Ah, moving. No one's favourite occupation. A miserable, stinking, transitional period that makes even the most spirited man's shoulders sink in exasperation.
I've officially begun the move-in process; as I sit typing at a Def Col cyber cafe, Sumeet's cook is cleaning our flat. The rooms have been deserted for, I would imagine, about a month, and ceaseless dust has settled in every corner. We equipped Ajay with dust rags, brooms, buckets and the like. I tried to stay with him, show solidarity, but was forced to retreat after a sneezing fit weighed heavily on my soul.
My sense of direction is characteristically awful, and I have no clue how I made it from C Block to the Def Col market; I will have to take a rickshaw home lest I become lost. The neighborhood is quiet, serene. There are few stray dogs hounding about and few children in the streets. I think I might like it here.
This morning, we bought mattresses and pillows, which hopefully will be delivered tonight. The traffic around Moolchand -- where an underpass is being constructed -- is horrible, and the drivers of Delhi idiots. But despite the chaos of the streets, I now have a haven -- an island of sanity in the teeming, unrelenting confusion of Delhi.