I really wonder at times why am I here, like here in Delhi on my own when I could have aram se worked and stayed at home. I had more or less everything smoothly chalked out for me. Pinoo is there, yet why in the world would I put myself through this? I don't know, I swear I don't. It just happened and at this moment, I am happy that it just happened, cause I do feel like I am becoming a better person. Ironic nonetheless, that Delhi will be the seat of my transformation but yes, there is a change happening within me and I feel it. It's imperceptible, minuscule but churning with me. The seed has been planted, now wait for it to grow, day after day, time after time.

The song strawberry swing is playing on mind....it's such a perfect day....without you, it's such a waste of time...oh how much i love this song...listening to it, your day can never go wrong...

Last night, I heard my friend sing Hindustani music in her room with her guruji. I sat quietly with my eyes closed listening to her voice rise and fall, looping notes on a string of melodies. I was moved. I don't know what in me was evoked but I was ecstatic at that moment. We sang Bawara Man Dekhne Chala Ek Sapna together and then the lyrics of the song slowly unfolded their meaning before me. The flight of spirits transcends time and space and that is what pure music is able to realise it. Thank you for making me feel alive.

A typical morning in Delhi

The phone rings at 7 a.m.It's Daddy waking me up in the cold winter morning. I fumble and mutter my displeasure and then fall off into a semi-conscious sleep. I check the phone again to see if I have overslept.  It's 7.30 a.m., time to rise and shine. I crawl my way out of bed, relive myself in the bathroom, switch on the geyser and head to the kitchen.

I open the fridge, get out the cold milk and put it on the fire to boil. I open the oats packet and dunk it into the boiling milk. Stirring it slowly, till the milk and oats rises. In the meanwhile, I make myself fresh orange juice, which I absolutely love. Then put the cold bread on the frying pan for it to toast, after which i make myself nice butter and cheese sandwiches for work. I quickly have a nice warm water bath, wash my underclothes, get ready to take on a brand new day.

I stand at the bus stop, jump at the first bus in sight, nudge my fellow passengers, and quietly retreat into a seat (in case I'm lucky). I watch from the bus window the dust flying from the sweeper's mop, patient passengers heave a sigh of relief as they see the bus arrive at the designated stand, the ever looming flyovers that tower down on humanity. I start to keep a mental track of the route and certain landmarks. Gradually, the uncertain and the unfamiliar make way for the comfort of familiarity.

Slowly, I will be calling the buses, the roads, the buildings, the flyovers my own and then I will know that this city has become me.

Delhi buses are the raw deal. Loud abrasive conductors, servile insenstive passengers and an indifferent driver all ride together on the same bus. Mind you, I am a part of this 'crowd', this sea of humanity that surges on wheels.

It's quite in office. I am the only one who has come on time. I can hear tea being brewed on the kettle and the faint smell of gas. Reading the Hindu online and the unfolding 2G spectrum scam. Apalling to say the least. I have a number of documents to read but I am more interested in the news of the world. Wait, i should go and do what I am supposed to do-work:)

Delhi, please be kind to me. Take me under your wings and make me fly.