The first time I visited Mumbai, I hated it. I thought it was too loud, too fast, and too indifferent. The buildings looked half-finished. The people looked overworked. There was movement everywhere, but no invitation. No one seemed interested in helping me understand what was going on.
That’s the part that stuck with me: how complete it was. Mumbai doesn’t hide its contradictions. You’ll see slums next to luxury towers, traffic next to temples, homeless people roaming around markets. It’s not poetic – it’s logistical. Everything overlaps. Everyone adapts. It doesn’t ask for your approval. It already works, more or less.
Delhi is different. It’s trying to be seen. The avenues are wide. The architecture is ceremonial. There are rules, rituals, filters. The city performs structure – and does it well. But underneath that structure is a kind of hierarchy that you’re always aware of. The city isn’t just beautiful; it’s ranked. Some parts are preserved. Others are ignored. You know where you belong based on how much effort it takes to stay.
New York, too, performs – but less for others, more for itself. It moves fast, because everyone inside it assumes they’re important. It runs like a system that’s constantly trying to maintain its own momentum. The infrastructure is visible. So is the decay. But the city works because people behave as if it does. If the subway is late, you don’t complain – you recalculate. If you’re in the way, you step aside. You don’t have time to be uncertain.
Each of these cities taught me something about discomfort. Not the obvious kind, like bad weather or bad traffic – but a deeper discomfort that comes from realizing how irrelevant you are to the place you’re in. These cities don’t need you. They’ve already solved for their own survival.
The real discomfort is realizing how much you don’t know. Not just about the city, but about how people live inside it – how much of life is happening beyond your awareness, and always has been. It reminds you that no matter how observant or intelligent or self-aware you think you are, you’re always in some kind of social structure. And outside that bubble, life goes on – urgently, efficiently, indifferently. You don’t get to live it. You just get to notice it for a while, and maybe just count the differences.
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