Ye Dilli Hai Mere Yaar

The one question I have been repeatedly asked in the past 15 months that I have lived in Delhi is how I like it. I have struggled to answer it satisfactorily, even to myself. My answers have ranged from a wishy-washy “Oh you know, you can’t hate it, you can’t love it” to a “I’ve only been here through the pandemic so I really can’t say”. But I think the truthful answer lies somewhere in-between. My view on a city is largely shaped by my personal experiences and less dependant on objective measures of livability offered on paper. And so, while I know that Delhi is barely livable thanks to its pollution, weather and lack of safety for women, these didn’t really tell me, or anyone how I actually felt about the city.

I have had little or no connection to Delhi until I moved here. My father grew up here, and I had visited once in 2011 with him. He took me to his school, his college, where he had lived, etc. It was a scorching April and it was my first time in the city. I spent most of it like a tourist - visiting Red Fort, Baha’i, Qutub Minar, Agra, Mathura, Mussorrie. Coming from Chennai, it seemed to me like Delhi had plenty to see and a lot of good food. But the extra broad roads, security everywhere, cars with sirens…something about the city unnerved me, but I couldn’t put a finger on it. 

My father himself had little or no love for Delhi, having moved to Mumbai when he was in his early twenties. From what he told me the Delhi of his times was unkind to “South Indians”. Being called Madrasi was a slur he was often subject to, and from what I recollect him recounting, his childhood friends were mostly other South Indians. Of course he had fond memories of attending the republic day parade and walks in Lodhi garden. But he always felt that people from Delhi were somehow less trustworthy and deserving of affection and he made no bones about expressing his view on this subject. Over the years, if anything, his view of the city only deteriorated as we heard more and more about how the city was becoming unlivable. I wonder if he would have approved my move to Delhi or vehemently opposed it. But I took the plunge - I moved to Delhi in October 2020. The “why” of the move is not the subject of this disquisition and is a tale for another time. But since then I daresay I have made Delhi home, at least temporarily. And I did it pretty much on my own, of course with support from my family. Some days have been hard; the kind when you don’t want to get out of bed and question everything. But on most days, I do what most Delhi-ites do - complain about the weather, the pollution, the government, the water - and then go about their lives as usual.

In this time I’ve come to reflect on what I love and what I hate about Delhi. So for all those who’ve been asking me this question, here goes:

Seasons:

Coming from Chennai, the idea of seasons is alien to me. I grew up having one wardrobe of clothes for the entirety of the year. On the odd occasion when the temperature dropped to 24 degrees, I would sit in a room without the fan and enjoy the “winter”. Except for a few weeks in the year when the NE monsoon brought us some cyclones, one simply did not factor in the weather in day-to-day decisions - because its always hot and humid. 

So imagine me when I got told that I have to be prepared for a scorching summer of 46 degrees and freezing winter of 5 degrees. 

Nothing could have prepared me for that feeling of simply being unable to get out of bed until 9 AM on a working day. The thought of abandoning the warmth that the razai and of my dog lying next to me was simply horrifying. My first winter in Delhi was as far apart as poles from the romanticised “Dilli ki sardi” everyone talks about on social media. My productivity dropped to dangerously low levels and my dog was suddenly wondering why I was being so clingy. To add to my misery the pollution was so bad that I had dizzying headaches every evening. At this point, only two months into living in the city I was regretting it. I was the butt of everyone’s joke at work for the adversity of my reaction to the weather. But I swore to myself that I can do better than that.

And true to my word, the next winter I did do better. It probably had something to do with the fact that I invested in a room-heater and some actual winter clothes. But maybe it also had to do with a shift in my perspective. It somehow felt like the warmth both around me and within me had grown. This winter I walked my dog at 6.30 AM without complaining about the cold. We took picnics in the park, enjoyed the fresh winter vegetables. There were many people contributing to that warmth. My mother who was staying with me at the time. My dog, the ever non-depleting source of warmth and joy. Friends and companions offering hugs and cuddles and cups of coffee and whisky in abundance. My cook and helper, my didi who turned up at 6.30 AM rain or shine and made sure I eat nutritious food everyday. Chance encounters - perched in new found tenderness and fondness which was promising to blossom in spring. A new Christmas tree in my balcony, a road trip to visit the Taj Mahal, ringing in a new year with a ton of hope.

And then I realised that “Dilli ki sardi” is quite romantic after all. 

I still don’t look forward to the winter, but I have come to accept it as I have many other things about the city. And I can’t resist saying this here - If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

But, spring lasts only 10 days; 15 if you’ve been a good girl that year. And then the summer sun is relentlessly beating you down, sucking your soul. The fresh winter vegetables have shrivelled and look inedible. The tenderness and fondness of the winter has dissipated crashing you down into your new reality - those seeds you thought would blossom in spring have withered away. You are chained to your air-conditioned rooms, drinking copious amounts of nimbu paani, aam panna and chaas to hydrate. And the only real joy to look forward to, is mangoes. 

Constantly being “On guard”

I would be lying if I am not concerned for my personal safety as a woman in Delhi. Before I moved here, friends I spoke to mostly gave me the same answer - it’s largely safe, but you have to be careful. Basically, the onus of ensuring my safety was on me. Great. 

For the most part, I have not felt exceptionally unsafe here. I suspect that I owe much of it to the privilege of where I live and being able to afford a vehicle of my own. I definitely don’t feel as safe as I did back at home. But just like the warmth of the winter - there are friends and colleagues who check on me when I drive home late from work, or from a house-party. And in these small gestures of affection and care, I started feeling safe even in the “rape capital”. 

Being conscious of my identity:

I prided myself at being as fluent in Hindi as I am in Tamil. I thought this would be enough to ensure that my “South Indian” identity did not overshadow my work, my language or my mindset. But somehow, the reverse happened. Moving away from home I felt more aware of my identity than ever before. My fluency in the language or attempt to dress inconspicuously was not enough.  And while I cannot accuse anyone of any serious discrimination, the stereotyping is irksome at times. Moreso because often I fit into them. I was a hard-working, coffee-drinking, vegetarian, rice-eating Tamilian. And all of these stereotypes are true in my case, but there are many which aren’t. Initially I would be irritated, but now I have come to take it in my stride. Most often I found that people mean no harm, and are conscious of their biases. And the best part is, they very rarely take offence if the stereotypes are applied to them.

All said and done, Delhi is the city which has given me my independence and for that I will always be grateful to it. It is my first experience of living alone, in my own rented, small flat initially a barsaati. The barsaati - a single room on the top floor of a house is the quintessential Delhi experience - a confluence of extremes. Too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter. A ton of open space, but detailed view of your neighbours hall. 

On a moonless night, when I stand in the terrace of my barsaati, it is a gentle reminder of my solitude which I have come to enjoy. But on some nights, the moon is full and you can even stars. And these are the nights that I am grateful for in Delhi.