I started writing-off.
Writing-off the chapter where I risked falling in love.
Writing-off my orphan confession.
Maybe this time,
When I step on Delhi ground,
I will fall in love with the city.
And not with a person.
I will love the capital for its richness.
For the history.
For the heritage.
For something that can erase the last memory.