From the desk of an idle mind lazing around at home on a Sunday afternoon…
My trips to home, in recent years, have typically become short ones lasting for a week or less, mostly because—a) I no longer feel good in the steamy, humid climate this place is gradually having with time. Basically, I have become a dry-weather person. Thanks to Hyderabad and Delhi/NCR. b) my marriage is a much bigger issue in my father’s life than global warming is for the world. The former is impending but who will stop the latter? Global warming is for real, guys!
However, these trips, as much shorter as they have become, make me feel more sad than happy. Sad because of the irrevocable difference between the two lives I have—one in the place I work and stay, and one at my home. Note: Home is where my parents are. Period.
With more sadness, there’s more modesty in my conscience of the humble beginning I have had. The surrounding and the by-lanes of my growing years are still the same, the shops have become less attractive, the houses have had been whitewashed every alternate year, and the means have slightly improved. I sense so much disconnect wondering what I can do to fill the void. What can I do to bring some change to this place?
The people in my place have aged but are subsisting their lives as if nothing has changed. In me, I feel the world has rotated 180 degrees. There’s so much happening outside but my place, or for that matter Bengal, is like a retired uncle who doesn’t care beyond his armchair, morning newspaper, and his piping hot cup of Darjeeling tea. Sunday afternoon’s maangsho bhaat is what his weekly goal is.
I feel grateful, thankful, and all of those that my parents were kind enough to let me do whatever I wanted—to move out, study, work, stay in different cities, be with people from diverse cultures, and so on. What if they hadn’t? What if I had to spend all my life in my hometown? I would have not learnt anything beyond what’s needed in my regular life. I would not have known so many people I know now because of staying and working at several places. I would have been like one of my local acquaintances, unaware of how fast time is ticking. We have so less time and so much to do. Or I would have known all these and still ignored. How does it matter anyway until we have a roof to stay under and two square meals a day?
I wish I could take each of them and show them around like I have experienced everything till now. But I have a feeling they wouldn’t have liked that. They are happy with what they have. Perhaps I am not happy with what I have and I am always wanting for more. Of course, they don’t care about swanky roads, high-end malls, plush restaurants, and a jet setter’s life. Those are not part of their scheme of things—those are temporary and superficial. For them, their home and its comfort, local amenities however minimal they are, year-round festivals, and most importantly, doing everything with their whole family together matter more. They are rooted, while I have become a nomad who is looking out for a better life.
Moments to Stories 