Chaos must be a City

There are cities.  
And then there are Cities. 

The latter intrigue me. Calcutta, Benares, Delhi, Jaiselmer, Bombay.., not necessarily in th
at order, are more and more confirmingly becoming my most coveted to re-live, re-visit...and many more i might not have been to! What seems to me, common in all these places is the chaos in which they have most joyfully survived. Travelling on trams or tongas, rickshaws and locals, barefoot or passats, they all race and run ahead before one shouts 'Stop'. Alive per minute and lived with a fervour inexplicable, live wires crossing the trees and the contrast it 


 
manages within its expanse is a curiousity 
 which refuses to retreat. And amidst all this her exertion becomes his exhilaration.

People's lives, their occupation, the shrieks and the sham of their bazaars, the colors of their seasonal clothes or a newly launched car, the luscious smell of the street food or the rickety steps to a hidden temple, the day-break ritual at the ghat, the fort and the art...a pyre celebrated in the middle of the road or a riot as if its the only row, it is as if an entire lifetime isn't enough to soak up or record.

Until recently, I would go back every morning, in my thought, to the bus that rode me to school, the window with the white paisley curtain i looked out of when arithmetic i solved, and that was such a small, quiet town... its summers and my exams, the grid-laid of its good streets or a soft chase on the evening moist lawn.

But winter holidays and its memory would happily come to a hault at the qutub or the sarnath and right in the middle would also be a hop to the nukkad jalebi wallah or the sound of the foggy october's ride to a dargah's namaz. There would also be the siren somewhere where a steel factory announced the beginning and end of a shift-a-day and people of generations i didnt quite grasp, all together stayed up and stayed late.

what i dont remember anymore is if this was in this city or that, or both, so must go find somebody amongst them to tell, somebody who didnt move while i roamed, one old man who hasn't missed anything a single blink, who shall fill me up with the inane and tell that the smells and the sounds and the flavour hasnt changed.

I haven't even shot this city for a few weeks now, should do that as soon as i finish all pending tasks. And when thats done, i must collect my things for a journey..may be close, may be long, may be east, may be north..but one where i spend days enough for a heart to be full

from where i bring home images of happy confusions and chasms.

The noise and chaos which makes that city palpable and real. Ready for permanence and a print for me to touch and feel.