HOME.
Its takes one word to make everything in life a little easier.
Wake up late in the bed which I’ve slept in for 19 years. Woken up by Mom who then tries to prevent me from going back to sleep again by striking up some random conversation often about the headlines of the day, shopping/movie plans, my dad’s newest colleague who comes to office drunk, my distant cousin’s wedding plans or my first cousin’s hostel life updates.
It’s all so comforting to be talking about things and people I’ve grown up amongst. To let her do all the talking and let it all sink in. The feeling of being home, near my mother; Smiling at the fact that none of those abovementioned things really affect my life except that they seem familiar, less alien than every morning that greets me in law school. And the best part is that your Mom knows it all, knows that you really don’t care that much about a drunken colleague or a distant cousin but she knows I need the familiarity of family, friends and relatives.
It’s just the perfect beginning to any day!
Get hold of a book and sit in the verandah reading it and dozing off and waking up in fits.
The collection of your favourite DVDs.
A long phone call with your best friend.
Radio One and your favourite FM channel (a non-existent thing in Bangalore unless you want to listen to Kannada music!).
Dinner with your family while the TV plays the soppiest soap on earth!
Home.
Theres something magical about it. The comfort, the predictability, the known smell of freshly laundered clothes, the touch of the weathered study table, the couch in front of the T.V. and the comfortable spots of which you’re completely aware, the familiar smell that wafts in from the kitchen, the comfort of piping hot food, the balancing act when sitting on the parapet discussing life with your cousin...
And there’s something about returning back to your own city.
Of Park Street and Peter Cat and Flury’s and Christmas celebrations and Someplace Else and Oxford and Mocambo and Roxy...
Of Elgin Road and Forum and the infamous CCD that has witnessed much of my life’s many funny escapades and Aqua Java and Prime meetups and Kookie Jar...
Of Lake Gardens and the Lake and boating and South City and Sneha and evening walks and phuchkas and plans to change the world and Grub Club and Southern Avenue ...
Of the walk down the road in front of school and the Upper Crust and the Xerox shops and the rickshaw rides...
Along the Outram Ghat and ferry rides, ice-cream at Scoop and walking along the Circular Railway tracks...
The silhouette of the Hooghly bridge against the evening sky, the outline of Eden Gardens from my terrace on a ODI night, the Maidan and Book Fair and football, the lit up Howrah bridge and the night lights...
The festive feel in the air from a month before the Durga Pujo. The charged atmosphere, noise and the chaos that ensues during those five days and how everyone enjoys every bit of it. The first glimpses on Shashti, the morning anjali on Ashtami, watching the procession for the immersion of idols on Dashami from my grandmom’s balcony and writing the Durganaam ten times on the Bel leaf. The familiarity of traditions...
Of so many memories scattered all over the city, in the unlikeliest of places and dingiest lanes, on metro rides and pirated book shops on the Golpark pavement, in the darkest alleys of New Market and the rows of fresh bakes in Nahoum’s, of friends forgotten and promises not kept, of returning back to the people who know you the best and manage to surprise you with that knowledge in the unlikeliest way ...
Here’s to my City of Joy...
