While London saw some very frantic - and shall we say- some very emotional posts, I wrote nearly nothing about my life in Delhi. I probably wrote a couple of oblique pieces and a few scattered thoughts on " Write me Letters Maybe." That series served (and continues to serve) as a source of great therapy. Something that put me off writing on this blog was a girl from my class who wrote some extremely hurtful things on my blog. I usually can't care less, but it came at a time when I was told that my grandfather would probably not make it, had a bad breakup and was writing a dissertation. I soldiered on somehow, going through the motions but my heart was really not in anything that I was doing. I could not focus on or concentrate and the whole thing made me terribly depressed to begin with.
I even ended up writing my dissertation on grief because I do think that I am depressive. Narratives of sadness always fascinate me because there is always this tendency to constantly be gung-ho about everything and everyone. All the time you will hear things like "be positive". "be strong". "grow up", almost as if there is no space for re-imagining, for constructing and creating your life from scratch again.
Anyhow, I have decided to chronicle my life in Bombay on this blog, and let's see where that takes me!