(Published in First City magazine, June 2013). There was a time when the easiest way to spot me in a Dilli crowd, was by the size of my bag. The jibes I heard about it from my friends (“large enough to pitch a tent for two”), dug deeper than the bag-strap did into my shoulder. I sulked, I carried on, I had no choice, because amongst other Just in Case I Need It rubble inside my bag, was the essential heavyweight: my little private survival kit, my bean bag to lean on, my teleporter, my big fat book (sometimes two; three on mood-swing PMS days). You see, I lived in two godforsaken corners of the city all my life – getting to any place cool and reasonably exciting took at least an hour of travel, and I survived that large time-swathe called pre-Metro era of Dilli travel by falling facedown into a good book. It was the perfect way to escape the weather, the stares, the eveteasing, the filth, the shabbiness, the waiting, the waiting along the way. It made the bumpy rickshaw ride, the sidling-up-type uncle in the DTC bus, the cruel slap of Dilli
The Good Reader
The Good Reader
The Good Reader
(Published in First City magazine, June 2013). There was a time when the easiest way to spot me in a Dilli crowd, was by the size of my bag. The jibes I heard about it from my friends (“large enough to pitch a tent for two”), dug deeper than the bag-strap did into my shoulder. I sulked, I carried on, I had no choice, because amongst other Just in Case I Need It rubble inside my bag, was the essential heavyweight: my little private survival kit, my bean bag to lean on, my teleporter, my big fat book (sometimes two; three on mood-swing PMS days). You see, I lived in two godforsaken corners of the city all my life – getting to any place cool and reasonably exciting took at least an hour of travel, and I survived that large time-swathe called pre-Metro era of Dilli travel by falling facedown into a good book. It was the perfect way to escape the weather, the stares, the eveteasing, the filth, the shabbiness, the waiting, the waiting along the way. It made the bumpy rickshaw ride, the sidling-up-type uncle in the DTC bus, the cruel slap of Dilli