The Prelude

I have to rush now - boarding for my flight has begun and I really don't want airline personnel to hunt me down here in the food court - but I have a LOT to tell you about this trip. It was perfect - right from the way the inspiration hit me, down to this last line I'm keying in before I find my boarding pass (I know I have it somewhere in my bag) and run to Gate 16. I'm not looking forward to seeing Delhi disappear from above the clouds - but it has to be done, and so I will do it. I will come back though, if it's the last thing I do. Bye - and I'll write to you from Kolkata.

The Post from Departures, IGI - T3 (there had to be one)

On my first evening here, I was walking around CP with a friend, and I remember looking around the Inner Circle and telling him I really, really liked this place. Later, as we walked to get some dinner, I voiced what I have known all this time. 

I love this city an irrational amount. It doesn't make sense to me how passionately I feel about it - and honestly, I have stopped trying to look for reasons. I love it - what else is there to say?

I came back to Delhi after three years. Less than three years, actually, but my last two visits didn't really qualify as visits - I barely got to spend any time with the city. The last time I was here, I broke my heart in more ways than one. There was even a phase, somewhere between then and now, when I had given up on being able to return. Not stopped loving Delhi - never stopped loving Delhi - but begun to despair about the chance to come back.

In the last three years, I have spent a lot of time in several other cities, mostly Mumbai and Kolkata. They're beautiful places. Kolkata is steeped in culture and old-world charm, and Mumbai is historically beautiful - if you get what I mean - and breathtakingly modern at the same time. Kolkata is like a tattered, dog-eared book of verses, with notes in the margins of its pages. Mumbai is all bright lights, curving flyovers and expressways and feisty sea. It's a lot like the bhelpuri served on its streets and its beaches - a little bit of everything, bright, colourful, tangy and full of surprises. And between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m., it is nothing short of seductive.

But Delhi...oh, Delhi.

Oh, Delhi.

I slip into its warm, teasing embrace without knowing it. I don't know what to make of its sights and sounds and colours and moods - I know them with the intimacy that only incontrovertible love can bring, and they still awe and inspire me. Delhi makes me happy. Yes, Delhi is poetry and madness and passion and love and identity and challenge to me - but it makes me happy the way nothing else ever has. Happy, plain and simple.   I realise now that when  I left Delhi in 2010, I left a little bit of myself behind - and it wasn't intentional. When is it ever? Delhi is where I found myself. They say falling in love makes you learn as much about yourself as about the other person. True, I think. I learned about Delhi and myself in equal measure. I unconsciously imbibed some of its traits. It made me a stronger person, it taught me never to be afraid to express myself. Above all, Delhi taught me to dream, to have bright, absurd ideas, and to believe that anything, anything is possible. It taught me to love uninhibitedly and passionately, it taught me to love without fearing rejection and pain - because it taught me that you can move past those things in time. It taught me to be honest, fearless and impulsive. I turned into me, here. And Delhi loved me back. So when I moved out, I found some part of me missing, and I knew that Delhi had claimed some of me for good. I didn't bother claiming it back. I didn't want to. I wanted some of me to stay here.

And that is why I keep returning here. All the time, emotionally. As often as I can manage it, physically. I'm complete here. Delhi also taught me to go with the flow - and I have no clue where the flow is headed with me. It doesn't matter, though. There's some of me here, and even if the rest of me becomes untraceable, I'll know where to come back and graft myself a new soul.

Insomnia - I

Just me, Blogger, a temperamental computer and almost-November...such old friends.

I was a certified insomniac back in college. I think I retain wisps of the trait, but even if I do, I'm just a shadow of my Delhi self. Back then, every night found me alternating between the rickety Samsung 2000 PC in the lobby and the chilly roof of my hostel. It wasn't because I was unhappy or unwell...I just had way too much energy to quiet down and tuck myself in every night. Winter in Delhi was an addiction. The only other element in my life that even came close, was my blog.

I don't mind belonging...but I have trouble being owned. Yet, the only entity I will ever admit to being owned by, willingly or otherwise, is Delhi. Delhi, especially between October and March, if we must mention details.

Winters there can be unforgiving. The Delhi winter doesn't care if you have Jan tests in five days or two, or today. It doesn't care if you're already bundled under seven layers of mismatched woollen clothing. It couldn't give a damn if the outdoors appear forbidding because of it. Say what you will, there is only one version of the Delhi winter - full, passionate, absolute. It doesn't abate because you are afraid of it, or because you're prepared. There's only one of it, and it knows that and respects itself enough to be all that it is, in its entirety - fog, mists, frozen nights et al.

That's how I fell in love with it.

That is also how I learnt to co-exist with it. I stopped shying away from the winter. I went and befriended it instead. Whenever the cold got a little bitter, I'd raise my arms for a hug. And cold, wintry Delhi hugged me back, till that draught of icy air creeping to the back of my neck past a carefully-wound muffler exhilarated, rather than discomfited, me.

This evening, I was thinking I should do a post about the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and textures I associate with the University. Maybe I'll do it tonight. Who knows.

Soft Focus

"I'm interested in financial analysis", he is saying, "a credit-related role."

"We'll come to the profile in a bit", I respond, almost as if on autopilot.

It is stealing upon me, bit by obvious bit. An expectant little thrill, the sort you feel in the presence of your first love. I look out of the picture window again. I couldn't have felt the pull more strongly if I were a lodestone in an exceptionally strong magnetic field.

I shiver a little. It could be the airconditioning. It could be something else.

"...the ideal ratio, of course", he is saying again, "is 2:1. I'm a fresher", he adds with some pride, "but I do believe I can add value to the financial and accounting aspects of your organization."

"We're a bank", my colleague remarks, drily. "At the end of the day, finance and accounting is all we're about."

I look out of the window again. I feel the slight chill and that old pull once more, at the same time. I know that chill. I know that shade of twilight. I know how it feels. I have nothing if not those feelings.

"You know I know how much you miss it all."

"I've never pretended otherwise", I say aloud in my head, half awed, half defensive.

It laughs softly, raises an enticing arm. Invites a hug.

All I want to do is run into its embrace. This interview, the world, all be damned.

So I stare resolutely at the psychometric profile and begin a question. My brain slips into autopilot mode again. I pause for the briefest fraction of a second to make sure it's headed in the right direction, then hand over control before resuming my conversation with whatever it is outside the picture window, in the fast-falling darkness.

I know the room is virtually airtight right now, but it is getting progressively cooler. The chill is setting in with the self-assurance of someone who knows they're needed, even if you deny it to them till you are blue in the face, while your heart is pounding with terror at the thought that they will take you at your word and leave.

That isn't what surprises me. I'm shaken - alarmed and reassured in equal measure, all at once - by something else. That chill caressing my skin feels like the warmest, most familiar hug I've ever been in.

And then it hits me. It's been sitting in plain sight all this while, which is probably how it escaped notice in the first place. Typical.

It's the Delhi winter. It's home, and it's looking for me.

The Summary

I don't quite remember what I was doing the midnight of April 13 and 14 last year. Not material, really. It's just that a year is a decent frame of reference.

And so, here I am. Yours truly, Crossworder.

Between mid-April last year and now, I have -

Left Delhi and realised, much too late, that I'm irreversibly in love with it. Lived all alone in a brand new city, in a house meant for four. Cooked meals from scratch and done a very good job of it, all things considered :) Met one of my favorite people some half-a-dozen times in ten months - which is great, given that he lives in a different city. Explored Marine Drive and Worli Seaface at midnight, and driven around Calcutta at 1 a.m., like I always wanted to. Been taken out for chocolate truffle at 3 a.m. Caught more 7 a.m. flights than I can remember having done before. Consequently, woken up at the unearthly hour of 3.30 more frequently than I ever had to, before this. Packed and unpacked for trips ranging from 14 hours to 6 weeks in duration, in ten minutes flat (and I'll have you know it's no idle boast). Fallen in love and dealt with heartache and heartbreak - and lived to tell the tale. Stayed up entire nights working on projects that never ended and went nowhere (!). Also stayed up from dinner to breakfast, catching up with one of my best friends over a bottle of Coke and a Mars bar. Travelled for days - the sort I always wanted...highways, random little places, lots of greenery and lots of rain, no two consecutive nights or meals in the same place. Developed a rickety little philosophy of my own. Baked my first cake. Made plans, then re-made them. Done enough laundry to last three people ten lifetimes each. Gone from always-misses-calls to has-no-option-but-to-take-them. Bought enough formal Indian clothing to last me eight lifetimes - then proceeded to ruin successive kurtas with spirited rubbing and ironing. Learnt to negotiate successfully with salespeople at white goods' showrooms and telecom outlets. Poked myself in the eye seven hundred times, at the very least, in the process of learning how to wear lenses. Exulted in the victory of Anna Hazare. Practised deep breathing as a way to avoid losing my cool with regional and zonal heads who refused to see reason. Seen HR professionals - hell, been one - up close and personal. Figured out what I think I may probably want to do with my life. Allowed my vulnerabilities to show - and emerged a stronger individual for it. Turned 25. Gazed awestruck at the magic that we call 3G. Rediscovered my love of handmade silver jewellery. Not read a quarter as many books as I wanted to, sadly enough. Written SOPs that had no beginning, no end and no middle to speak of either. Been thrilled to bits at finding myself doing things I wanted to but never thought I'd get around to (remember the midnight drives?). Received some fourteen reality checks and still counting. Taken the TOEFL only because I could not get through to the helpline to cancel my registration - and thanked my stars later for having kept the lines busy. Landed in Delhi at 1 a.m. - believe me, it can't get more beautiful. Watched some really bad movies, and two decent ones. Elevated emailing to a fine art. Watched India win the World Cup. Developed an aversion to Maggi and omelettes. Come halfway to disliking pizza. Realised, thus, the truth in the axiom that anything in excess can get on your nerves. Nearly finished the Twilight series. Bought my first Rushdie and Marquez. Closed Thought Experiments and started The Southwest Wall, then closed The Southwest Wall and started a fresh blog...then closed the new blog and came back to the Wall because I'm not done with it yet.


Which brings us back to the beginning.


What's your past year been like? Go on, it's good to share. :)

The Wish

It's the time of year to visit the Delhi Book Fair and brave the milling millions at Pragati Maidan. To drive over the AIIMS flyover in a haze of fog. To drive through CP, Barakhamba Road, Dwarka and Dhaula Kuan; over NH-8, MG Road, and into DLF - IV. To go for a walk on the Ridge and gaze at Kashmere Gate from the Mutiny Memorial. To eat cotton candy at India Gate. To watch pigeons fly over Rashtrapati Bhawan. To play memory games on the Yellow Line and exult in the joyride that the Blue Line is. To relive memories at Rohini and Vasant Kunj. To find Noida's traffic annoying. To dissolve into history at the Red Fort and the Qutb Minar. To want to see and feel more, raw and vulnerable as one already is.

It's the time of year to drive through Rajarhat and New Town, over miles of straight road, with nothing but the silence of the night, and hundreds of streetlights for company. To drive through Salt Lake and, this time, play memory games with the artwork on the pavements. To marvel at the perfect reflection of a city at rest at EM Bypass. To romance the relics of the Raj. To smell hibiscus and camphor at Dakshineshwar.

It's the time of year to admit to a few vulnerabilities, yes.

The Irony

'Are you coming to Hudson Lines for dinner?', I asked my friend, who was waiting outside the Seminar Room.

'Can't', she said shortly. Couldn't blame her. She had been sitting there all afternoon and evening, waiting, first for her group discussion, then her interview, then another...and now for the results. In three years of college, I had never seen her so worked up.

'I'll wait here with you.'

'No, I don't want company. Honestly, I'll feel a lot better if I'm here by myself.' Her reply was so prompt, I stopped midway through hoisting myself onto the windowsill to sit next to her.

I didn't argue. I understood.

'I hate people from Human Resources', I thought fiercely to myself. 'And recruiters are the worst of the lot. I'm glad I've never thought of getting into HR. I don't want to. Ever.'

--------------------

'You went to all this trouble for someone who said such a blunt No?' I was incredulous.

He shrugged. 'You have to do what you have to do. Besides', he busied himself looking out of the window, 'I don't like her. I mean, I like her well enough, but I haven't fallen for her or anything. That's all in your imagination.'

'Right.' I didn't bother veiling the sarcasm. He and I had seen each other through one low too many for me to buy that.

He gave up. 'Yes, I like her. She likes me back too. Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'd have done this for her anyway.'

'And what about you?'

'I'll be fine', he shrugged again. 'Look, I needed to know she'd be okay.'

'All you end up with is a lot of broken pieces', I mused, walking out of the dining hall. 'I wonder how people fall in love. Why fall in love at all? I'm glad I'm not in love. I don't see that happening. Even better.'

--------------------

'Aren't you going to miss this place?'

She gave me a rather puzzled look. 'Why should I miss it?'

'Well, all the time you spent here must count for something. A little bit of emotion, maybe, or some memories?'

She laughed. 'Yes, yes, I like having been here and I guess I'll think about it from time to time. It's okay. The world won't stop turning!'

I laughed along, but with a sense of uneasiness. I didn't understand. 

Whether it was the result of forced intimacy, routine, or actual emotion, attachment could not be avoided. Should not, if you asked me. For what kind of a life would it be, I wondered, where something was a constant presence, yet completely uncared for? It was waste of the most regrettable kind, I thought, to allow something to occupy so much of your time or space - or both - and not bother connecting with it. Time spent like that was time spent existing, not living.

Detachment, I thought, was more of a theoretical concept. I, for one, would never be able to put it into practice.

a morning message

I miss the University.

Yes, I am familiar with the idea that distance makes the heart grow fonder. It isn't always that, though. :)

And I can't get the picture of India Gate, swathed in fog, out of my head.

Oh dammit, Delhi, you and I were supposed to go our separate ways!

For 214, A-10, 201, #3 and #5

Life's been a study in variety these last seven years. I've lived in varied places, with all sorts of people. When I first left home for Delhi in 2004, all I understood of the concept of studying in a different city was that I would not be living at home. Not exactly thrilled at the prospect of having to make do with phone calls and emails instead of family dinners and bear hugs, I didn't even realize that living outside not only meant living away from family - it also meant living with people I didn't know, to start with. Since I hadn't given it any thought, I didn't react to the fact when I came face to face with it. My moment of truth came when the Section Officer handed me an acknowledgment card bearing my Univ enrolment number, and Dad said "And now for your room."

Oh.

And that's how it began. From not having given it any thought in particular back then, to cherishing all that life in Residence, hostels and flats has taught me and come to mean, I've been on a constant trip - pun fully intended. On various occasions, I've been asked if I'd have chosen any other way to live these last seven years. The No comes quicker, I've noticed, than my response to who is my favourite author - and that's saying something. A lot of my day-scholar friends still wonder how. Most of them tend to think of life away from home as either perfection, or an impossibility. It is only those who have been in the gray area in between who understand that there is a gray area. Each room I've lived in left traces of itself in me. No kidding...sometimes, I can single out a trait and tell you exactly where I acquired it. Like sugarless black coffee, constant music and staying up late from A-11; the "Okay, I'll deal with this" approach from 214; all-nighters and a broader acceptance of human nature from A-10; the dubious ability, on occasion, to sleep through alarms, and the comfort in opening up to a bunch of strangers, from 201; the capacity to let go and unwind from Room# 3 and Room# 5 - as also the joys of bonding and sharing that only someone who has spent a lazy Sunday in a  house with  twelve other women, would know.

No, I really wouldn't have it any other way. If you asked me to go back and do it all over again, I wouldn't ask to change anything or anyone from these seven years.

In the course of all these years, I've lived in...wait a minute, let's see...eleven different rooms, not taking into account the flat I stay in now. And I've had twenty-one roommates in all. Single rooms, twin-sharing rooms...one roommate, two, four - been there, done that. I've lived in a building with 200 other girls in it, then in one with 52 others, then 15, then 60. So, yes, I have had my fair share of away-from-home experiences.

So I was more than prepared to come and live all by myself in a two-bedroom place in Bhubaneswar when my employers took it into their heads to send me here. I don't mind staying alone - on most days, I am thankful for the solitude. That's another trait that living with new people builds - emotional self-sufficiency. You can live all alone and still not miss anything; you can share a room with half-a-dozen relative strangers, laugh and talk, have enormous fun and share a tremendous lot, and still not lose your space if you don't want to. You don't quite notice when you inculcate this tenacity...you just notice, when you need that kind of strength or stability or patience, that it's right there. That is not to say you won't feel lonely or claustrophobic at times. You will. It's just that you are also extremely likely to find a way to handle it that much sooner. Also, you learn to build and enjoy independence; and to own up to your responsibilities and mistakes...not to forget, how to pack up an entire room - tutes and clothes and posters et al - every summer, and unpack it all manfully when you return.

And, of course, surviving entire weekends on Maggi, and developing a liking for the oddest food combinations - think biscuit-chutney and salad crackers. Goes without saying that when you run out of said culinary oddities too, you learn to walk brazenly into the neighbouring room - never mind that it is 3 a.m. and they're lost in the dreamless - and ask if they have any.

You learn that it is good to share - not just books and the occasional sweater, but also what you're going through. Funny happenings during the day become funnier when shared that night; good things become better. And no matter how severe the heartbreak, or how lousy the day - it will still stand a very bleak chance against the kind of comfort a conversation with the right people can provide. Life teaches you - on its own - exactly how easy or serious you need to take it. Also how easy, or seriously, you need to take yourself.

Anyway, so as I was saying, the whole idea of living all alone here seemed like yet another experiment, and I was more than keen to get started. It hasn't been smooth, truth be told. Maybe it's a combination of factors, maybe it's just me...but it can get lonely here sometimes. Having said that, I wouldn't give up this sense of freedom and space for anything. I do, however, reminisce about Rez, K-14/20, L-7/3 and 32 U.B. more than often.

And so, this is for all the women I have shared rooms with. I'll probably also write, at some other time, about the women who weren't roommates, but who I lived with nevertheless, and about what each place means to me...but for now, here's what I'll always remember each of my roommates for -

TP, for empathizing with me - we were both, after all, confused, hassled girls trying to figure our way about 8:40s, bad breakfasts and worse lunches, and terrifying seniors.

PS, for being the perfect first roommate...and, to date, one of my favourite people from Delhi.

TT, for being fellow-Eco-fuch, Baby Beyonce and hostel-life-coach all rolled into one.

PK, for initiating me into life as a first-time employee and being the protective mother bear and annoying older sister at the same time.

G, for teaching me how to laugh through the madness.

SG...honorary roommate. I loved your attitude to everything that bothered you. Still do!

AA...grace so perfect, it bordered the comic. Maturity so great, it bordered the perfect.

GM...our Little Miss Muffet.

DJ...ballet dancer extraordinaire and the ultimate diva.

C...you don't always have to spend a lot of time with someone for them to think of you fondly for the rest of their lives. Thanks for showing me how, with a carnation and a text message.

SA...you, lady, taught me how to negotiate my way over wafer-thin ice.

PS, a week is all it took for me to become a lifelong fan. You were perfect.

AJ and SG - I had to mention the two of you together. What do I say about the two of you that you haven't already heard me telling you between guffaws, in all-night heart-to-hearts, childish arguments...and in my sleep?

AK: Interesting. Always.

NM and VJ - short and sweet, eh? :)

LA...I spent six months with you in one room - and we exchanged all of 56 sentences. How did that even happen?? By far my quietest roommate...

TV - For giggling (and giving out wrong information) when you were nervous, for panicking meaninglessly before exams, for subjecting me to endless queries on what looked good and went with which bag and watch...for going from girl-next-door (literally) to one of the people I miss the most.

MP - tall, talkative and lovable. I've never met anyone else who invited me home in the first thirty seconds of conversation!

NS...first-timer...you brought life full circle.

I spent anything from a week to fifty-two with these women...and I wouldn't trade any bit of that time for anything. 

This one's for all of you, ladies...for being one of the most integral aspects of the most interesting phase of a life of 25 years.

Miss you guys.

Thinking Aloud - I

I'll be the first to admit that you have to have nothing to do - or so much to do that you do not know where to start, so end up doing nothing eventually - to think of things like these. I have a lot to do tonight and this week. I have had a lot to do in the last two months. But I can't help thinking about this fact of life, ergo, it has found its way to this page.

You know, when you're living a moment, that is all there is. It fills up your life. You don't really stop to think that in another second, this moment will become part of your past, never to be recovered except in reminiscence. You certainly do not stop to think that it is also becoming part of your future, but in a quiet, unobtrusive way. Like this moment. Here. Now.

Because if you had known that the moment could never be recovered, you would have been more careful, and more accepting of its ephemeral nature. More appreciative, maybe. Less scared, perhaps, or more honest.

For several moments in the year that has passed, I have the same wistful longing now. It's useless, I know. Nothing's going to bring them back, least of all more time spent wishing them back into the present. But if I had known that, countless times last year, I was living the kind of moment that would never repeat itself, I would probably have been more careful with it, handled it with greater care. Living life on a no-regrets basis is great...but one of the problems is, if you do stop to turn and look back, you run the risk of being overwhelmed by instances of what could have been. Oh, dear God. There I go again. I hate what-ifs. I've lived my entire life on the principle that I wouldn't  ever do anything that left room for a what-if. Everything would get the chance it deserved. Everything is worth a try. Sure, you fall and scrape a knee. But you also score one thing off the list of things you'd otherwise be wondering about at 84.

I'm sleepy and a little blue. I really don't know if the last ten sentences make any sense.

But I do know that if I had known I was living so many lasts last year, I'd probably have...I don't know. What would I probably have done? I do know I lived those moments off the top of my head, spontaneously, the only way I know...what would I have done differently? From that last visit in February to the last walk in April; from the last just-because trip in May to that last call; from that last journey in September to the last meeting in November...so many moments I wanted to grab with both hands and keep safe...all gone.

I'm getting bluer by the minute. I should probably turn in. Days have a way of behaving better once ended and begun afresh.

Fifth Corner - I

I guess it has something to do with this time of the year. Willy-nilly, I turn back and take stock. It's a feeling I'm now familiar with...the warmth of my palms ensconced safely in the pockets of my sweatshirt, the chill playing with my breath each time I exhale, my mind a whirl of thoughts. I've found myself doing this curled up on windowsills on Main Corr, on the terrace as I gaze out over a sleeping city, on long walks to Gwyer Hall and back, and on sleepless nights here in Bhubaneswar, watching winter raindrops trickling off palm fronds just outside my window. That palm frond was just sprouting when I got here...now, it's close enough to touch.

I shake hands goodnight with it. :)

It's been a year I will never forget. I've done things I've always wanted to, and some things I never thought I would. I've had wishes granted. The impossible practically happened. Enough said.

Somewhere, though, there's a slight tinge of disillusionment and a little sadness.

Don't get me wrong - heaven forbid that I should feel or even sound like an ingrate. I'm thinking aloud...let's see if we can sort this out.

(So is this where I should insert the Rambling Alert? Methinks it is.)

It began wonderfully enough - my first New Year's Eve home in five years. It was a very happy girl who made her way back to Delhi for her fourth semester. February was important - I re-discovered an old love, thanks to a new friend. I had the most amazing evening of my life on March 15. I didn't know this then...but March was also the month of another beginning. More about that later.

Let's see...April was laid back. Quiet and lazy and fun. I do remember presenting my dissertation one afternoon. I've never been as poorly prepared for anything, ever...and I've never had so much fun. May...ah, now we're talking. :)

May was crazy. There were exams I was unprepared for out of sheer disinclination, and there was a growing realization that if what I had with Delhi couldn't be classified as a with-or-without-you relationship, nothing could. May 15, again, was one of those days. I went from ecstatic to flabbergasted to plain low in 30 seconds flat. Even for someone as mercurial as I am, that's a quick transition. And that's all the more reason May 16 was such a surprise. May 17 was...difficult. Packing six years into sixteen bags and boxes is not easy...and I'm not talking logistics here. The next day, I left Delhi.

I'll never forget the night leading up to my departure, or the last hour at the airport. Other memories will come and go, this one's going to stay. Till the plane actually took off the runway, I was practically numb. I didn't realise I was crying till much later. Then I felt embarrassed, then stupid...and then I stopped caring about everything but the fact that I was leaving behind something I loved, and cried harder.

And that's why the week that followed was so difficult. It was my last four days with my family before I entered a set-up that measures personal time and space in privilege leaves. There were a million things to be done, scores of things to run around for. Mornings and evenings came and went, marking time with merciless regularity. The one thing that was constant, whether I was at the doctor's or the bank or the temple, was this thought sitting in a corner of my mind. "When you leave now", it kept repeating, "you are not going back to Delhi. Not now, not any time soon. There's no Delhi to go back to, the way you've known going back to it. What you've left behind is over."

I'm no good at handling endings, so that hurt.

The last week was full of new experiences. Outside BKC on the 23rd, I began a new chapter. Of more than one story, though I didn't know about the other.

May ended with three clueless ER Managers landing in Calcutta, dining on Maggi and saying goodnight in the hall before proceeding to Rooms 1 and 3 (I got one all to myself. The guys shared the other. Oh, the privileges of being a woman :)

June. Hmm...June.

Here are my discoveries for June:

1.Recruitment can be as boring in practice as it is in theory. The thrill wears off in no time, especially when logistics demand attention.

2. A good team is half the job done.

3. Laugh a lot. Be goofy. Play silly games. It's good for you. :)

4. Delhi is a lover and a friend. Calcutta is your friendly old neighbour next door.

5. And Calcutta is beautiful at midnight.

6. Long work hours are more irritating in reality than they are horrifying in concept.

7. Homesickness sometimes gets accentuated in a hotel room.

8. You can do - or not do - what you like. If it's meant to happen, it pretty much will.

9. Airtel has lousy customer care for its prepaid services.

10. Six weeks is a long time to spend with a bag packed only with a five-day trip in mind.

11. Following from #10, being in a new place every third day is a lot more fun when you don't have to worry about laundry.

12. Let. Go. It's important.

July was another revelation. Bhubaneswar and I happened to each other. We're still trying to figure our way around each other, this city and I. The end of the month was especially tough, on several fronts...which is why the trip to Khandala, which happened in the beginning of August, was a much-needed and very soothing break. Hills, mist, rain, lakes, highway, moonlit nights, golden afternoons. Perfection, in other words.

August, September, October, November...the months just melted away. Little bits and pieces of life held together by a fibre I couldn't identify. I learned something about myself these last four months. I learned that I am capable of feeling lonely, that I have walls I need to reconsider, and that I may have to rethink thoughts I've already rethought. I learned that I am allowed my mistakes. I learned to be comfortable with acknowledging that sometimes, things weren't all okay, and that it was alright for them to not be okay once in a while. I learned to face facts and deal with them. And above all, I learned that being honest with yourself and telling yourself the truth are sometimes two different things - and both are equally important.

Well, then...it's been a year I'll never forget. I'll remember it because it fulfilled a  long-cherished wish and because it taught me something I'd never have learned, left to myself. I'd always wished for a job I could travel madly as part of. That happened alright. The lesson? I'll tell you later. :)

Disillusionment, yes. I guess that's part of the deal. It happens to me sometimes as part of my job...and it happens on the personal front too. But, you know what, in the larger scheme of things, it's okay. It really is. You know what they say about fixing the blues...count your blessings, they say. Thank your lucky stars.

Either that, or blog about the year gone by, say I. :)

p.s. Still got some stock-taking left. Later, maybe.

Actually, I'll definitely come back and finish this.

To Delhi, with love

Dear Delhi,

There have never been any secrets between you and me. I gave up trying to keep anything from you a long, long time ago. When personalities fall into sync the way yours and mine did, no thought is a secret. You know all of mine. Do I know all of yours?

Are you kidding me? There's no way I could manage knowing everything about you.

If anything, that makes me fall harder in love with you each time I so much as think about you.

I do know, though, that you're mad, and stubborn, and lovable, and temperamental and beautiful. I know that you're irritating, maddening even. That you're opinionated and interfering and irresistible. That I've never resisted something so hard and only ended up feeling that much more passionately about it.

I wasn't sure what to make of you when I first got to know you. I hated you, then moved on to indifference, then a tentative, hesitant liking of sorts, then a deep friendship...then immense love, more indifference...I began to resent you again and I thought we were done for good. And then I left you, feeling glad that the time had come for us to part before the love changed to something less pleasant. I didn't want to feel less pleasantly about you.

Moving on from what it was like to be with you is the hardest thing I have had to do yet. I hadn't been away for 12 hours before it hit me that this was it...I'd never be back there again, things would change forever. I missed you. I still do. I miss everything about you, and I love you.

You know all that there is to know about me, Delhi. When I'm with you, I'm me. I can't say I know everything about you, Delhi, but I do know you're lush and green and rebellious when it rains. I know you have your monsoon moodswings. I've grown to love them, be able to predict them, even. I know that yours is the most scorching, unforgiving summer in the world. You stubborn, headstrong city...nothing reflects your temperamental side as easily as your Mays, Junes and Julys.

And I did manage to survive a summer and monsoon away from you, Delhi...but not being there when winter is slowly making its way into the calendar is killing me. Yous soul is never as beautifully consummate as it is in winter. And every time I smell the wood-smoke in the air here, every time I shiver and hug myself to keep out the nip in the air, each time I see a trace of fog anywhere around me, I miss you so much that it breaks my heart. I miss the fog there, I miss shivering uncontrollably under eight layers of woollen clothing, I miss the impossibility of leaving my bed every morning. I miss the way the air smells and feels there. I miss your fairy lights at CP, and the lone peanut vendor by Arts Fac. I miss the coldness of the handrails inside the Metro. I miss the bite of the wind as it whips across my face when I travel through Central Secretariat by auto. I miss India Gate, I miss the Ridge, I miss the University, I miss the terrace of my hostel building. I miss the quietness of 2 a.m, when an insomniac and her city would commune. I miss the stillness of your nights. I miss the beauty of your roads. I miss your skies and your horizon. I miss every thing about you.

And till I left you and realised how it felt, I had no idea I was capable of so much love.

I'll come back to you. Don't ask me when, because I don't know. But I will.

Till then, know that I love you, and miss you with every particle of my being.

Yours, always,

Crossworder

All-is in Wonderland - I

So, Thursday evening, at about five or half past, I receive a call from a colleague in Hyderabad. "Just wanted to confirm this with you", she says, "you do know that you have to be at Civil Township, Rourkela at 10:30 am tomorrow, don't you?"

"Er, no." I decide it is best to be forthright.

"Oh, but you do", she goes on, inexorably. "Tomorrow", she adds for good measure, just in case I missed it the first time she said it.

Excitement's beginning to grow, but so is a small sense of alarm. "Shilpa", I manage, "Rourkela is 500-odd kilometres away. It's an overnight journey by train. I'm going to need tickets."

"So get some", she says brightly.

"For tonight", I remind her. "The train may already have left."

"Let me know", she buzzes off. Clearly, the geography of Orissa is lost on my colleague in Andhra Pradesh, next door.

Getting more and more excited about an impromptu trip to some place I have never seen (I like hills and waterfalls and highways, but a train journey to a new city is also a great idea. I'll take it, thanks), I dial the travel agent's number.

And that is how I find myself en route to Rourkela at 10:20 pm that evening.

Surprise, surprise...there's highways and greenery and rain and hills here too. And all through the trip, I can't get over the suddenness of it all. When it comes to travel, the more arbitrary and random, the better, is my credo.

I grin and grin like a freak. In Rourkela, they wonder why their Employee Relations Manager is always so happy. Truth be told, the ER Manager is not even thinking ER.

Then I catch a train back Friday evening. Before I do that, though, I take a walk around the part of the city that the regional office is located in. It's very sixties, I decide, never mind that I wasn't even around before the eighties. I like it. I like the suddenness and consequent newness of it all.

The only hitch is, the train reaches Bhubaneswar at 5 am. Now, I have nothing against early morning arrivals, except the nagging worry at the back of my mind all night that I'm going to sleep through my destination and wind up in some other place a couple hundred miles away. By itself, that is a great idea...but I am also expected back in office at 9 am, so I can't afford to take it as it comes.

I've forgotten something, though. My subconscious takes care of it. At 4:20 am, my eyes fly open on their own. "Up", my brain says quietly.

And then, there's a strange sense of deja vu.

I've been here before, on an upper berth, blankets and sheets lying in a tangle by my feet, a backpack shoved against the wall of the compartment, at the ungodly hour of four or thereabouts, blinking in confusion at a blue landscape visible from the window, through a haze of condensation, droplets having run down the pane in the sort of straight line only droplets can run down in. I've been here before, shivering and wondering if they turn the airconditioning up in the middle of the night, or if it is the morning chill creeping in past the double-paned windows. The brisk, businesslike urgency with which my brain orders me to gather up my belongings (and don't forget your glasses tucked in on the side...and where's that book?) and clamber down, is familiar too. Yes, I've definitely been here before.

As I'm climbing down, still a little sleepy, the train comes to an abrupt halt in the middle of a lot of vegetation, signs of civilization barely discernible in the distance. This is familiar, too.

I pull my backpack and sheet down, snuggle up against the window and lean on the pane. And then it hits me.

This is Tilak Bridge. This is 4:30 am. This is that exasperating point at which the train will stop for no apparent reason for at least an hour. This is a beautiful landscape to be gazing out at, though.

This is me, on board the Purushottam, on my way back to Delhi.

Six years. At least twenty-five times. No wonder I feel like I've lived this hour before. No wonder I am wonderfully cosy and completely at home against that cold window pane with droplets of condensation on it, my eyes running over a blue setting slowly turning bluish-golden. No wonder my subconscious is programmed to poke me into wakefulness when it is 4:30 am on board a train. No wonder.

My vision gets a little more blurred...and this time, it's not just the condensation on the glass.

As the train pushes off from the middle of nowhere - this time a different nowhere - the landscape smiles at me. It's not the same. Geography will apply. So the trees are not banyan or eucalyptus...these are coconut palms. The soil appears a different hue. The huts are built slightly differently.

But this is a beautiful landscape too. It's waiting to be discovered and befriended. It can't help not being Delhi...but it is itself, and it is beautiful, too.

So I smile and softly say Hi.

And I think of those lines from Follow Me.

You don't know how you met me, you don't know why

you can't turn around and say goodbye;

All you know is, when I'm with you, I make you free

and swim to your veins like a fish in the sea...

Follow me, everything is alright

I'll be the one to tuck you in at night

And if you want to leave, I can guarantee

You won't find nobody else like me...

Won't give you money, I can't give you the sky

You're better off if you don't ask why

I'm not the reason that you go astray, and

We'll be alright if you don't ask me to stay...

That I came back home and had to break into my own house is a story for a different day. Till then.