I don’t know the writer of this article, but I know so many of the feelings and moments she has described. Right from letting a vulture eat my jam toasts to finding solace in Urdu when the outside world stopped making sense, this essay has articulated so much of my life in just a few words. I am not one who is particularly interested in or fascinated by languages. Urdu has been an exception and I have never been able to explain why. Neither to myself, nor to anyone who cared to ask. This lady has done it for me.
I started learning how to write Urdu a few weeks ago, thanks to YouTube, but I wish to find a teacher like hers one day, who can bring the language to life for me.
The Delhi in this essay is the Delhi I grew up loving, and the very Delhi that I have lately resented for the madness that its streets and people are. But I know better than to blame the cog. It is an entire failing system that has led Delhi to its current state.
I disagreed with the writer on a few positions – I was never taught in school that Hindustan is a Hindu state that speaks Hindi – but I feel compelled to discount such remarks for the sentiment that she has managed to evoke and convey. And truly, what better way to find and rekindle the love for the city, than through Urdu.