home is...

itanagar - i don't like it. the pity is that i’ve been here forever and still, exit is not a choice – not yet. i continue to lead a parasitic existence and my host parents live and work here.

itanagar is what one may call inorganic.

when the union territory of AP grew out of the North-East Frontier Agency, it was thought necessary to create an urban setting for the ensuing games of power. for reasons that i could never fathom, out of 84,000 stunning square kilometers of blank canvas where a new capital could have been situated, this nondescript valley with no claims to any great physical beauty nor to salubrious climes, got chosen to be the centre.

it’s been more than 30 years since the first roads were cut into the hills, and the first bricks were laid, but this town is yet to take on a personality. if i were to be generous and pretend it does have a personality, it would be that of a boor who got too rich, too soon, too easily.

itanagar’s soul was stillborn but its belly continues to swell with conspicuous consumption. SUVs with their beacons jacketed in false modesty and ugly buildings that spring up in the middle of the night, malicious gossips whispered in paan-splattered corners of government offices where work must always wait – that is how I see my town.

on the other hand, anonymous faces continue to be propelled into the statistics of rural-urban migration by an unsympathetic paradigm of development, that in turn is kept in place by the town’s royalty. pride and dignity are left behind in the villages, men become pimps and women become whores.

As much as I hate this town, I know it’s not its fault. bricks don't make a town. people do.