Madivala

I've never lived in a city before. I've spent weeks at most but never lived. I come from a small, decently exposed, village from the smallest state in the country.

Well a year in Bangalore, and I still haven't learned much. But I think I understand where I live, better.

In Madivala, your neighbours are the last one to sleep and the first to wake. I hear gossip in tongues I don't understand, creep through the crack of the door kept open for ventilation, keeping me awake.

In Madivala, you'll be woken up by an old grumpy engine in an mini-truck that gets ready to make the rounds to collect waste from homes.

In Madivala, the streets are filled with shops. The ones that have QR codes in them, tell you you're near a good part of town. The ones that won't, well the smell will give you away before you notice.

In Madivala, there's an old building being torn down every month, to make way for an even taller, narrower one than can house more people as the city demands.

In Madivala, there is a river of filth that passes through. I know not where it starts or where it leads. I know how it smells.

In Madivala, there are dogs. Dog's that have acknowledged my presence. We meet each other on visits to the market.

In Madivala, there are always two men walking side by side that will block your path if you're in a rush.

In Madivala, there's lady pushing a cart who yells "SOPOIII" every morning.

In Madivala, there's me. I'm a part of it now, and it is a part of me.

I may leave Madivala, but I don't think it'll ever leave me.