"If I leave here tomorrow, will you still remember me?"

Yes, I am looking at you through tinted lenses, coloured with emotion and all those bittersweet memories that we have accumulated through the years. I do it without shame or apology. You are so beautiful in this light, with the rain pouring on you and the street lights filtering through the drops.

I remember the first day we met. It was blistering hot and you annoyed me. I despised you from my very core. Your food, the people you entertained and your million shades of hot and cold; it was a potpourri of awful. I wanted you out of my sight. I didn't have a choice though, and I tolerated you. I was stuck. I hated it. Everything around seemed to be coated in a film of dark dust – the beggars moving across traffic signals, the dented BMWs and Marutis, the roadside greenery and most of all, every single person’s mood.

It takes time with you, everyone knows this. Your first impression is your worst and leaves a sour taste in the mouth. But then you do these things, these hard-to-notice things that quietly but surely woo anyone who has gotten to know you. You are drenched wet in history - bricks and pavements that tell stories from centuries ago. Your branches reach out into these grimy skies and at the same time, your roots are planted in an earth that a nation's leaders built cities upon. Your mood swings have become a part of your charm, rather than a point of irritation. You wear your myriad dresses with equal grace, whatever the season. The fiery red of autumn and the white clean of the monsoon look just as stunning on you as the chilled blue of winter or the brilliant gold of summer. It is as if everyone in contact with you changes and moulds to fit the different your different personalities. You are a haughty queen that commands everyone's attention with your bold architecture and sprawling lawns.

No, you will not budge. You will bake us dry in the glare of your sunshine and you will chill us to the bone with a misty breeze. It is up to us whether we want to tolerate it or not, whether it is worth all that trouble just to be around you. Invariably it is, and we stay. You know this better than anyone and you take advantage of it.

Behind that dusty and well-worn veil you hide not only your mystic and conniving smile, but also a pair of dark and vehement eyes; eyes that have seen glory and gore in equal measure. You are as strong as you are stubborn. Your history and the millions of men and women you have been home to gives each person in your arms a certain sense of anonymity. This was my favourite part.

Because you are such a large entity, it is so difficult to know all of you. It reminds me of the story of the three blind men and the elephant. Each one of them felt a different part of the elephant and hence gave a different description of what an elephant is. It's just the same with you. Everyone has a different account about their relationship with you, disjoint and unrelated, making a skewed and distorted image of you as a whole. But each and every one ends up being hopelessly smitten if they stay long enough.

I can't bear to leave you tonight. As you look at me with those hardened eyes, my mind flits back to the lawns and the monuments and all the delicious food. It goes back to the friends I have made, the people I have loved and lost, the pain and the sweat and the shivering. I remember everything and I find it difficult to clear my throat and tell you how very much I will miss you. Because it's cannot be moulded into words, or feelings or tangible things.

Delhi, you have been Home for a long time now. I have cursed you, I have wept heavy tears because of you and I have also lived some of the best years I have ever had, cosy in your arms. You were some ride, and I promise this isn't goodbye. All those lessons you've taught me the hard way I will use. Although I never grew up with you, I still feel like you are now a part of me. You quietly stole a little bit of me to keep for yourself and that empty space left behind inside me you have occupied without invitation. I never knew how you did it, I never will. I try and remember all the reasons I hated you to muster up the courage to walk away from you.

Goodbye, my mistress. It's been a pleasure knowing you. Wait for me. 

With a Sniffle and a Smile

Oh Delhi, how you frustrate me and just as quickly, how you woo me. 

I woke up this morning, a disgruntled employee dreading heading out for work. For Delhi was flooded to the brim and I was getting emails about the Metro not working and the streets being clogged with grimy rainwater. Not to mention the incessant power cuts all through the night. 

Oh yes, and our caretaker Mukesh happens to live beneath my flat and he also happens to have three of the loudest kids in history. The bawling began at about 7 a.m. It did not cease even for a second. Add to that the slaps and shouts of Mukesh and Wife, I am neighbour to quite a noisy bunch. I forgive them. I play awfully loud music myself sometimes. 

Even the tiniest shower has Delhi turned into a disgusting brown mess. So after it rained cats and dogs here last night, it was only natural that skipping across puddles and getting grime splashed at me by passing cars was part and parcel of my commute. And the cows, good god! Even the cows splashed water on me.

In the evening, it was as if Delhi took a bath and got into a brand new outfit. The trees shone bright green and the cars on the street were washed anew. There was a beautiful breeze and the smell of rain wafting along with it. Dinner was steaming and delicious. 

My entire nasal cavity is under siege after the onset of the monsoon, my allergies and sinusitis are on full swing. I headed back to my room to quietly clack at my keyboard when Delhi once again wrapped me up in her blanket for the night. Mukesh had put the kids to bed and from his radio came old Hindi songs, the kind my parents would enjoy. The music now fills my room, punctuated by Mukesh's loud yawns. It is almost perfect for this weather. In between heavy coughs and grabbing yet another leaf of tissue from the box, I find myself smiling contently to myself. 

You have your charm, Delhi. I would have wanted to leave you just an hour ago, and now I feel warm and content in your arms. Here you are serenading me with all these love songs sung in vintage voices and here I am falling for you all over again.

Learning on the Job

There's something about a first job that is just petrifying. It's like that swell in your stomach when a premonition comes true and it is awful. I was apprehensive of this job and I still am pretty damn frightened but joining the Sales team at Zomato has been a whirlwind of an experience that's only possible when you work in a start-up.

The people here are passionate. They are working with all their heart but they are simultaneously up for partying with all their might. For many of them, this is their baby. They will defend and protect it with their lives. It makes the work they do for the company glitter pricelessly. They are some of the most intelligent, keen and talented people ever. It isn't about the fanciest resume, the highest marks or the most lauding recommendations. In a start-up, it really comes down to the quality of your work and if you can do it efficiently, intelligently and with dedication then no one will ever come in your way. It cannot afford employees to sit on their asses so every single person working in the company is adding massive value to its growth.

This is a fantastic feeling; to know that your actions are directly capable of substantially affecting the growth of the entire organisation. What's even more alluring (and what had me hooked from the start) was the proximity one has to the decision making process. Fresh out of college, knowing next to nothing about Sales and to be given a chance to feel first hand the changes made by the "guys at the top" and the impact those changes have on the firm was something that had my heart aflutter.

All the Economics I ever learnt has made its way out the window and in the place of the pages and pages of textbook rote learning has come a new phase of learning (and thinking) on my feet. There is a lesson to be learnt in every single conversation. There is food for thought in each activity that I undertake at the office. My learning curve has been so steep that I can honestly say I have never assimilated and retained this much information this fast in my life. This is when I realise that Zomato has got it right when it comes to training new recruits. Reading folders and enduring painful presentations can do only so much. Hopping meetings and talking to more experienced workers offers you those indispensable tips and tricks of the trade that end up being extremely useful. My training so far (it has just been a week) has consisted very little of structured lessons and far more of sharing anecdotes while heading to a meeting and laughing over past mistakes over coffee and cigarettes. Every single person has something that can contribute to your development in some way because each person that has been there even a day more than you have can give you invaluable advice. These little tidbits stick to you harded than that nasty dodge of gum underneath your sink.

Yes, it has only been a week. I am tired, I am sleep deprived, my health has taken a turn for the worse and free time is a thing of the past. So this is what they call being an adult. No, it is not rosy. But with the strong and confident feeling that I am in the right place, surrounded by like minded people (who never fail to make one laugh) and with a job that is perfect for my skill set, I am all fired up to take this on.

Delhi shall be my mistress for another year.

The Island

Without much thought it seemed, I stepped off my little island.
I could say, I even leapt off it.
I could say, it was my impulsiveness; but really, it was my fear.
Fear that its beauty would fade if I stayed any longer;
The magic that tingled through my bones as the earth flowed between my toes would numb down;
The salty chill of the ocean breeze giving its secrets away to me in whispers would lose its allure.

I looked like a little girl hopping on to her next adventure
In many ways I was.
A world beyond my island that I still ached to explore.
Coral reefs my fingers wished to feel
Lagoons that my dark skin was waiting to taste.
Yet, swimming ahead and away: heart-wrenching.

I will preserve everything in the drawers of my memory.
No photographs, no messages in bottles, no souvenirs.
When memory fades, it will be regenerated
Something far more bewitching than it ever was.
The fruit sweeter, the sun warmer, the view more breathtaking.

The most valuable things
The ones with the most glimmer and sparkle
Deserve not to be contaminated by Time.

The Real Write Ups -- Pat

We don't have even one picture. I've done some of the craziest things with you around and we don't have even one photograph to document it. It's better this way. We were too cool for pictures anyway.

That red light and those dirty draws, what a shady, shady room that was. The room where it began, with those mad stories and random things being set on fire. I still remember always having to recharge text balance in first year thanks to you. I still remember calling you Anish. Yeah, I'm not going back to that again.

I don't remember second year that well, you weren't around very much. Then you came back to College and it took us a while to get back on track, but soon enough we were up to our old tricks again. Everything has changed now. How we see people is different, our friends are different, we are more cautious and there seems to be a lot more at stake somehow. But we will be escapists always. We can self-medicate like pros, that's something we've mastered over the years. We will drown our sorrows in a half and then celebrate the insane times with the rest. We will use our sarcasm as often as we can, snubbing the world and each other every chance we get.

We've carried each other at odd times of the night when we were like dead weights, we've walked around a hell lot of places with a bottle of Pepsi that you got free from the Cafe and we have set up headquarters in MyBar. We've fought and created drama and then forgotten it all the next day. We can spend hours laughing at people. Even the senti conversations, man. Sometimes you know exactly what to say. Cocky is your middle name, and you aren't apologetic about it. I'm going to miss our muk east breaks and our resolutions that we always give up on.

Yeah, I don't know what's going to happen once College is over. We're going to get busy and things will change all over again. In different parts of the city and Paharganj will be too damn far. I'm going to bet that we'll stick together though. I'm going to bet that I'll follow you around until you come to my place for "just a beer" and end up having another killer night. Here's betting that College was the beginning.

It's been some ride, Pat. Knowing you has been beyond insane. The fights and the drama and the bad trips were all worth it. After all, there ain't nothing that we can't fix with a, "Bhaiya, barah DSP aur coke".

No, I don't want your coke. 

Stubbornness

I sat on that dust couch sulking
When you came in
Asking what was wrong
I growled stubbornly
And you turned away

In that second
My resolve melted
And the tears stung
Knowing not what error I'd made
Or why you were so cold

Suddenly you burst into the room
Prepared to shout
Or scream, disappointment
Clouding your brows

To find me curled up
In your corner of the universe
Knowing not my wrong
Or why you were so cold

Suddenly you burst into the room
Pick me up, straighten my bends
Shielding me from the very same
Hurt that you initiated

Lecturing and whispering
At the same time
Rebuking and nurturing
At the same time

Our strong hearts giving in
The room was filled
With the jingle of sincere apology
Alternating from our lips

You and I at once vindicated
When stubbornness gave way
To simple communication
How easy it can be

The Real Write Ups -- Raa

As I wrote write-ups for my friends for the College Yearbook, I realised how hollow it is to attempt to compress into three sentences the relationships I have built over three years. Here are the Real Write-Ups.

First Year Dirties

Like a fish to water, I took to you. It was quite effortless. Did you know you were the first person in College to call me "Mari"? I knew right then that you were going to stick around. There's no way I would let some random girl that looked like Ritu to call me Mari, unless I knew she would be amazing. We go back to the beginnings so often that we know it by heart. Small skirts and IDG talks. First year with "Where?" texts and coffee. With all sorts of outrageous outings like shady Metro Station beer. Now when I think about it though, it isn't first year that I hold most close to me. It's what happened after Diya and I invaded B.D. Estate and suddenly, it wasn't  "The PG". Suddenly, it became "Home".

We know dangerously too much about each other, Raa. Somehow it's always been easy to give away my worst secrets to you. From being friends, we became roommates and then everything changed. We were dealing with the dirties now. Fighting about switching lights off, about hair in the drain, about the maid and everything in between; and on those days, when we were at wits end and made each other cry, we also learnt about every little thing that pisses each other off. We learnt about or worst fears, our biggest insecurities, the ones that only show up when it's 12 a.m. and there's an exam the next day.

Spaz is our middle name

We've grown up a hell lot since those first year days (or have we?).You have taken care of me as the perfect mix between a sister and a best friend. The funniest and most memorable things that we've shared are best left unwritten. We don't want our kids (no matter how hard you try, Raashito, your children will know me) to find this post and use it against us.

That room of ours will be the best room. Even with all my creepy paraphernalia. That room of ours, as much as we hated it, has absorbed every ounce of our characters into its walls. All future Mittal PG residents will feel our creepiness resonate from those walls. I feel this is a proud moment for us. We have left our mark.

Our nights on that terrace, too many to count, with the smog of Delhi and one-and-a-half-moons are what I will miss the most. There's a certain sense of loneliness I feel when we are not up there together, because that's just the way it has always been. From watching interesting shadows to playing ridiculous drinking games, that place has done quite an excellent job of being refuge from bad days, bad food, bad landlords and bad anything else.

Take my secrets to your grave, Rashi Rathi. I love you.

P.S. I have too many pictures with you. Kay took almost all of them