My body lies, but still I roam.

Delhi’s always been my one true home (and despite what follows in this post, that will always remain true). Not a four-walls-one-roof-we’re-all-a-happy-family-within sort of home, but someplace where I can walk blindfolded, secure in the knowledge that I’ll always get to where I want. The city of my birth, my childhood, my adolescence and my adult life (well, most of it); where I’ve seen beauty queens parade down main roads on the tops of decked-up minivans, and where I’ve seen people being burnt alive inside public transport. Where I’ve traveled in a Mercedes, a DTC bus packed with seventy human bodies, redolent of sweat, fear, happiness and sorrow, and an air-conditioned subway train, all in the space of a few hours. Where I’ve died many lives, just to be reborn the next morning with the milkman ringing my doorbell. No matter where I may live, or may have lived, my soul will always roam within the walls of Jahanpanah, Khan Market, India Gate and Connaught Circus.

On the other hand, I have my home within my home, which is not a particularly endearing place at the moment. Le Corbusier, architect and planner, once said that a house is a machine to live in. I agree with the man, at this point in time. I’ve been feeling like a worn out cog in this machine, and I need a refurbishment.

Melancholy thoughts, indeed, since I’m faced with the prospect of leaving it all behind, and not knowing when I’ll return to take my place in this city’s destiny (though I certainly hope it will be soon). On the other hand, the new city brings freedom, friends, love and certain other things sorely missing in my life, so, yeah, bully for that.

As for me, I hocked my brains, packed my bags and headed west – Dave Mustaine

Victoria watches and thoughtfully smiles. She’s taking me to my home – Mike Portnoy.

Amen