A letter to Delhi, from a 'Dilliwala' no more

Dillimerijaan,

I came to you more than two decades ago. Before that, I was just another small town girl but with tall ambitions. Like thousands before me and countless since, once I had a dream, all roads only led to Delhi. You were the answer to my prayers and the only path to travel.

The geographical distance between Jalandhar and Delhi wasn't much, but in every other sense you were a class apart. You were the promised land and I was but one in a stream of humanity gingerly trying to get my footprint in. You didn’t disappoint. Through college and media jobs you became a rite of passage and I became one of yours.

But now, you break my heart. My eyes are stinging as I write this and it’s not just tears of frustration. My throat is choking; I can feel it, I can smell it, there is something nasty in the air. The winds of change are mocking us but you go about your daily business, it matters not that we, your children, are losing our battles, that you can’t promise us something as basic as a clean and safe life.

We start campaigns, we march together, we even dust the candles and try and light your path. But what isn’t changing, isn’t going anywhere, and most of us know it usually ends up as mere tokenism.

Take this Diwali, for instance, our kids went around telling anyone who would listen to make it a green Diwali, that all it takes is to light a diya. Instead, doctors lament that living under your shelter is a death sentence for them.

"It takes a village" is a farce in your city. The mentality of the myriad voices that you sheltered may still be saved but poverty has no saviour. Most of our houses did not burst any firecrackers, the sizzling sounds were instead from the nearby mohallas and bylanes. For the man who barely makes ends meet, Diwali is a brief interlude from reality and he isn’t going to let you spoil that party with any concerns about pollution levels.

So you and I can keep debating what to many sound like first-world problems, whether indoor trees will give us more oxygen or breed more mosquitos, but our imbalanced society will always be tilted towards those who burst crackers rather than the lung-screaming minority over the latest PM 2.5 levels. Write to the Prime Minister all you want, they will not be banned.

Some point fingers at us and say this an "elitist" reaction. Perhaps it is, but we can’t help it. Our response can only be seasonal, we have still not finished dealing with chikungunya and dengue. Forget for a moment our so-called knee-jerk reaction, because truthfully crackers were never the only problem, just like our beautiful expanse of a city didn’t shrink into a gas chamber overnight.

Don’t think no one is listening, the votebank makes the world go around and Delhi sinks deeper into a hell-hole. Else many other pollution-causing reasons would have also been outlawed over the years.

You are now the lost city. You have no imperial charm, your pride Lutyens' Delhi can barely be seen through the haze and even those who reside there, our VIPs and politicians, don’t want to claim you. We gave a new political party a chance because that is the only thing we can keep doing these days. But it taught us a valuable lesson. No one in interested in cleaning up your mess, there is no lesser evil.

Yes, I know that August to February are write-off months in your city because it happens every year. By now we should be resigned to our fate, but it saddens us that while kids around the world are splashing gleefully in the summer water, ours are standing looking from the outside.

We have no option but to make sure they stay away as far as possible. I also now sense nothing will change. Delhi, in your attempt to embrace everyone, you are bursting at the seams with filth, harassment and crime. You have sold your soul.

But there are still many young ones in towns like Ranchi and Meerut who believe you are the panacea to all their misfortunes and hard lives. I don’t want to disabuse them of their reverie but in my heart I am beaten and done. I realise at least my dream was not worth this.

You have gone so far away, that showing us even a glimpse of your glorious days now seems impossible. Your biggest defeat then dear Delhi is that I am desperate once again to be a small town girl.

With love,

A "Dilliwala" no more.

PS: The dream may have long gone, but hope lives eternal. Mask in place, I intended to participate in a march this weekend. But Delhi for once, you and I are on the same page. We are both under the weather.

Also read: Delhi is like smoke trapped in a glass: Guide to which mask you should buy