I read a blog post here somewhere about how you reach a stage at some point when home isn’t really home anymore. I have been struggling with
the idea of where home really is for me at 27 for a while now.
streets felt alien last month, with a barrage of new flyovers (it was
there when you left Bubbles, aankhen hain ki button?), new eating joints
(I don’t give a fuck about that hell-hole called Hauz Khas. There, I
said it!), new people (Some of whom I instantly fell in love with,
though they still didn’t feel like how old people do :().
My family and I trying to renegotiate
all the changes we’ve undergone and the love that has lately was always
been transfixed with an “in spite of”. The same in spite off made me
feel defensive over Mary Didi ke haath ka palak paneer.
When I left, I
had a lump in my throat but also a huge grin. My other home, the one I am learning by-heart, and probably more familiar with now. But also the one that’s so new, and so too-good-to-be-true, I haven’t had
the heart to decorate it yet and make it “home”. The one I still dare
not take for granted.
Tonight, my friends are meeting up at
TC’s (Thursday’s Ladies Night). They’ll talk about Tindr Boys, New
Boyfriends, Weight Loss, The Big M coming up this December, What
Happened To Those Other Girls From LSR? and hopefully about Grumpy Me
Sitting Far Far Away in Goa who’s missing them so fucking bad.
I feel so far far away from home.