Home
My young journalist friend, Rohini, writes:
hmm… As it happens, it was just today, a few hours ago, and again now, as I read her entry, that I find myself at home with the fact that there is no closure, ever. It's been a month now since I left the campus, which, when I used the expression 'home' in the past four years, was what I referred to. And I say campus, not hostels (or halls as they called them there) or rooms. Sometimes it was the streets, sometimes my room, a friend's room, an institute building, corridors, a foyer, an auditorium, an eatery… And now I return to where my family resides, a house where I have never really lived, had a room, or spent more than a few weeks (We moved in here shortly before my admission). And in a big city with roads (not streets) that don't care about me, and ask me to watch my way, and before setting step, to look at the time of the day (I bite back by not caring about them either). Now I have an office too, though I am not required to attend more than once a week. And there are a few other establishments I work with, some in other cities as well, and they all have their buildings, and associated lodgings, and friends with flats, which I may go and occupy, if I so please.
And so I move, from having a few buildings and many a homes, to lots of buildings, and no home.
There was a sense of disorientation. There was nausea. There were dust allergies. Unlike the previous times, this time, the shift was going to be a permanent one. We would no longer be returning to 11/4 Konark Nagar as our home after the holidays. A different address would have to be given to the autowalla at the airport in Vimannagar, Pune, when we'd go back in July to begin the last year of collegeRead the complete entry at Shifting.
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From the moment I gave up my keys to our home, what would now have to be called a 'house' I once lived in, I knew it was closure. Things you want to stay permanent never do quite stay that way, do they?
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The cartons were all packed. The suitcases ready to be taken back home. Home. Wasn't this a home away from home? Was Calcutta home because the immediate family stayed there? Were my flat mates with whom I shared 2/3rds of my year under the same roof not immediate family too? They were. They are. I ought to feel happy that I have so many homes. But the memories with each are too starkly different, making it a discomfort more than a consolation. The difference only lies in the familiarity. And in the face of the person you turn to when you wake up...
hmm… As it happens, it was just today, a few hours ago, and again now, as I read her entry, that I find myself at home with the fact that there is no closure, ever. It's been a month now since I left the campus, which, when I used the expression 'home' in the past four years, was what I referred to. And I say campus, not hostels (or halls as they called them there) or rooms. Sometimes it was the streets, sometimes my room, a friend's room, an institute building, corridors, a foyer, an auditorium, an eatery… And now I return to where my family resides, a house where I have never really lived, had a room, or spent more than a few weeks (We moved in here shortly before my admission). And in a big city with roads (not streets) that don't care about me, and ask me to watch my way, and before setting step, to look at the time of the day (I bite back by not caring about them either). Now I have an office too, though I am not required to attend more than once a week. And there are a few other establishments I work with, some in other cities as well, and they all have their buildings, and associated lodgings, and friends with flats, which I may go and occupy, if I so please.
And so I move, from having a few buildings and many a homes, to lots of buildings, and no home.
Labels: Me
posted by Stewie @ 6/13/2011 01:07:00 AM
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