Ever since I’ve arrived here, I’ve been obsessed with capturing the sense of place of my walk to work—every day, there is something new. Here are the attempts from last week.
Day 1
The weather was cooler today, but a bit more humid, and walking through the neighbourhood seems like a dream slipping away, like a child chasing a peacock down a dusty lane.
A man rides a bike with a bald child in the front. An identical bald child sits behind. The trees lining the streets are greener now, bolstered by some small rain. Dust swirls in the entrance to an alleyway, like a fairytale when what’s hidden is revealed, or what’s true is veiled.
(“Can you be nostalgic for the present?” I overheard a boy say when I was 15. For the first time in my life, though, I don’t have to leave. I can never go back to high school track, but I can come back to this neighbourhood. And the known unknowns still haven’t subsided).
In the park there’s a water fountain, a hose that comes through the fence from the place the peacocks are kept.
***
Day 2
The weather now isn’t the oppressive, desert-like heat of the Delhi summer, but a lesser heat, a more humid heat. You can sleep fine in your bedroom with only a fan, but wake up and the sheets are drenched. This the heat of the Pacific Islands. It envelops, doesn’t beat.
The water in the manmade pond still smells terrible.
A man holds a bag with overripe fruit, and two baby monkeys apprehend him. He yells, they back off. Something shifts, and he looks at the gauntlet of monkeys ahead of him.
***
Day 3
A girl, a practiced pitcher, eyes her target. She winds up, she throws, and the monkeys run. The dogs are more agitated these days and begin to bark.
It’s a bit hotter but the humidity hasn’t subsided. 101 feels like 105 two weeks ago. An animal—a cat’s?—dappled tail curls under the plants, greener after only a few days of rain. But when I see it’s face it’s a dog, front paws submerged in shaded shallow water.
Beyond the fence, a man in a tank top slowly walks down a lane, spotlit by the setting sun. (From here, with my fading eyesight, he could be my grandfather). Orange lilies to his right and left, plants so green they almost glow.
Garbage sits on the non-existent sidewalks. (Sometimes I remember that some people from my immaculate hometown wouldn’t like it here, even with the AC. “You get used to a certain standard of living as you get older,” I hear here and in the US. I’m terrified of becoming someone who needs everything around me to be immaculate. But today I washed my whites separately for the first time in my life).
A pair of mascara-ed eye stickers are plastered to the front of an autorickshaw. You might’ve said they were women’s, but for the way they stare.
The fountain in the fence today only sputters water and the children play on the slides instead.
***
Day 4
A raven’s shimmering wings/Reflecting sky and water/Sipping, dripping from a puddle/Rise to the hazy air,/And fire-sparks/Line the alleyways.