Tag Archives: Homecoming

178: Bangalore, This Time

28 Jun

I’ve been wanting to do a look-back on my trip to Bangalore this summer because it’s been different than all the others I’ve had so far. What highlights my summary of it was the fact that it was restrained this time. Little did I scurry from place to place, desperately trying to grab on to opportunities for memories. Seldom did the idea of restaurant-hopping make itself dominant (unlike the other trips). It just didn’t really obsessively revolve around food even though I did manage to have all that I always go to Bangalore to have. This time I even added brownie points in the form of an Andhra meal, and crab ghee roast.

It was also a time when I decided to stay put at home and prioritise the concept of resting more than I would have, ordinarily. There was an active effort invested in saying no, staying in, letting go, even if that meant sitting with family and doing nothing over traipsing across town to meet and catch up with friends.

I also didn’t really have the energy to do as much. However, we did throw in the usual trips to Commercial street and the tailors. Ma and I made additional time to hop over to Cubbon Park (while it rained) – something we’ve never done in the longest time.

There’s something very calm, collected, and yes, restrained. There was no urgency, no hurriedness, no desperation. It felt ample in all that we did and chose not to do. It couldn’t have felt more perfect. :)

174: It’s Almost Time To Leave

24 Jun

It felt like just yesterday when school shut for the summer, that I packed my bags for Bangalore, that A came to Bangalore, and that we came here to the mountains. Time has flown by and I’ve lost track of days and time, to be honest. When you switch your alarms off for longer than a handful of days, daily routine does get warped, and how.

The idea of going back home is both exciting and tiring – because I’ve lost track of doing any and every kind of work that my house demands from me. But I’ll keep those thoughts aside for now and enjoy the last day that we have here. :)

165: And We’re Off Again

15 Jun

I’ve barely had the time to feel homesick or sink into a pool of self-pity. We’re off again, this time to my in-laws, and I’m uncertain about how connected I really will be with my blog while I’m there.

We’re on the road, driving down this time. My mind is all over the place, my thoughts fragmented, my emotions haywire. But I’ve got A and music for company, and a countryside to pore over should I find the need to lose myself from time to time.

I hope you’re having a splendid summer, dear reader. :)

57: It’s Time To Leave

26 Feb

I thought it’d be easier to say bye now that it’s been over a year since I moved out. But it wasn’t.

I imagined feeling less morose about leaving everything that is home, but how stupid I was to even think it.

It sucked then, it sucks now.

And somehow, I’m glad that some things don’t change, no matter how difficult they can be.

55: Not Counting

24 Feb

I’m not counting days.

…days since I woke up at an obnoxious hour, but in excitement.

…days since I couldn’t contain my elation as the magnetic doors of the airport opened and took me a step closer to my Bangalore-bound aircraft.

…days since I easily breezed out of BIA’s airport, strode to the bus stand, boarded it, got off and took an auto to get home…all without any creases, any worries, any stress.

…days since I got home to welcome post-it notes.

…days since I sat with ma and talked, argued, bickered, laughed…

…days since I lay next to her and slept like a baby.

…days since I revisited my memories of growing up.

I’m not counting days because they flew by and I’ve lost track of them.

*sigh*

47: Small Things

16 Feb

The one place where a woman gets to be a girl all over again is at her mother’s place. It’s not about breakfasts in bed or exclusive luxuries which never were a part of our routines before (we never got to eat breakfast in bed unless we were ill). It’s about realising the little things that get left behind when you move on and put your own home together. The ease to sit down,

the gentleness of her stroking my hair,

our endless bickering over the smallest of things,

her powdery fragrance lulling me to sleep,

the touch of her hands,

that filled jug of water that only I drink from,

welcome post-it notes,

pink lilies blooming at my arrival,

my fluffed up quilt,

and the best of them all…

sound sleep without the care of responsibilities.

It’s all in the smallest of things. Always.

Old Memories, New Memories

1 Aug

July 2016 has been a month to remember; one that automatically gets filed under the precious memories folder in my memory catalogue. It was the month of testing my fears and surrendering to courage which helped alienate my fears in a large way quite effortlessly. It was also the month of travel, soul satisfaction and a sense of contentment that has been a while coming. A and I made a trip the mountains, which felt familiar and different in many ways – A is from the mountains, but we weren’t really visiting his home. It was a time ornate with discovering each other, our own selves, our country and the lessons only travelling with each other can bring out. That travelogue is still in the recesses of my mind and one I hope to put on paper sooner than later.

I also made a rather eleventh hour plan to visit Bangalore which wasn’t really on the cards till an opportunity made itself present. Therefore it’s been a conscious absence, this lack of blogging; what with one trip and another one a few days later. Visiting Bangalore was very agenda driven and I’m back with a sense of peace that I was hoping this trip would bestow me with. It is difficult to put into words this amalgamation of all things good and peaceful; this sense of calm and excitement, this merging of visiting old memories and making new ones. It’s one of those feelings that fall under the too good to be true sections.

Even though moving out was certain and kept aside for that someday most of us know is an eventuality, a lot of it seldom sinks in…because how can home stop being home, how can your own bed stop enveloping you like only your bed can, because how can that feeling of home ever change and become something else even if you leave it to create another home? Therefore typing the words going home makes me feel like I’m living in a parallel universe – because I am home and I am going home as well. I’m not too sure if the deeply connected fibres of this umbilical chord can ever be severed or even be made an alternative, if I was to be milder and less morbid.

Every time I go back home, there’s a rush of feelings waiting to embrace me…like the pages I’ve moved past, flip right back and settle…as if the old times never left. And yet there’s this newness which confronts these pages from the past; eventually settling in with an unspoken coexistence. The encounter can be confusing and confounding, slightly abrasive even, till the old and the new make room for each other and fit like pieces that needed completing.

Completeness. That’s what it is. And that’s when the realization of what home, growing up, coming back and seeking this feeling out really dawns upon me. This parallel universe business becomes less sci-fi and more telling of how we create semblances of the old in our new, consciously and unconsciously, till there are no parallel universes anymore.

My visit to Bangalore this time was bespoke with just this; where the lines drawn out by time became invisible and nonexistent, even.

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It felt like I was back without having left in the first place.

On Arriving

5 Apr

Just when I was celebrating my continuous run here on the blog, did a spoke wedge itself in my routine. It has been a busy week – a busy week spending time with my mom who was visiting and my family at large. Nobody wants to sit in front of their computer when you can sit and stare at your parent instead, right? Haha!

We didn’t really do much, or rather we didn’t really do anything fancy or out of the ordinary. This time was largely spent being at home and just faffing around…sometimes in conversation, sometimes in silence. Besides, it has become too hot and no person in their sane mind would want to gallivant in this weather, I’m sure.

It’s one thing to be busy in an office kind of way and it is absolutely another thing to be busy doing nothing sometimes. I tried hovering around my mother as much as I could, even at the cost of annoying her, but then again, we don’t get to meet each other on a daily basis anymore, so it’s all okay, I’ve realized.

She came home (my home) for the first time since I’ve been married and I did have these goals to make it as easy and comfortable for her as I could. After all, we do want to show the ones we love the most, the best time ever. We do want to show them that we’re more in control, more settled, more able…that this decision we made to leave home and pick a life with our spouse, was a good decision indeed. We do want to deliver a sense of ease and perhaps even (small forms of) luxury from time to time… Basically, I think it’s all about showing a sense of maturity, a sense of actual growing up.

Her visit wasn’t as bad, I imagine. However, it wasn’t as I had planned either. Call it starting trouble or being too ambitious, the entire plan I’d churned up in my head didn’t entirely go the way I would’ve wanted it to. But then I do have to remind myself of two very important things, one of which I have stated here quite so many times before:

a) Things seldom go as per plan. So either be more flexible or have no expectations.

b) My homestead is not even six months old. It’s going to be raw and it isn’t going to be like a hotel. Ever. Therefore, it is okay.

Being a host is such an important factor to me – apart from the fact that I do enjoy it very much (and very selectively), it validates me in more ways than just testifying that I am capable of running the show. It allows me the ability to give to people what I cannot give in words or even physical action; because that is reserved only for those chosen few. However, it does become easier for me to show my love and care through these actions which helps undo the vibes of unapproachability  I give off all the time. It is that one forte that allows me to become a more balanced version of myself, a platform that gives me a chance to express who I am in so many different ways.

Therefore I did not want mom to cook or clean or do the things she does at her own home. But moms are moms and moms must do what they must do, I reckon. Therefore I was blessed with her presence in so many ways – I got to have food made by her, I got to just sit with her and do nothing but sponge off all that I could from her (even her faint fragrance), I got to lie down with her, I got to chat and gossip and crib with her…she brought colour, more life and more soul to this place… it feels a lot more like home now – and I’m certain that’s a thing only mothers can do without doing much really… nothing extravagant or ornate; just simple habits we’ve grown up with that took new roots here as well… her taking the dusting cloth and going a bit crazy with it, her lighting the lamp at home, her folding the clothes while in conversation, her tidying up the results of my nasty habit of strewing clothes on the chair… something as simple as her using my body lotion or me covering her with a sheet as she dozed…so automatic, so innate, so familiar. While she did her own thing and always kept herself occupied with something (as she would have done, in her own home), all I did was drop everything I could and just be there, watch her, absorb her.

I’ve said it many times before and I’ll say it again – I do not miss Bangalore in the way I imagined I would (we do tend to picture the worst in our head for reasons best known to us). It doesn’t hurt and neither do I pine for it. But little did I realize the small voids I was carrying in me when I left… In the hurry to feel as at home as possible and as soon as possible, I overlooked the fact that these small actions were the ones that made a home feel like home. It isn’t really the place as much as it is the people and the things we do that make a place feel like home. Flowers, clean sheets, folded freshly laundered clothes, incense sticks, lamps, a dal’s tadka, soft hands, that touch, that serenity, pickle, her soft cheeks, tea and toast, arguments and bickering, music (I do not play as much music for some strange reason), the rustling of the newspaper’s pages, her habit to munch, a bottle of cool water and some sweet biscuits by her bed for the night… that’s home.

And that, I will always miss, now since I’ve left home to make my own. However, I know that I have arrived…that I am not hanging in the middle, feeling lost.

I did have the time to come and write, but with all this going on, I didn’t even realize which date of the month we were on. She left and I feel a lot fuller now; a lot less incomplete…an incompleteness that only your mother can fill…and a lot ready and charged to get back into my routine.

And just to make it feel more real and homey; both of us coincidentally made batches of ghee (clarified butter) today.