After 6 long months, I came home on a not-so-good note. First, the trip that was intended to be a completely chilled out trip exclusively with Mom and Dad, got chalked out due to the demise of a dear Uncle. So, now I am preparing to go for his funeral services. His family stays in Garhakota, a small village in Madhya Pradesh. Second, it is unbelievably hot in Delhi. And I am putting on so much weight. And my skin is screwed due to I don’t know what!
When the plane flies around Delhi waiting for the signal to land, I get all nostalgic and emotional about this place. It is my home. Infamous, yet mine. I belong to this city of make-do. The city of generous, fun loving, loud people who will mope because of the hot sticky weather but still, very willingly go for that open exhibition as the Sale is on. This is a city of bad drivers, awesome roads, greenery, history, politics, culture, classes and masses, universities, revolutionaries-in-the-making, and so much more that it is hard to put down. While in Bangalore, I do not realize how much I miss being in Delhi. My parents, old friends, school, college, gossip-monger-aunties, roadside lemon water, warm, friendly neighbours, DTC buses, old markets, discounts and sales, memories, old township, age old security guards, ancient temples, red and green, food, clear skies, cycle-rikshaws etc… this place has it all, has had this all and will continue being precious in my sane memory.
I grew up in a company allotted bungalow in a small township. Everything here was all about convenience. Everybody knew each other. Everybody, in a way, liked each other too. There was compassion, oneness, and a tension-free environment. In times of need, help and support would just fly to you. You need not even make a call. I grew up with familiar faces, half of them I just knew because they used to come cycling behind us. Around 5 years ago, we moved into our own apartment. For someone who has stayed in the township house all her life, it was quite an uncomfortable change. Though this was our own house, somehow I did not relate with it all. With time, I grew fond of this one too. Decorated the house in my taste- pottery, colour, paintings, soft curtains, cozy air… I fell in love with this one too. However, as strange as it sounds, even today if I dream about my house, it is my old house.
I remember, each time it rained, I would go to my terrace with my brother and friends and would dance in the rain. That is different that I’d sneeze throughout the night and get yelled at by my always-irritable but adorable granny, but dancing in the rain is just something else. Those were happy days. I used to laugh and smile and giggle. Even stealing money from the cover pockets and being caught by my parents is such a sweet memory. Failing in exams, talking to rowdy guys, playing till 8 in the evening, secretly sipping Coke in the garden, talking to my brother throughout the night, annoying Mom for tiny things was life for me, and I loved it all.
I cannot believe how circumstances in life can mould you in all sorts of ways. You are like clay, and someone/something up there is shaping the course of your life and you don’t even realize it. I think growing up is horrible. Not because one shouldn’t, but because of the sheer fact that it is so hard to let go off your innocent childhood. Growing up makes you aware of all things filthy and evil. There is imposed maturity that is guarded by the insecurities of so called social norms and expectations. You still want to dance in the rain but you cannot as you won’t be acting your age. Oh well.
Till I am in Bangalore, I love myself; I am confident and happy about being who I am. And now, because I am expected to be certain way because of the family I come from, even my parents find it hard to accept me. People put on and lose weight all the time, but my putting on weight is a sin. Know why? Because I am not an exceptionally good looking woman and also, I am short. Who will marry me? My only question is, if somebody is not marrying me for what I am, then maybe he is not worth it! Why don’t parents get that? Why is it so important to be socially accepted in the way they want to accept you? I am not defying any rules, am I? And I want to know where this society is when I need it? And where is this society when best friends of life ditch each other for petty promotions in office? For who should I change the way I am?
Home is where my heart is; more than the walls that make a house, it lies with my parents, who though find me very difficult to handle, love me purely. My heart is with my brother who has been my friend for the longest time. It rests with those sweet-sour memories that I live by. So when I come to Delhi, though physically I am visiting a geographic location, in my heart and mind, I am walking back into a memory lane that changes a bit but primarily remains what it means to me- my home.
