I’m not in Delhi– and I am happy. There is a positive correlation between these two statements. I might sound like a typical South-Indian prude or a delicate darling or some horrible combination of both, however, such is not the case.
In many ways Delhi has given me a much better time than say Chennai had when I lived here. I have more friends to help me deal with stuff, but Delhi gives me more unpleasantness to deal with. I fell in love in Delhi, but now I am struggling to deal with the separation. I’ve learned to live alone, but I am harder– more aggressive a person than I ever was. I have had better opportunities, but lesser credit. I have less time and less money.
“Happens to all of us…” you say? I blame it on the city, its people, its roads, its obscene climate, the bad food and the horrid water. Nowhere have I had to work on a Sunday (against my wishes) , feel mortally scared of getting into a bus or an auto, felt intellectually and emotionally deprived, been exhausted for no reason and gone from nice enough looking to mostly bald in the space of three years!