Dear City 🛤️

Raised by many places, rooted in one

Image by Chatgpt.

I don’t know which one of you I’m writing to.

The one that first welcomed me into the world? The one that watched me grow? Or the ones that I had spent integral phases of my life in?

In my view, this letter belongs to all of you.

As a kid, who has been transferred thrice yet felt like there was enough time to cherish, Here’s my story!!

However, If I’m honest, Muzzafarpur, Bihar, deserves to read it first.

It gave me my first definition of home because of the people, the memories, and the belonging that no distance has ever managed to erase. Every summer vacation and every Diwali and every Chath Puja led me back to my grandparents’ home, where nothing seemed to change except me. Their embraces felt familiar every single time, even when I returned carrying pieces of cities they had never lived in. My food choices, my taste in music, and even my personality.

Growing up, Life had other plans for us. For a year, when I turned 1, Bengaluru became my classroom. Then when I turned 2, Chennai became my home. A year doesn’t sound like enough to belong to a city. Yet somehow, it is enough for a city to leave fingerprints on your life. I still catch myself craving the food I first fell in love with in the South. The warmth with which strangers welcomed us taught me how kindness could exist without familiarity. The friendships I built there quietly changed the way I looked at people. Even today, my mind drifts to long evenings by the beach waves that knew nothing about exams, deadlines, or growing up yet somehow made everything feel lighter. Today, when I reflect back to the photos, I still feel those will always be a treasured memory in the deepest chambers of my heart.

Eventually I shifted to Delhi, where I have now spent and am still spending my growing-up years. Delhi shaped me differently. My childhood, teenage, and fondest memories of school with crazy story times are all woven here.

It gave me confidence. It taught me to move faster, think quicker, and find my place in a city that rarely slows down for anyone. It gave me exposure neccessary. Somewhere between all of this hustle and bustle, my accent, without even my slightest notice, was different from those in my hometown or the other places I had lived. It changed into something that belonged a little less to one place and a little more to everywhere I had been.

Sometimes I am compelled to wonder…

Had I spent my entire life in Bihar, would my voice sound different today? Would my habits be different? Or maybe, If I had lived my whole teens in south India, my humour or The way I greet people would have been different? The food I instinctively reach for? Well, all these would surely be changed, but I guess I’ll never know.

Every city I lived in quietly edited me, but not enough to erase where I came from. I do wonder if I am the result of diversity and influence that my country and fellow people have offered me.

Just enough to make me realize that identity is written in many hands.

Yet, despite everything, Bihar remains the one place that has never felt borrowed. While others shaped my personality, Bihar has shaped my soul.

That’s why, whenever someone asks me where I’m from, I never think of the city where I’ve spent the most years. I think of the place that still feels like home before I even answer. Henceforth, my instant response is Muzzafarpur, Bihar.

While other cities can influence the way you speak, the way you think, and even the way you dream, what really feels like home is the place you are actually rooted, and it is something that never fades away, No matter what. Therefore, however old I may be, Bihar will still make me reminisce about those sweet memories of carefree childhood and teens.

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🏙️ *This story is part of ‘Dear City 🏙️ — A Writing Challenge’ on The Rabbit Note.*

🏙️ What did a city give you, take from you, or leave unresolved between you? Write a letter or poem addressed to that city and submit it to ‘Dear City’ on The Rabbit Note. Submissions open until 24 July 2026.

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