When I was a Traveller in my own city

Delhi, my city. 

Dilli, ishq hai.

I have always wanted to explore Delhi for the longest time but when you’re in your own city, you don’t explore the beauty of it because there’s always assignment to be submitted, work to be done, and sleep to catch upon. After years of trying to get someone to accompany me to be a Traveller in my own city, I was blessed to come across a beautiful human being who was willing to give in to the wishes of a girl like me and it was a date. When we use the word date, we often expect romance, however there was something beyond romance in this date and that cannot be put into words. How do you put across sharing stories close to you in appropriate words, what are we if not stories?

Delhi has a soul which many people don’t explore. Visiting a monument and reading about it’s history in the lush green Mughal Gardens and then having a silent reading meet in the sun is a perfect way to spend time with someone in my world.

Delhi is too good to be true in winters. 

There’re a lot of things I realized today. After spending time as a traveller I met a friend of mine who flew from London to spend sometime home and if I could sum up my time with her, it would be that in life sometimes you come across people who are not people but home. 

Dear universe, 

Thank you for making me feel blessed and loved. And I wish that all my readers find home. There’s nothing better than some soul filling conversations and hugs while the winter breeze flows through the hair as we walk through lonely lit roads in areas of Delhi which feel like another world. 

To love and life. 

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40 hours of love

I was up till 3AM last night with a hurricane in my head. Past 40 hours have been beautiful and I am grateful for them. The date that we had and the conversation afterwards which didn’t seem to end. But as I sat down with a pen in my hand and yellow colored parched papers of my diary, my throat went dry. Everything that we shared made me go into a trance of realization of how I first fell in love four years ago and how it all started and I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or not, but the similarities are hard to ignore and that realization has opened up wounds I thought were healing. Sometimes it’s better to read beautiful pages from glossy paper hard bound pretty cover books than to make that book your own and create a chapter out of it. 
I think I loved you when you distracted me while I was trying to gather my thoughts about GST. I think I loved you when you told me about your first experience with alcohol. I think I loved you when you shared the story of shedding tears in the lap of nature. I think I loved you everytime we crossed the roads. Roads for me are like I own them and I walk like I am the queen but then you made me feel like a child on the road having fun. I think I loved you every minute. 

But a part of me gets scared of happiness. I read about love, I write about love, I feel love all the time. And I am not used to being loved. And I am not used to the happiness associated with moments of love. As much as I enjoy them I get scared of the hurt that comes along. Nothing in this life is not balanced. If love gives you a high feeling it also gives you an equally low feeling and that low place sucks so much that high feeling feels scary. 

I will look for reasons to get out of it, I will look for reasons to abandon everything good in fear of uncertain risky future. I will look for reasons to find wrong in what felt right. And I will regret my choices and decisions but then I will make peace with it. Time. It’s never the time that passes by. It is you and I and I let it because falling trap to some insecurities are better than some uncertainties. 

And as Sarah Kay and Phil Kay said

“Love arrives exactly when it is supposed to and it leaves exactly when it is supposed to.”
“Thank you for stopping by.”
From 40 hours of love to 40 rules of love in attempts to avoid heartache.

“Where there is love, there is bound to be heartache.”