This is a short essay stylized as an abstract poem; it is written from a point of view of an Indian from Delhi, living as a student in the foreign city of New York, causing him to compare the cultural differences between the two cities. And how that changed over the years.

The tale of two cities, one where I grew up, the other where I was grown into an adult forcibly; Delhi and New York. Initially, when I landed up as one of the many brown students in New York, I would often sing this ballad of ‘The tale of these two cities’:

Delhi

A city where I grew up, I learnt to walk for the first time. A city whose landscape is sprawled with huge bungalows. Bungalows spread in acres, connected by adjacent roofs & pillars, or having a common verandah. Everyone connected literally and figuratively in one another’s life; no one willing to mind their own business.

New York

Another city miles apart, New York; an apple so big that it had engulfed many lost souls like me.

A city where I was forced to become a man from a boy. A city bursting with grey skyscrapers reaching the zenith. Each floor cramped up with several flats hardly distanced a meter apart. Doors always shut and people always busy in their own tiny world and tinier flats. None wanting to mingle with another.

Each city strikingly different in its flavor from another; each city with its own set of perks and cons.

A few years of living the ‘American Dream’ and the protagonist of the ballad is changed. Now, when I would go to Delhi, I would become a foreigner in my own motherland, traversing it with always a bottle of ‘mineral water’. I would scorn at the very crowd I was once a part of, at the quality of the same air that breathed life into me .

I cringed at the crowd; at very the chaos I once called home.
The same chaos I had missed when I sat in my tiny Manhattan apartment, staring at the sterile Grey wall, waiting for the Knock at the door,an uninvited guest maybe, a reminder that I was part of something bigger.

Sitting in Delta Airlines, whatever was left of my nationality would shrug off, replaced by a new coat instead, that of a ‘put-on accent’. On my way back to New York, I no longer felt torn, instead i felt relieved.

Returning to New York would be like the prodigal son returning home.
“Ah! NYC, I Love You” I would exclaim, pretending to finally be able to breathe in the pure air, no longer afraid of the big apple.

A few years of the American Dream and then I was sent home; or like I chose to say “I came home”. Old habits settled in quickly, I was again attuned to see beauty in the chaos. As they say, some flavors never leave your palate; the flavor of good old Delhi returned.

But did it mean I no longer loved New York? No, not at all because this time my palate like my accent, was evolved. I was mature this time and so was my take on belongingness.

Now that I know about the art of adaptability, the theory of Darwin. I knew that I could belong to both worlds; taking the best of both my cities.

I belong to both yet I don’t
I belong to both yet i belong to none.
For i can carry both my world, both my realities inside me; I am my world.

After all, Delhi was where I grew up, but New York grew the man out of me. Delhi was where I learnt to walk but New York was where I learnt to fly.Delhi is where my existential reality is but New York is where I dared to dream.

And this is my ballad—The tale of two cities, an ode to both my cities.