Once Upon a Time in Mumbai

This post has been pending forever, mainly because I have been putting it off forever. Because writing it, is painful. Because writing it, means accepting things that my brain is still trying hard to get my heart to accept. Because forget writing, even the thought of it makes me start crying every time.

This, is a post with more mixed feelings than a molten Cassata ice cream, if you know what I mean.

Once upon a time in Mumbai, actually, two years ago to be much more precise, I landed up here. And I was one enthusiastic person. Enthusiastic about finally working, about finally living alone, about taking care of myself, about being in a city where I could walk on the road without being scared of getting raped 24*7, actually wearing whatever clothes I felt like, and meeting new people, making new friends, and proving myself, finally.

Once upon a time in Mumbai, I was optimistic, and had dreams.

I did meet a lot of new people, and made some amazing friends. I shopped like crazy, wore whatever I wanted, had more fun than probably ever before in my life.

But at the same time, for a year, everything else in my life went wrong, to an extent I had never imagined possible. I cried, I screamed at the rain, I felt angry with my decisions, my luck, and more than anything else, this brutal city. I was unhappy, and it showed.

And then the scenario changed, jobs changed, and my life changed. I was happy, again. I had dreams, again. I started falling in love with this city, again. The Chopsuey theory finally came true, and I for once in my life, I seemed to be living my dreams.

But, this is my life, and sometimes I feel it likes to screw around with me just so that I have enough cribby blogging content, you know?

Mumbai locals were tried, jobs were screwed, colleagues were hated, decisions were questioned, bones were broken, strength was lost, and character was questioned.

And a decision was made. To pack up and get out. For the sake of pride, confidence, sanity.

And in two days time, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Moving back to Delhi, back home, back with my family.

I’d like to say, back to where I belong, but I’m not very sure.

Right now, at this moment, I’m not really sure of anything.

I’m leaving behind some of the most amazing friends I have ever met.

I’m leaving behind independence.

I’m leaving behind the fruits of the Chopsuey Theory.

I’m leaving behind my life.

Everyone has been super supportive, everyone has been so nice about it. Specially someone I’m hurting a lot by this decision, and all I can say in response is a measly thank you.

Thank you, for understanding me, and understanding that this is what I need right now.

I know I might hate Delhi, I’ll curse the men who think that all women are public property to be gawked at and groped, I’ll hate the extreme weather, I’ll hate the long distances and traffic jams, I’ll hate not having much of a life, and I’ll hate the shitty job I’ll be forced to do.

And I’ll miss you.

I know it could be a disaster, but it is my home, my family, and a clean slate.

I'll be back, hopefully, when I’m stronger.

Till then, I have Mum’s home cooked food, time with my family, old friends, and hopefully loads of northern holidays to look forward to.

So Delhi, look out, I’m coming back!

:)

P.S. Just got the BEST going away gift ever!!! Knock-out pepper spray!!!!  :P