I came across these words on my Facebook timeline that’s replete with the thoughts and flashy lives of my 1200-odd friends, most of whom I added after I moved to Delhi.
“So, here you are
But the words stood out in the clutter because at this moment nothing seems to sum up my life better.
Having lived in a small town all my life, moving to Delhi – the national capital – was a big deal.
![](https://wp.scoopwhoop.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/58f87e117c9988627f25655d_11.jpg)
“Dilli waale barhe tez hai. Bach ke rehna.”
“Wahaan koi kisi ka apna nahi hota.”
“Delhi is not safe. Don’t be outside too late.”
My “well-wishers” had showered me with all kinds of advice, trying to make me ready for the big, bad city that I would soon call home.
Home.
The very mention of that word gives me a weird feeling nowadays. Once upon a time, the only place it reminded me of was my hometown. But today, I don’t really know what it means.
I was 22 when I first moved to Delhi. Old enough to know that the city wasn’t home, young enough to adjust to it anyway.
![](https://wp.scoopwhoop.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/58f87e117c9988627f25655d_14.jpg)
People here were different.
I felt different.
Every weekend after college, I would hop on a rickety Haryana Transport bus, even though I hated travelling in one, and go back to my happy place. My home. Chandigarh.
![](https://wp.scoopwhoop.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/58f87e117c9988627f25655d_865a89a6-2a55-43c6-9dea-0d8bc860a248.jpg)
Going back to that sleepy, little town felt good.
It felt safe.
I could recognize the old streets where I used to hang out with my friends, the little thela where I had chai after bunking tuition, and the Bougainvillea trees that spread across the dustiest corners of my city.
Hell, even the autowaalas seemed familiar.
![](https://wp.scoopwhoop.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/58f87e117c9988627f25655d_472822655.jpg)
That was then. Five years ago.
Today, Delhi gives me that same feeling.
I recognize roads that I had no idea existed 3 years ago, the autowaalas near my place recognize me and I’ve even found a friend in the lanky, old fellow who is my society’s security guard.
When I take a Volvo back home today, I am filled with the same feelings that I relate my city to, but I don’t recognize the new eateries that seem to pop every time I return. The autowaalas always try to charge me more, thinking I’m an outsider, and I just can’t seem to find those familiar Bougainvillea trees anymore. Even the maid at my own house doesn’t recognize me.
I feel weird, I feel like I’m caught between two places and these days as I go to catch another bus during the weekend, I find myself wondering where home really is!