Delhi turned a 100 this week. That's almost as old as my grandfather and me put together. Experiences of a septuagenarian and the outlook of a 20 something- that, my dear Watson, is Delhi for you. The city which sleeps at the strike of 8 in winters, only to hide in its darkness the rave gatherings of the upper bourgeoisie. It shelters petty thieves, murderers and thugs- which I may add, add to the fabric of this metropolis which does not have a culture of it's own.
Delhi will mug you of your belongings, talk you into sweet nothings and strap you off your dignity. It will make you feel cold and distant, and always an outsider for those who aren't dAlhiwalas. It will also give you immense faith in mankind seeing people of diverse backgrounds coexist in the same space. It'll make you feel at home for this is home to migrants from far and wide. It will give you strength in knowing that two of every three persons is striving for a peaceful and satisfactory existence in the Rajdhani.
Delhi is a city of contradictions, a city you have to make yourself fall in love with. The people aren't the best of the lot, but sure they care when they see someone in distress. Yes, they shouldn't be trusted right away, but we don't laugh at your misery. Garrulous, you quip? Indeed, but at least we speak good of people. Delhi, after all is where dreams may never be realised but it gives you the motivation to dream. To dream big.
To my Delhi which has taught me who I am, and what I can be. To my Delhi which is the worst, but is also the best. To my Delhi, joyous centenary celebrations, meri jaan!
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