Home is far from here. It’s miles away from this manicured patch of cultivated appearances I live in now. If I scream of home here, there will be no echo. Home is far away.
Yesterday, with rain, with sloppy, wanton rain; with wind, with impudent, insolent wind; with clouds, with splotchy purple, rust and saffron clouds, a little bit got undone here. The veil slipped, the wig flipped. Expressions tried to look annoyed at the wet trifle of a downpour...and failed. Instead, faces grinned and voices sang out loud.
Strangers in cars looked out at pedestrians walking unshielded in this vibrant glory and laughed. Happily. ‘Good for you!’ kind of happiness. ‘That looks like fun!’ kind of joy.
Strangers on the roads looked at the gleaming winding roads ahead. Imagined poetic prospects of drives through avenues littered with beauty and laughed. Happily. ‘Good for you!’ kind of happiness. ‘That looks like fun!’ kind of joy.
Yesterday, with rain, Delhi was home.