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Dilli

The mind is an amalgam of the North and the South. It is wrapped into their tongues, delivered in the subtleties of their speech that I as neither fully here nor there can hear. I have always said, “I was in 5th grade”. Their words invoke my father’s vocabulary. “5th class” they say. I can hear papa’s voice talking about Illahabad. The Aloo Paratha of Delhi is infused with my mother’s touch. Coconut chutney runs in my blood. Idli steamed into my system. My tongue lolls into fluent Hindi. Who knew it needed such a release? What does it mean to grow up in the South? Namma Bengaluru. Who knew that the secret river god that ruled my veins, the substratum that lay beneath the stream of rasam, were the gentle cadences of Hindi lullabies that I slept to everynight? Neither fully here nor there. Always here and there. Dilly-dallying. Dilli-dallying. 


Do you also feel from many places at once?

  • nahhh , I'm from one place at heart!

  • yes, yes a thousand times yes!

  • mehhh



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