My dearest Jamshedpur,
Oh, my beautiful, spicy, industrial darling.
When we met ten months ago, I never expected to fall in love. Being fresh out of a relationship with Chicago, my wounds stung deep. I was hurting, missing her better qualities (deep dish). And then I met you.
AIF set up our blind date; our personal Bharat Matrimony. They sifted through dozens of suitors before realizing we had potential. What did they see? Maybe it was your steely air, or the speed of your Rapidos. Maybe it was your perfect roads or smoky hues. I like to believe it was fate.
I remember meeting you for the first time, driving in from Ranchi. I was a mess, on zero sleep, in baggy sweats, unprepared to meet anyone. And then I laid eyes on you. You didn’t care what I was wearing or how messy my hair was. You took me in, and saw me for me.
We took a risk and moved in together after only two weeks. We got an empty, unfurnished apartment, scraped away the lizard poop, and turned it into a home.
Over the next few months, I fell in love with your organized chaos and the contrast of your factory plumes with the tree-lined streets. Never before had I met a city so planned, cohesive, and fresh.
I fell in love with the different parts of you. Bistupur, my posh princess – where Anand dosas are heavenly and bowling costs 99 rupees on Thursdays. Sakchi, my wild child – where the market never sleeps, and I could not bargain a deal for the life of me. Dhatkidih, my dear friend – where I made my living, only taking breaks to visit Howrah Bakery for cake toast. And Sonari, my sweet Sonari, my home – where I was woken up by fireworks at midnight and pigeons chirping at my windowsill at dawn.
I fell in love with the way you brought me out of my shell. I was never shy, but I’ve never felt so free. Whether it was conversations with Rapido drivers about American politics (many unfortunate takes, unfortunately), becoming comfortable eating alone at restaurants, or dancing in the streets for hours during Ram Navami, I blossomed in your presence.
I fell in love with the way you welcomed me. Whether it was dinner with my supervisor’s family or being invited to travel 3.5 hours by motorbike to see a mela in my coworker’s village, I was embraced. I was embraced by the tribal communities I worked with, even when I couldn’t speak their languages. I was embraced at the office, having my daily conversations with Sima and sharing snacks with my newfound friends.
And lastly, I fell in love with your authenticity. While others may search for a popular partner who has the grandest temples and richest history, I found comfort in your personability. You are a city of working people, where I saw maybe ten other foreigners my whole time here. Because of that, people took interest in me, and through those conversations I met some of the kindest, most interesting people.
I would be lying if I said that there weren’t bumps in our journey. We dealt with our share of gastrointestinal vibrations, sultry forecasts, and even a mold-ridden apartment. When all my stuff was ravaged by fungus, maybe even my lungs, and I had to move out, you were there to comfort me with the soft sheets of a hotel bed. You stood by my side through it all.
As we part ways, I am overcome with a spectrum of emotions. But mostly, I am grateful. I came to you broken, and you healed wounds you didn’t cause. How lucky am I to have experienced you, from monsoon motorbike rides to our fine dining dates. How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.
Until we meet again.
