Friday, July 19, 2024

The City to Me

Written By Swara Jhunjhunwala (Grade 9)


‘Querencia; a place from which one’s strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self’. That is what the settee beside my bedroom window is for me, querencia. Its gaudy velvet coursing my hands showers me with homely warmth. I feel propelled to gaze through the window across it when I am in the depths of despondency. It is so, because of the city that unfolds outside. The city, my city, gives me an air of nonchalance and assuredness. It is always there for me.

“For those who are lost, there will always be cities that feel like home.” ~ Simon van Booy

The city makes me feel like a taciturn onlooker, silently observing the happenings of the surroundings while lost in a world completely of their own. That, I suppose, is what I am. Looking out, at the city, is a distraction, the distraction that gets me through the day. I welcome it with open hands, and let my sensitive senses overwhelm me.

Night time is special, for it is the time when scintillating lights project dancing shadows of people traversing the streets, the time when the silver wraith hanging in the sky reflects the ethereal beauty of the city. Every once in a while, I glance up to the sky, and find the moon grinning at me, the stars playing with me with their notorious winks. It instils in me the feeling that I am unusual, distinct.

I have learnt that everything is music, from the light tinkling of bells to even the jangling discordant notes of a protest. What differentiates each piece is the way we perceive it. The unhealthy sound emitted from a frying pan that radiate from the city during the day, or the melancholic soprano voice of the church songs reverberating at night, they are all music.

Rainy days paint the sky a solid gray, the kind of gray that is bestowed upon the city before the sun rises. The rain blurs my view, but that is okay. On those days I find pleasure in the dampness of the smell permeating the city, or, the cool drops of rain against my finger when I extend it out. On those days, I derive exaltation from the thought that I feel trapped inside a painted canvas. No, not trapped, but free.

Once in particular, I stood gazing at the city and a realisation dawned on me; it was the realisation of why I found the view so irresistibly alluring. The city and I, we are the same; helpless of our fate but accepting of it.


Featured Image Courtesy – Britannica



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