It is not that I have forgotten but rather I just don’t know what to make of it.
On this day, nice round ten years ago, I walked through the double doors of my home in India towards the air-sealed doors of an airplane towards the United States of America. Destiny back then was only a couple of oceans and 8000 miles away. It is perhaps poetic that I mark this day on the same day my country gained its independence.
Nothing is straightforward any more. I am now only 4000 miles away, in a country that I am currently calling home. There isn’t any indication of the Indian Independence day here. Except the fact, I am smiling more explicitly at the other Indian colleagues in my office. I pondered dressing up in Indian colors and wished I could have saluted the tri color before flying on the German Autobahn. On days like me, my Indian-ness overflows. It creeps in my thoughts, in my pauses and in my wanderings.
It has always been a poignant day this. Knowing what I know now, would I have made the same decision ten years ago? So much has changed, over this decade, that I myself can’t see the bigger picture. On days like today, I am attacked by random memories so vivid, that I feel exhausted defending them.
I remember the way the Sun shone on a window sill in Nashik and how my mom had to re arrange the items on that sill so that they dried quickly. The heat would be intense but our floors would remain cold. My room had just enough space to fit a table but no chair. I would end up sitting on bed without a back rest. The advantage, though, was that I could always fall back when they the
differential equations would get annoying enough. The cupboards above were far too high to be
reached without a ladder. Opening them would reveal old damp comic books, non utilized utensils and a G.I.J.O.E command center that my brother had helped build out of our green Washing machine packing material. The smell of dampness was weirdly metallic. Softer evenings were full of friends eating unhealthy snacks on a road full of other equally clueless teenagers. Playing pool on worn out tables and smoky joints, followed by milky sweet coffee.
differential equations would get annoying enough. The cupboards above were far too high to be
reached without a ladder. Opening them would reveal old damp comic books, non utilized utensils and a G.I.J.O.E command center that my brother had helped build out of our green Washing machine packing material. The smell of dampness was weirdly metallic. Softer evenings were full of friends eating unhealthy snacks on a road full of other equally clueless teenagers. Playing pool on worn out tables and smoky joints, followed by milky sweet coffee.
I have left all that behind. Romanticized it for a few years and then held on the good bits. I am doing the same with the country I just left behind, but strangely the sharpness of the memories is fading. The overall picture is much clearer, my personality as a whole is more defined and my social sphere of influence is now a mixture of identities, languages, customs and beer games but the melodrama is lot mellower.
It has been a decade since I have been on this pursuit of happiness. Every once in a while I receive
bits and pieces of that pie. But, each time I look back at my point of origin, I realized my pursuit
started from happiness itself. There really isn’t any destination that will bring it but rather the journey will help maintain it.
bits and pieces of that pie. But, each time I look back at my point of origin, I realized my pursuit
started from happiness itself. There really isn’t any destination that will bring it but rather the journey will help maintain it.
And these anniversaries are just periodic milestones, to reflect dedicatedly on the bread crumbs I lay scattered over oceans, continents, countries, states, cities, streets and postal codes.
