Angst.

Circa June 2001. A young girl barely out of her teens landed in Delhi.

Heart of India. Mecca of quality education. With stars in her eyes and dreams of carving out her place in the big city of Dilli, she started on a journey of discovery, battled with the odds and came out somewhat unscathed if a bit disillusioned, by the stark realities of life and confused as to the purpose of her life. But the experience was interesting and she learned much, mostly questioned about her identity and left surprised by the inability to melt into the colorful tapestry of varied cultures that Delhi is. Because she stood out in the crowd. Not that she did not try. She just happened to be a Northeasterner……or to the Delhiite a 'Chinki!' 

That was me. 

Seven years in Delhi and now I consider myself a true blue Delhiite.  I crib about all things Dilli and yet take offence when people talk-thrash Delhi. I often boast about all that Dilli has to offer and advertise Delhi to family and friends in other cities. But then living in Delhi for the last seven years has made me so aware of my real identity. Never have I been singularly made aware of my alienness or difference.

I often discuss this phenomenon with fellow Northeasterners and we all seem to agree that this is true. Oh yes! I do have many lovely non-NE friends who do not make me feel like I am so different and empathize with me when I recount the harrowing experiences I have had. Some celebrate and enjoy my different-ness and some say we are all the same when you come down to it. They usually say by way of comforting me that these things happen because not many people are educated enough to mind their own business or something like that.

Most frequently asked question.
Where from ma’am? Darjeeling? No. Northeast. Oh I know Manipur nice place (Aha! How many times have you visited? Comes to my mind but I keep a straight face and mouth shut) I say Nagaland. Blank stares or oh Assam ke paas? Maobadi bahut hai vaha!  (Lots of terrorists out there) I just pass on and they will mumble, “hindi nahin aati hoonge unko toh…..” (Guess she doesn't know hindi) I smile to myself.

Now the Northeast is many states besides Assam and Manipur and hello! Darjeeling is not one of the Northeast States. And I don’t know of any 'maobadis' in the northeast. I know what they mean when they say that though. And most times I have to stop myself from giving them a lesson in geography there and then. Of course! I am not an expert in geography but I don’t blindly assume (and there is always google). I have had my share of embarrassing moments due to my limited knowledge but I am sure I have not made anyone feel like an alien.

Once I was interviewed by a correspondent for a popular national daily. She wanted me to recount instances of feeling discriminated or treated differently. I told her about some typical things which happen to us girls from the NE and she refused to believe me.  Well I said, “ If you don’t believe the typical then how will you ever fathom the peculiar stuff which happen sometimes because you look different?” Our conversation never made it to print.

Ok. In delhi most girls get stared at, pinched, eve teased and face the odd stalking. But  we, NE girls often face a great deal of unwanted male attention because firstly, assumptions about our so called friendliness,  obvious difference in appearance and sometimes attire, and because, we usually shrug it off unless it is too much to take. Obviously we’ve got more important things to attend to. But I tell you this. I have walked around Delhi in nice salwar kameez suits and covered from head to toe but hey! I did not get less stares or comments. So there! Down with the “what you wear is what you attract” theory!

I don’t want to feel and project myself as a victim but one cannot help feeling so when you are reminded of your “different-ness” day in and out. On the bus, auto, at the grocers, markets, malls. Almost everywhere. Most days I say to myself, “Grin and bear it!” and yes. We get used to it and have lived with it. But there lies the irony. Why should I have to live with it?

Delhi is as much my city as anyone's who lives here. Now why do I have to carry an invisible but obvious tag and have to get used to certain treatments, due to my being first, a female and secondly, a female from the NE? Isn’t India a country with cultural diversity as its USP? Why is there so much prejudice, labelling and discrimination?

One thing I can assure you of and that is, if you ever set foot in any part of the Northeast, you will only get to feel like an important guest. Oh yes. We have our prejudices and stereotypes. Guilty! But no one, I repeat, “No one” will call you names to your face (Behind your back perhaps!) unless you do something hideous.

February 2010. Now my stint with Delhi is over and I am moving on, taking with me memories, some sweet and some bitter, armed with sharpened wits and university degrees. I know I will miss Delhi. And I hope it gets rid of the not-so-pleasant parts soon. And maybe I’ll be greeted with newer and more pleasant nicknames next time I visit. And I dream of the day when I will be stared at because I am a beautiful creature, worth a second look, and not because I have the features of a Northeastern girl! (Which I am proud of, by the way!)

Last night.

Last night I dreamt of you.

It was back in the days we laughed,

And held hands and looked into each other’s eyes.

I could feel your breath on my neck,

As you whispered into my ears.

For the life of me, I can’t recall what it was

You said but my heart was light and happy.

Sunny days, like they used to be.

If you could read my mind....

A song I totally love. So poignant and honest. I wish I could write like this.

If you could read my mind, love,
What a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old time movie,
'Bout a ghost from a wishing well.
In a castle dark or a fortress strong,
With chains upon my feet.
You know that ghost is me.
And I will never be set free
As long as I'm a ghost that you can't see. 
                                        
If I could read your mind, love,
What a tale your thoughts could tell.
Just like a paperback novel,
The kind the drugstores sell.
Then you reached the part where the heartaches come,
The hero would be me.
But heroes often fail,
And you won't read that book again
Because the ending's just too hard to take!
                                        
I'd walk away like a movie star
Who gets burned in a three way script.
Enter number two:
A movie queen to play the scene
Of bringing all the good things out in me.
But for now, love, let's be real;
I never thought I could  feel this way
And I've got to say that I just don't get it.
I don't know where we went wrong,
But the feeling's gone
And I just can't get it back. 
                                        
If you could read my mind, love,
What a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old time movie,
'Bout a ghost from a wishing well.
In a castle dark or a fortress strong.
With chains upon my feet.
But stories always end,
And if you read between the lines,
You'd know that I'm just tryin' to understand
The feelin's that you lack.
I never thought I could feel this way
And I've got to say that I just don't get it.
I don't know where we went wrong,
But the feeling's gone
And I just can't get it back!

-----------Gordon Lightfoot- 1969

I used to...

Photo source: Internet

I used to rise with the sun.

I used to dream of love.

I used to chase butterflies.

I used to laugh and frolic.

I used to chatter and giggle.

I used to delight in simple joys.

I used to love dancing in the rain,

And feel the cool wet grass below my tiny feet.

I used to follow rainbows.

I used to have stars in my eyes and flowers in my hair,

But love left me.

Now I only cry into the night.

Loneliness and silence are my constant company.

I am broken and dead inside.

I used to be alive,

Now I’m only a soul-less empty shell.

Nothing to forgive

You took away my dreams and filled them up with sand.

When I tried to hold on for dear life, they all slipped out of my grasp.

Am I destined to be alone? 

Gasping with the empty hole left behind?

I am tired beyond exhaustion but my heart refuses to forget.

What could have been if only you stay and make good your promises?

I cannot look at the moon without you in my head.

But you have clean forgotten all that I meant to you.

I know in my bones you made a decision.

To stop loving me or maybe you never loved at all.

And all I am left with are snatches of memory.

Memories I can’t even relive by sharing or flaunt.

What good is love that you can’t declare?

I thought it would be enough to know I am loved.

But now I know even that isn’t mine to boast.

You beg me for forgiveness.

If only sorry could make the pain go away,

I’d buy them by the dozens in store.