Another Ode To Delhi, or Death Became Delhi Long Before It Became My Lungs
Ash hung in the sky.
No Phoenix is rising from this ash.
Delhi is dead.
"I don't like 'Delhi is dead.'"
"I realised last week that the constant sniffle I had in Delhi is gone now that I'm not there."
"Seven years it takes off your life if you grew up in Delhi."
Somethings might even be worth dying for.
If you go looking for saints, you'll only find sinners. There are no perfect cities. The concept of the metropolis is rooted in the ruling class creating a dense zone of people who are agents of its oppression.
Death became Delhi long before it became my lungs.
Bombay was given as dowry. It still is. The Arabian Sea reclaimed for the political, and then the moneyed ruling classes. Now the mangroves destroyed. Exploitation of humans turned to an artform in Mehboob Studios and Antilla; the Dance Bars, Dharavi, and Dalal Street.
The metropolis is oppression personified. Each has its own opressor. I can still love mine. The privilege is to be oppressed by the oppressor I can allow myself to love, if not like and respect.
Life is suffering. If one loves life, by definition one has Stockholm Syndrome. And, don't we all?
"Your take is dark. And, I don't agree."
Don't. I also wrote this: A human rights violation. A crime against the poorest of poor. I'm feeling it in my room with an air purifier. Imagine what one would have felt in an open basti 10 years ago. This is mass murder.
Delhiites, stop breathing. The air you thought was yours has been sold by your political lords to your corporate overlords. They can write off business loans worth hundreds of crores, but can't sort out crop burning for want of a fraction of that, can't sort out vehicular and industrial pollution.
I'm indoors and dying. I can't bear to think of those who aren't indoors. Like the Amazon delivery guy who delivered my new air purifier. Truly living in peak capitalism.
The climate has changed. Action, no action. What's even the point.
"But, it's the City of Djinns."
"I'm trying to find your poem - it's a privilege to live in Delhi."
It still is. Somethings might even be worth dying for.
No Phoenix is rising from this ash.
Delhi is dead.
"I don't like 'Delhi is dead.'"
"I realised last week that the constant sniffle I had in Delhi is gone now that I'm not there."
"Seven years it takes off your life if you grew up in Delhi."
Somethings might even be worth dying for.
 |
| No Perfect City. (c) Shivangi, 2019 |
Death became Delhi long before it became my lungs.
 |
| Death Became Delhi Long Before It Became My Lungs. (c) Shivangi, 2019 |
The metropolis is oppression personified. Each has its own opressor. I can still love mine. The privilege is to be oppressed by the oppressor I can allow myself to love, if not like and respect.
Life is suffering. If one loves life, by definition one has Stockholm Syndrome. And, don't we all?
"Your take is dark. And, I don't agree."
Don't. I also wrote this: A human rights violation. A crime against the poorest of poor. I'm feeling it in my room with an air purifier. Imagine what one would have felt in an open basti 10 years ago. This is mass murder.
Delhiites, stop breathing. The air you thought was yours has been sold by your political lords to your corporate overlords. They can write off business loans worth hundreds of crores, but can't sort out crop burning for want of a fraction of that, can't sort out vehicular and industrial pollution.
I'm indoors and dying. I can't bear to think of those who aren't indoors. Like the Amazon delivery guy who delivered my new air purifier. Truly living in peak capitalism.
The climate has changed. Action, no action. What's even the point.
"But, it's the City of Djinns."
 |
| City Of Djinns. (s) Shivangi, 2019 |
It still is. Somethings might even be worth dying for.
 |
| Somethings Might Even Be Worth Dying For. (c) Shivangi, 2019 |
Comments