Wet Wet Dilli

Dilli was wet. In May 2008.

Newspapers reported with an underlying exclamation mark that this was the coolest May in the last five years. I would say, if I were the under-assured weather reporter that this was beyond doubt the coolest May in Dilli.

They say just as you have decided to walk out of a sour relationship, it starts getting better. It was no different with Dilli.

After three years of cribbing about Dilli heat, and exasperating over the capacity of people to wash down tubs of Dal Makhni and shutting my ears and eyes to ever prancing people to the laudable and enthusiasm oozing loud music, I finally get to leave Dilli.

I finally get to walk out of my love-hate relationship with this city. I have encountered success and heartbreak in this city. I have encountered disgrace and depression while I have also encountered orgasmic elation and all encompassing faith. I leave all that behind.

I leave behind Sum and my diminutive Boss. And Santa Singh my client. My co-workers and our never-landish cubicle, where we dynamic corporate attorneys, never learnt to grow up. I also leave behind my old Uncle beneath his Sudoku supplement, forever smiling and instilling life in me, himself standing at the threshold of it. I leave behind the lovely GK ladies, arrogant in their stride yet so warm when they smile. I leave it behind to satiate my lust of unsettling.

I would miss the traffic at Chirag and the awe-inspiring smells of Al Kauser. I would miss my pad where I have spent nights crying alone, consoling myself alone. But most of all, I would miss this love-hate relationship with my spouse akin Dilli.

Maybe someday when I come back, I would never walk the Dilli streets. Or shop for party wear at M Block or even ogle at the Qutub standing still between honking cars. I would never wear Davidoff Cool Waters or the sequined Rani Pink Kurtas or a golden hairband. I would never wear Dilli on my sleeve. I would also perhaps not debate about Channel or Ricci sipping green apple martini at Ricks. I would never perhaps meet the Dilli men who have never failed to surprise me in their queer, dandish ways. I would meet myself however. A 25 year old leaving the city with desire to come back for more.