I have had time to think of this phenomenon. Let us do this methodically (I've also discovered that "methodically" is a word I cannot pronounce. My brain automatically assumes I'm trying to say methodology, my tongue protests; they quarrel and my face starts looking sheepish. Finally I have to step in, restore order, give stern looks to all concerned and proceed with a different word. Phew!).
I love Delhi. It will remain "home" to me perhaps for a long time to come. But then I got to thinking and realised that there are many other cities I love. That I could live in with ease, just because I adapted to them and the way they are. They live and breathe with me and for what it's worth, I carry them around.
Roma, of course. For all its faults (which I discovered over Christmas), I love Roma. It is enchanting, and most of all, reminds me of home. Of Delhi. The similarities are peculiar perhaps only to me; I see them as these cities that exist across the millennia... Delhi stretches from Indraprasth to present day New and Old Delhi. Roma lives with Remus and Romulus to this day, with all those who lived and died between.
I felt very similar in Pompeii. I thought it would be strange to be in Pompeii, a city which does not exist in any sense of the word. It felt real to me though... the streets, the houses, the courtyards, they had a waiting quality... as if the residents were merely sleeping, taking an afternoon siesta. Like the city awaited their rising and the bustle. Perhaps if I stayed on till evening, I would be able to see them, Pompeii said. It let me hear the sounds and the crowds that were; the markets, the officials, the babies, the chatter that was. I felt Pompeii didn't believe they were gone because it never got to say goodbye. Its people stayed with it, because they never left.
Some modern day cities speak to me similarly... Port of Spain was languid and laid back. It told me to stop being a nervous wreck. Take a deep breath, look at the mountain, go to the beach, it said. Drive slowly, it said. It made you friendly, happy, less avaricious. It was beautiful. It was not historic or a picture preserved in time, as Paris is; it lived not across time, as do Roma and Delhi. It had not the picturesque perfection of Capri, the timelessness and effervescence of Sorrento; but it had a happy soul.
Colombo was edgier than Port of Spain. It waited for no one, it took notice of no blasts, nor of enemities, nor of political warfare. It lived to the fullest because it knew not if tomorrow would arrive. And yet it was kind and sunny. It asked you hopefully if you were Tamil. It shrugged and accepted you anyway if you said you were not. You weren't Singhalese anyway, so it mattered little that you were not Tamil either.
Are there any cities I DON'T like? Well yes. Bombay (and no, no matter what the demented Sena says, I will NOT call it Mumbai. Nor does Chennai exist for me. And Bengaluru is just plain ridiculous. Incidentally, I pretty much hate all three of these cities). I hate it's nastiness, its hurry and hustle and bustle. It's squalor and dinginess and meanness of spirit. Bombay lives for itself and thinks of itself and no one else. It is polite to no one and smiles for no one. It has the Sena because it IS the Sena.
For what it is worth, I am not enamoured with Amsterdam either. I don't really have a reason. There is nothing about the city I dislike particularly. If anything, the people are kinder than most and are friendlier than most. I just was not able to tap into its soul. Or perhaps it never entered mine.
So where does that leave me? Still in Paris. Still in love with it. With one small flaw which need correction. I still search for the perfect spot for a bookworm. A tiny cafe, with a cozy nook from where I can sip coffee, people watch, write and read Wodehouse.
Ideas, anyone?
The Ed.
