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  • As I come out of the Terminal, I feel a strange disconnect. I've come to this city so many times, I've lived here for a couple of years and here I am once more, but feeling very much like an outsider. It's a Sunday evening in London. As I travel on the tube to the centre of the city, I see once again the low hanging cotton clouds and the azure sky of an English summer. And I've heard its been a wet one but the sun peeks out at me and I'm grateful. I notice that there's hardly anyone on the tube at this time. I'm dragging my luggage along as I get off. I suddenly miss people. Miss the crowd. It's so quiet. I miss the noise. I realise how accustomed I've become of over-populated, noisy Delhi. But as I continue walking, in the distance I hear a beautiful flute playing. As I cross the subway, I see a young man busking, it's one of the Beatle's number: Yesterday. Well yesterday I was in a hot humid noisy crowded market of Delhi but no I'm not feeling sad. Just a temporary disconnection in my body, I guess in need of adjustment, I think to myself, He plays as if forgetting his own presence. I offer some change, he stops briefly to mouth a thank you. I enjoy the music, slowly fading away as I purposefully drag my luggage along. wondering how I don't know what it is about this city, it is made up of alot of "outsiders". And yet, there is a special London Identity. But isn't that true of all world cities?

    I look at the rose I was given by the flight attendant (for some reason, they were handing down red roses to all the women on the flight when we were coming out). And I realise, it's not about where I am, it's my presence to myself. It's the comfort of being myself that I sometimes lose sight of. An outsider in my own head. And my mind submits to the song of my soul: where ever I am, I am home because I am here, I am present.
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