Eavesdropping

Notes from Delhi, Gurgaon, London

After many months of being terrified of writing in the age of ChatGPT, here are some notes from my Notes app, shared as they were written in the moment. While I take my time working on something specific, it is good to realise that writing in your WhatsApp chat to yourself is a good way of keeping a diary in 2026. It is also a better way to travel and be, as I find myself back in the London Tube, or Gurgaon balcony, or Delhi road every time I read these. And third, as I told my husband a few days a go, my WhatsApp group with myself is currently the most accurate map of my brain I can offer you.

London Tube, 18 May 2026

The Cockfosters bound Piccadilly train now entering eastbound platform 5 at Earl’s Court is shorter than my husband. As it races like a dog for a treat across the platform, I wonder how he would have entered it. Bending everything everywhere. Its speed seems unlikely for a train this old and short. I stand on one corner against the single door opening, feeling like a highly unstable person as everyone else goes about their firm standing business as usual.

Less people are on their phones than in the delhi metro. Some are reading a book, some are reading their notes. May is term paper season if I remember correctly from 9 years ago at Sussex. Some are eating. Some are holding on to their belongings based on Instagram crime stories from London. They can be identified as tourists and thus targeted better. Maybe Instagram hyping is a campaign by the pick pockets to identify tourists. There’s also a kindle in the mix. Canvas tote bags seem common here, acquired from one of the many conferences and events one might end up attending while living in London or passing by.

Some people are also just not doing anything in particular, and are also not checking their phones or making conversation, which Cal Newport says is necessary to reverse brain rot. Maybe they have some deep work to do after this.

A mother scolding a daughter for not wearing the right shoes sounds the same in every language. However, there is less room for uncomfortable shoes in London and consequently, there is less sighting of uncomfortable shoes in the tube. Almost no heels all day. In the limited scope of comfortable shoes, shoes on the tube offer a lot of variety. Pink sneakers, purple platforms, embroidered wedges, printed sneakers, sneakers which were painted by the wearer or by someone and acquired by the wearer at a charity shop, matte and shiny, long or barely a sock.. it’s all there.

Out and about driving in the UK, 17-19 May 2026

I always find myself amused at the names of roads, stations, and crossings in the UK. And the road signs. They are descriptive, like a child describing what they see rather than an administrative word on an official area document somewhere.

Names of stations-

• Green park

• Hyde park corner

• Turn again road

• Monument

• Temple

Signs-

• Sheep

• Possible queuing

• Possible skid

Delhi traffic, 27 May 2026

I look into cars and houses as i go out in the world. I’m not prying. I’m not trying to catch you doing your funny business. I would probably stop looking ever again if i did.

I find houses and cars interesting. Especially ones where families live and move. Just now, i caught sight of a car with 4 people. Muma papa girl boy. Girl older boy younger. Front of the car- symmetrical- papa driving mumma passenger, equidistant from centre. Back of car- centre aligned. Both heads of different sizes bobbling around the centre like a science experiment on sun rays. Reminded me of my sister and myself sitting behind mumma papa, being driven around the city, sometimes stationed on top of a grandparent’s lap, sometimes being awarded the leather seat to position our butts on. Everyday a gamble.

Rajouri Garden, Delhi, 26 March 2026

Yesterday Harsh was saying something about kids and he said “all three of our niece and nephews “ and that made me feel very old.

Gurgaon, Sometime last week

There’s an aunty who lives opposite our second floor balcony in her second floor house of another lane. Another lane with another entry somewhere, and I have no idea what the front of her house looks like. I also do not know what her house looks like during the day, as all I’ve seen is her kitchen at 10pm, which is when we finally come back to our room and come close enough to the balcony doors for a minute, to draw the curtains. On the days that my husband is not at home at this time, I keep the wooden door open and stare outside the mesh door for longer than our AC room permits on TV nights.

Aunty’s life looks very different from mine, my mom’s, or my mother in law’s. Aunty hovers in her kitchen in her dark lavender but not purple nighty for what looks like hours, though I only see her for ten minutes. Despite this detail, my husband and I refer to her as purple aunty. One can only assume that she is cooking, as all I can see is her arms moving in cooking like motions over the kitchen shelves.

Aunty moves from one corner to the other, barely facing me at any angle, so that I do not know what the front of her looks like either. No one else ever enters the kitchen, I do not know who she is cooking for. Unintentionally, I feel bad for her. Alone at past 10, cooking and cleaning, sleeping at what time. How she spends her day, I will never know. Only while thinking about her for more than 5 minutes today does it occur to me, that she could be cooking for herself, and might enjoy a late night meal after every day of long work, or leisure. She could be cooking a different dish every night, and there could be music on in that kitchen with white lights and steel bartan, bouncing of all kadhais and plates. I never see the light in her rooms in the morning, because maybe she’s a late riser, and enjoys her day afternoon onwards. The limits of my imagination become her limits for today.

Gurgaon, 24 April 2026, this piece is called “Lane Driving” in my WhatsApp

How beautiful it is to see a house in your lane be repopulated. For a truck to stand obstructing the two lane traffic for the hours it takes to unload all the furniture. Clothes coming out of one drawer, stapler pins at the bottom of the bed box. How hopeful it is to see the lights in the house come on, one by one as the new occupants move through the rooms. The kids, i think, had not seen the house before it was bought. They lose their mind gazing at the park in the window which frames their parents’ room. They’ve not been told the allocations yet but going by the map of the previous house, they think they’re right.

When I cross the house I wonder if we will be friends. I had never said hi to previous owners but I was always sad seeing an empty house which was perfectly brown and white and full of light, after they had left. The house has a glass room built over what was of course a balcony. I imagined someone sitting there and having tea, someone including myself. Because leisurely tea in a glass balcony can only be had in imaginary houses and lives, especially in Delhi/Gurgaon. As yet uninhabited. I take a walk this evening, with the confidence of an old time resident, hoping to welcome these new ones. I should have gotten a cake or at least flowers. Maybe some bandwidth to help set their kitchen. I’ll come back another day. Maybe.

Bed, 5 June 2026

Mamuaunty’s (other people would say maami) room in nani house had a red rectangular box which was not really a box. It had a black spikey roller running through one of its centres to capture dust of food particles from the bed. This object had no name. Since we always ate rajma chawal sitting on the bed in front of the TV at nani house and Sabby always ate rice anyway, this roller captured lots of white rice. We also ran it on each other leaving wire like marks on arms. To be in possession of this red roller was to have the upper hand in a fight.