The Threshold Called “Delhi”
The city that becomes you
Traipsing through Delhi, over these years of my little life, I travel the years from an excited child to the one finding her sum and substance.
Inspite of it’s chaos, noise, clutter, confusion, melee, There is a an undeniable gravity, resilience, endurance, colour, love in the capital city.
These are not streets laden with trees or humans, But it is the canvas of creativity living in the blooms and faces.
These are not jumbled spaces of concrete or types, But a place of constructing and travelling to your dreams.
These are not centres of power games and loud voices, But it is the cynosure to opinions and rights.
Inhabited , looted, raided , it is a seat of authority, But if the world were a human body , right here Delhi, is the very heart.
A place of sensory extremes, where the smoke distorts that romantic sunset With a single step you hear the blaring horn, a bird song and a prayer call These everyday images of pain, loss, luxury, fights, greed, struggles Conjure visions, so strong, powerful and radical, moving us into action
I might bite the dust , but I also buy the jasmine from the old eyes. I might not hail from it’s womb, but it welcomes me with a gentle stare. I might be carried by the city, but it teaches me a language of patience. I might complain behind my wheel, but it trains me to stay strong. I might fight for my safety, but it is what makes me rescilient. I might be left awed by its checkered history, but in it I find the artistic creativity.
Over time both the heart and root of Delhi has worn out, changed, morphed But the little drops of heaven still lay hidden in those ruins of stones. The plundered arches still stand tall, with endless glass to compare it all But intoxicated it leaves one, to be filled by its fervor and flavor. Fighting its battles of hatred, discrimination, classes and masses, it bleeds But curing the affliction, Delhi becomes the beloved, as if love be involved in itself.
“Dehri” or “Dehli” — you are the true threshold
A point of entry and way to exit forever resistant to any stamps of permanence Once you are in Delhi, it becomes you.
I love Delhi , for it is inscribed in me.
The author is an Indian Classical Dancer, Educator, Performer, Storyteller, Writer and TEDx Speaker. For more works from her, do follow on Instagramand Facebook.
