Delhi. The city is embedded in my DNA. My family has been here for generations and generations. Delhi is Home.
Growing up, friends used to pack up every summer to visit their 'home town'. My dad used to get a hometown visit allowance which would go waste since we stayed in Delhi and Delhi was Home.
Every morning my school bus drove me through the now fabled 'South Delhi' roads, through 'Lutyen's Delhi' to my school nestled right in the heart of the city. Those roads saw me swinging to 90's bollywood songs with my friends , cheering young soldiers practicing for the Republic Day parade at Rajpath in the chilled January mornings. Those roads saw me anxiously discuss friendships and new loves with friends over hot chocolate at Nirulas , while diplomats ran world politics behind embassy doors of Shanti Path. Shanti Path, Neeti marg, Ashoka hotel, Chanakya Puri, Race course, Jor Bagh, Lodhi Road, Prithviraj Road, Tughlak road, Ashoka road, the Claridges, the Taj Mansingh, India Gate, Rajpath, Le meridian, Janpath, Feroz Shah road.... Day after day, year after year, every morning , every afternoon, I travelled these roads. Never did they inspire awe or wonderment. 110001 was school, 110021 was home. Delhi was Home.
Evenings and weekends were casually spent at Chanakya theatre, Vasant Vihar, Connaught Place, South extension.... Nehru park in Chanakya puri was the weekend picnic destination. Holidays meant Qutub Minar , Red fort, Dolls museum and Nehru planetarium at Teen Murti. 'Cultural stuff' with parents meant theatres and performances at Mandi house, Sri fort auditorium, India habitat centre. Book fairs and trade fairs at Pragati Maidan with the adjoining Appu ghar were biannual affairs. India gate was the late night ice cream outing. Driving down Raisinha hill with the Rashtapati Bhavan at the back , looking towards India gate lit by the Amar Jawan jyoti, was routine. Delhi was Home.
Youth brought more travel, to the south and north campuses of Delhi University. To the mazes of roads in Old Delhi. Darya Ganj, Jama Masjid, Nai Sadak, Balli maran, chawri bazaar....what charm, what fun, the young heart experienced. New found independence and unsupervised discovery of the city deepened the roots Delhi had in me. Delhi was Home
I wore the 'born and brought up in Delhi' badge with honour. The city is the Capital of the country. It is known all over the world. It is the seat of political power, it is the home of bureaucracy. Delhi was pride. Delhi was home.
It's been many years since I have moved to the suburbs. I no longer need to visit Delhi, unless I am meeting a relative or driving through for official work. Reduced wants has killed the need to visit the markets of my childhood. Delhi is changing, constantly. The empty lanes around Talkatora stadium which my father walked in his childhood for playing cricket and football are now high security zones with police patrolling. My mom's college outings to Paras cinema, no longer looks the same. Now my parents and I settle to dine closer home rather than driving hours in traffic to our favourite Pandara road eateries. Delhi is the wonder and awe of people who have travelled cities to finally come and settle down here. It's funny now to hear about new places, new experiences in a city which I could navigate with my eyes closed.
The city is lost to me, no longer mine. I am also no longer the person who I was. Yet, Delhi is the city of my heart. Like I said, it is in my genes, my DNA. I will happily stay within touching distance forever.
Delhi is comfort. Delhi is Home.
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