Maria Sloshnikov
83, Hudson Lane
Vienna, Austria
The streets of Delhi seldom disappoint when it comes to surprises one may find on them. At every little nook and cranny of this ancient city, you can expect an oddity; something is always new and, at times, gross, in its crooks. So I wasn't surprised when my dreary, smoky, usual November morning was brightened by our meeting. Strange, isn't it? The exceptions we can make for some people are truly strange. Like the one(s) you made for me.
It is obvious that anyone in their right minds would never risk being friendly with strangers in a city like Delhi with all its fame in the crime and gore department. The first rule of travelling to Delhi, especially as a foreigner, is to minimise friendly contact with strangers. And you seemed to have done that part fairly well, except for that morning.
I remember how lost you looked, standing in a summer dress, starkly different from all the other woollen clad people around you. Map in hand, you looked about trying to make sense of this inane city, much like anyone born there does too. I remember how you turned, shocked at my audacity and my offer to help you. Kindness wasn't something you expected from us, right? You didn't expect that the city would have tiny traces of its ancestry: of treating its guests as Gods and offering them the best of everything. No, you were right. No one expects kindness and compassion anymore, they're not photogenic enough.
I do remember your questioning, calculating eyes as I tried explaining to you how to get to Lodhi Gardens. I could feel them on my face. And most of all, maybe the best of all, I remember the only sentence you spoke to me during your entire stay in Delhi. Right when I was about to leave after giving you the directions, you said "will you show me this garden?"
This time, I was the one surprised. I had not expected trust in a mere five minute interaction. So what was this? I knew that you could tell that I was young, so was this an invitation to make me experience what an 'adult' did? No. No, you weren't the kind to do that. I was intrigued, and scared. Scared to death. What had I gotten myself into?! My instinct was to say 'no, sorry, I have to go' but the words that came out of my mouth were 'sure, let's go'. All these years later, I finally understand what prompted you to ask me that. I was probably the safest you had felt on that entire trip. Something about my age, my help, and (as I have been told numerous times) my eyes that exuded an honest impression of my character. Yes, I know it sounds like I am tooting my own horn, but really, I have kind eyes (even now).
That was, as I said before, the only sentence you had spoken to me in the three weeks you were in the city. We walked around Lodhi Garden in silence that day, and I left you at a bus stop, hoping to never see you again. But you had caught the name of my school from my uniform, so you traced me to that locality and caught up with me two days later. Quietly, again, we went all around the city. India Gate, Humayun's Tomb, the Nehru residence, Lodhi Garden again... all the places that wrote this county's history. I remember you pausing before the protests that had gripped the central city. I remember you clicking photos and smiling at the young college kids, so angry, so aware, so kind. I remember you sitting with them till dawn, trying to chime into the songs of independence this country has sung every time it has been attacked. I remember it all. Maybe more and more every day, because every day, I try to be who you were in the moment you joined those students. Nationality, religion, cause: they were all secondary to you. Freedom and choices: these were your primary concerns. I remember you as the freest person I had ever met, and am yet to meet. I remember you far too well.
It would take me many years to discover that you were writing a book on the history of Delhi, and that that was your twentieth visit to the city. You weren't new. You didn't need a guide or a helper. You just needed a quiet, safe companion. I imagine now how lonely you must've felt those other nineteen times, having to make conversation and meet people when you'd rather spend time with yourself and the city. It took me years to muster up the strength to write to you. I am not a writer, you see. The pen doesn't like me, hence words usually escape and grammar is a long shot.
Your latest book on Rome has been a international bestseller, so a lot of sources came up for me to discover your current address. I highly doubt that you remember me, but in the vain hope that you do, here's me telling you that your 17 year old companion is now 25, and visiting Vienna on a matter of business. Should you consent, I shall be staying at the Hilton, and needing a silent companion for 2 days as I explore the city. Please leave a note if you would be interested in this offer. I shall be thoroughly obliged!
Oh, and, just like you made an exception you made for me and rode the rickshaws instead of cabs, I would like to make one for you. I usually never do this, but I would like to have dinner with you. Do let me know if you are available, my city trotter.
"I asked my soul 'what is delhi?', she replied, 'the world is the body, and Delhi it's life'"
A. Khan
(alumna) The New Era School
XXX
00-909XX-780XX
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