Dear Delhi,

March marks one year since I stopped being a full-time resident. I do not remember what date it was. But I remember spring had peaked. I remember the sidewalks at the Raj Ghat were completely pink and purple with the petals. The temples of Chandni Chowk and the Dargah of Nizamuddin – covered with flowers and the flower-sellers, high spirited and enthusiastic. I keep thinking about the vibrant colours and scents of the season while I write this from Kolkata, yellow and dusty as ever, though not as humid as the last time I was here.

Spring in Delhi is no longer the balmy weather that Khushwant Singh wrote about. It has become the textbook definition of ‘the period between winter and summer’. To me though, this is the time when the grey skies make way for the blues and the whites – soon to be overtaken by the red-hot sun. I miss your Blue-White skies, your Banyan-Greens, Rajghat-Purples, Sarvodaya-Gulmohar-Reds, your Kailash-Colony-Bougainvillea-Pinks and your Chandni-Chowk-Marigold-Orange-Yellows.

Heartbreaking, when it is springtime in Delhi, but you’re away.