Did the title to this post seem
problematic to you? If not, then think again.
It had hardly been a month in
Delhi and my friends from school started calling me Dilli-wali. Unaware whether
it was a compliment or a comment, I ignored it and tried to fight the
depression I was going through in the first month of my college because I couldn’t
accept the people I met. I barely knew anyone. I was homesick. And people at
home, Odisha, called me Dilli-wali. The Delhites called me south Indian. And
there I was lying in the bed of my tiny rented room, sharing it with two
strangers who were quite contrary to me in nature, thinking about the tags that
I have been given. With my under graduate days coming to an end, I am proud to
say that I survived three years in Delhi. Not that it’s a bad city to be in,
but it gets quite chaotic in one’s head when one comes from a small town. But
then, when is the human mind at peace?
In these three years I have
wondered more than often, have I changed so much that people back home can’t
accept me. I am still a spoilt stubborn brat and my parents are fed up of me. I
like to wear same old baggy clothes and probably go shopping only when I have
to. But this doesn’t mean that I do not like dressing up, because I do
occasionally. I still feel more comfortable talking to boys than girls. Do not
ask me why but this is the way I have been. Even if most of my friends here in
Delhi have been girls, in crisis I call my boy friends first. Probably because
somewhere within me I know, that girls around me live under the similar
illusion of being free from the clutches of their parents but are tied in the
end. And I do believe that boys enjoy a bit more freedom than girls in case
they aren’t completely free. I still like to listen if someone needs to talk. People,
emotions, relationships intrigue me in the same way as they did in school. But
maybe I have changed. Probably because I am living in Delhi. Or the change occurred
because after 18 years of living my life according to the people around me I
was given a little freedom to exercise the to-do list I mentally prepared for
myself, for a life in which I choose what to do and not to do. And Delhi
obviously has been a factor.
I have been a Dilli-wali because
I am busy and unable to meet people when they want me to, unable to talk/chat
with them. I have been a Dilli-wali because I have the weird Delhi accent while
talking. I have been a Dilli-wali because my photos on Fb say that I am
enjoying the most in my life. I have been a Dilli-wali because my profile
pictures look nice. I have been a Dilli-wali because I have become smarter. Or
so I have been said.
This one’s for all my
acquaintances who believe in the one aspect of Delhi that has been shown to
them via movies or other sources of media. Delhi for me hasn’t been about
wearing short clothes and going to discos every night, or getting myself drunk
everyday and waking up with the hangover that keeps getting worse, or smoking
for that matter. Delhi hasn’t been about going to Sarojini Nagar market or
malls to buy clothes for every season, or circling CP with my friends at the
dead of the night and shouting out loud. Delhi hasn’t been about meeting the
handsome guys and changing boyfriends now and then. These might be the
experiences of some, but these are not mine. And by this I do not mean to say
that people in Delhi do these, it is just one aspect of this big city. Generalizing
is obviously quite problematic.
So, what have I been doing in
Delhi all these years? I have been struggling. I have been struggling to accept
the people I meet. I have been struggling to accept the roommates I get every
time I change the place. I have been struggling to manage my expenses with the
pocket money I get. I have been struggling to manage the time between my
studies and entertainment. I have been struggling to cook food for myself. I
have been struggling with my laziness and carelessness. I have been struggling to
make a place for myself. I have struggling to feel at home in my hostel room. I
have been struggling to prove to people that my interest in books and the
desire to be left alone with them doesn’t make me an alien. The same goes for
my not-so-much-interest in dancing and shopping. I have been struggling to make
the right decisions for myself. I have been struggling to camouflage in this
city without the sense of alienation.
This post is quite a personal one
and doesn’t mean to offend any set of people. I sat down to write this post
because I was tired of being tagged by the region. I do not care if I belong to
Odisha or I live in Delhi or look like a South Indian. All I care about is what
I can do with myself when I am in these places. Delhi gave me the exposure, the
platform where I could begin to live my life with my choices and decisions. So
I was bound to change. I could have spent my nights in discos as people think
of me but I chose to spend my nights with books and blog. Not that I will never
step into a disc or dislike it but it isn’t my priority right now. The place we
live in is always a factor in what we become but it’s not our only factor. I
have been quite lucky with the friends I made here and even luckier with the
few friends from my childhood who didn’t judge or tag me. They understood the
change and accepted me and I am pretty sure they can never complain that I have
no time for them. And honestly, it is okay if I am not accepted; it is just the
neck band I have the problem with.
And for the people who think
Delhi is the place to achieve all the material happiness then maybe yes, it is.
But again it might haunt one with the sense of alienation and loneliness even
with all the happiness like it does to me. It is not the place but the people
who matter. I have enjoyed my three years to the fullest even when I was
struggling but that doesn’t make me or anyone for that matter to be the pet so
that a neck strap can be put on us.
PS- I also strongly dislike
Scoopwhoop and other such pages which provide the people all over with 21 or
whatsoever number of things to tag people with and encourage such tags.
Comments
Post a Comment