Dusty Rustic Delhi

She had always wondered, what did this city mean to her? Why did the dusty roads and the milling crowds seem so dear to her.

Asha had first come to Delhi a few years back for a friend’s wedding and was mesmerized at the capital city of her country. It seemed every bit like herself – the modern, westernized way trying to peacefully coexist with the traditional, old, purely Indian part of it. She felt the city was an expression of the dilemma within the minds of all her peers who were trying to adopt the Amreeki ways of life while maintaining a firm grip on the traditional values of their own religion and culture.

The old book markets, the rustic monuments, the people who lived on the borders of being dead and alive, the various haunts of the youth in the city, the pubs, dance clubs, the old dusty corner in the city library which hoarded a host of books that no one seemed bothered to read anymore...all the images from her first visit was still etched so sharp in her memory. She had finally come to the conclusion, that if there ever was a previous life for her, she might have been living in this very same city; for she could no other reason why she could be so attached to a city she had never before been to.

This attachment was why she had previously planned to settle down and make a home in Delhi.

Now she had no idea what or where she would be in a few months; though she did try to be positive and be receptive of any changes that would happen to her plans and was trying to reassure herself saying whatever was happening was for the good.

This is a series of alphabetical blog posts that I'm doing as part of the AtoZ Challenge. 

There are more posts on Asha's life, in case you liked this and want to read more of my posts.