i live in Pune. i was born and brought up in indore but i shifted here for the sake of graduation. i live here in a flat with six others, all migrants coming from different parts of the country. they all have stories about their cities, and sometimes over dinner, they reminiscence about their times at their native places. often, there is my turn to speak up too.
i have my stories. numerous. some i can speak up, some i can't. but often, my stories are frowned upon. because in this materialistic world where we dwell, they do not get why i flip up by happiness on a smallest mention of 'indori poha'. why i turn around desperately and haphazardly when i hear 'sarafa' or '56'. and why i still think the best mall to be in is 'treasure island'. just as often as this happens, i feel no need to give an explanation.
my grandfather migrated from a small villiage of Rajasthan to Indore almost over a century ago. i still remember him quoting that he only stopped his quest for a shelter here for one reason, the 'imartis' here were the best ones he had ever had. coming from such a foodie family, i had the most heavenly childhood any 90's kid could imagine. of course nowadays no kid wants 'milk-cake' or 'jalebi' over an XBOX game, but back in the days, i wouldn't have given another thought...maybe still i won't. growing up, my naivest thought used to be whether world runs on money or food?
now that all the naiveness is gone, i try to see what was hidden. the black spots you miss out as a kid. i never knew who is marathi and who is not, untill i came to Pune. back then, the only racism we had among ourselves was whether you like 'ravi alpahaar' more or 'headsaab ke usal pohe'. now i spend my leisure time categorizing people on their states.back then, i only knew of a place where friendships were kept lifelong, where shopkeepers were decent, where there were no remarks about the state you belong to, where there was no preference given, where the food was the best.
Indore is a very small city. recently discovered by harley davidson and starbucks, but not yet discovered by the terrorists. if you know a true indori, you might successfully guess one or two things about his personalities. he is a foodie, and has poha as breakfast almost three times a week. he mumbles 'vijay ke samose, apna ki khichdi, johnny hotdog, sapna sandwich, parsavnath pan sadan' in sleep. but over that, he is a real man. he never cheats, he never deceits and he never backbites. he has a big heart and equally huge eating tendency. he is a real friend, a real mate. he is fun. i am fun! :)
the biggest thing i admire about my city is, no matter what the condition is, they are all connected. by one single bond that runs from palasia to chandan nagar, and sarafa to rajendra nagar. everyone was in sorrow at the time of chandan nagar riots, and everyone was happy when indore was awarded the foodie city of india. if i choose to continue, i could write a novel now and here, but it will all be in vain. because i have already touched some chords and pissed over some heads. ;)
yeah, i love my city bitches!
i have my stories. numerous. some i can speak up, some i can't. but often, my stories are frowned upon. because in this materialistic world where we dwell, they do not get why i flip up by happiness on a smallest mention of 'indori poha'. why i turn around desperately and haphazardly when i hear 'sarafa' or '56'. and why i still think the best mall to be in is 'treasure island'. just as often as this happens, i feel no need to give an explanation.
my grandfather migrated from a small villiage of Rajasthan to Indore almost over a century ago. i still remember him quoting that he only stopped his quest for a shelter here for one reason, the 'imartis' here were the best ones he had ever had. coming from such a foodie family, i had the most heavenly childhood any 90's kid could imagine. of course nowadays no kid wants 'milk-cake' or 'jalebi' over an XBOX game, but back in the days, i wouldn't have given another thought...maybe still i won't. growing up, my naivest thought used to be whether world runs on money or food?
now that all the naiveness is gone, i try to see what was hidden. the black spots you miss out as a kid. i never knew who is marathi and who is not, untill i came to Pune. back then, the only racism we had among ourselves was whether you like 'ravi alpahaar' more or 'headsaab ke usal pohe'. now i spend my leisure time categorizing people on their states.back then, i only knew of a place where friendships were kept lifelong, where shopkeepers were decent, where there were no remarks about the state you belong to, where there was no preference given, where the food was the best.
Indore is a very small city. recently discovered by harley davidson and starbucks, but not yet discovered by the terrorists. if you know a true indori, you might successfully guess one or two things about his personalities. he is a foodie, and has poha as breakfast almost three times a week. he mumbles 'vijay ke samose, apna ki khichdi, johnny hotdog, sapna sandwich, parsavnath pan sadan' in sleep. but over that, he is a real man. he never cheats, he never deceits and he never backbites. he has a big heart and equally huge eating tendency. he is a real friend, a real mate. he is fun. i am fun! :)
the biggest thing i admire about my city is, no matter what the condition is, they are all connected. by one single bond that runs from palasia to chandan nagar, and sarafa to rajendra nagar. everyone was in sorrow at the time of chandan nagar riots, and everyone was happy when indore was awarded the foodie city of india. if i choose to continue, i could write a novel now and here, but it will all be in vain. because i have already touched some chords and pissed over some heads. ;)
yeah, i love my city bitches!
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