I sighed. 8 hours left, 8 long hours.
I was restless, excited and had absolutely no concentration on the BGS class (despite the CP* carrot). I had no worries in my mind, at least none that could not wait. The world was sunny, bright, blooming with the spring flowers and inviting in general. I was full of love even for my most detestable adversary, for, in my mind’s larger picture, the cause for such hatred was, at that point of time, as insignificant as having one button missing in an over-buttoned shirt.
As the hours trickled past, my excitement grew further. I had to explain to every single soul I met on the way back from the class to the mess the reason for my glee. Everyone seemed happy for me, or that is all I wanted to believe in.
In the next few hours, I packed and re-packed my bag several times. Did I pack the charger? Did I take my iPod? Does the ticket state the right date and time? Millions of such important (now innocuous) questions were running through my mind as I tried to keep it clear and concentrate on the clock instead. If at all there was any way I could, being the fighter I am, I would have willed the clock to hit 9 p.m. then and there. However, the art of waiting could be a beautiful thing too, I deluded myself into believing.
And, then, the magical hour arrived, when I could finally hail down the auto rickshaw and head towards the railway station. Had I known Eric Cartman then, I would have said, loud and clear, “Screw you guys, am going home.”
This was 4 years ago, when I was still new to the concept of being away from home. Having just then joined B school, I had grown home sick in less than 2 weeks, and in much rush, had booked tickets back home for the weekend.
As I look back at this incident today, I do not have answers to whether I acted overtly silly. Perhaps yes, perhaps all those people who seemed happy for me were actually making fun of my dimwitted behavior. Or, perhaps, it was very natural to actually want to feel like going home.
I tried searching for such a desire a few days back and found myself in want of the emotion. Then did I realize that I miss missing home. I can only hear logic such as ‘Home is where the heart is’, ‘That which has your people in it is home after all’ in my mind the minute I start thinking of home. Net result, I have no strong urge to go to that place I called home for more than a decade.
I am waiting, this time with no eyes on the clock, but with all eyes on my heart, for that train, which would urge me to take it back home and hoping that it would just be a very beautiful wait.
I was restless, excited and had absolutely no concentration on the BGS class (despite the CP* carrot). I had no worries in my mind, at least none that could not wait. The world was sunny, bright, blooming with the spring flowers and inviting in general. I was full of love even for my most detestable adversary, for, in my mind’s larger picture, the cause for such hatred was, at that point of time, as insignificant as having one button missing in an over-buttoned shirt.
As the hours trickled past, my excitement grew further. I had to explain to every single soul I met on the way back from the class to the mess the reason for my glee. Everyone seemed happy for me, or that is all I wanted to believe in.
In the next few hours, I packed and re-packed my bag several times. Did I pack the charger? Did I take my iPod? Does the ticket state the right date and time? Millions of such important (now innocuous) questions were running through my mind as I tried to keep it clear and concentrate on the clock instead. If at all there was any way I could, being the fighter I am, I would have willed the clock to hit 9 p.m. then and there. However, the art of waiting could be a beautiful thing too, I deluded myself into believing.
And, then, the magical hour arrived, when I could finally hail down the auto rickshaw and head towards the railway station. Had I known Eric Cartman then, I would have said, loud and clear, “Screw you guys, am going home.”
This was 4 years ago, when I was still new to the concept of being away from home. Having just then joined B school, I had grown home sick in less than 2 weeks, and in much rush, had booked tickets back home for the weekend.
As I look back at this incident today, I do not have answers to whether I acted overtly silly. Perhaps yes, perhaps all those people who seemed happy for me were actually making fun of my dimwitted behavior. Or, perhaps, it was very natural to actually want to feel like going home.
I tried searching for such a desire a few days back and found myself in want of the emotion. Then did I realize that I miss missing home. I can only hear logic such as ‘Home is where the heart is’, ‘That which has your people in it is home after all’ in my mind the minute I start thinking of home. Net result, I have no strong urge to go to that place I called home for more than a decade.
I am waiting, this time with no eyes on the clock, but with all eyes on my heart, for that train, which would urge me to take it back home and hoping that it would just be a very beautiful wait.
* CP - Class Participation, carrot - marks for participating in class
7 comments:
awesome post kavi. i could relate to everyline of it.
but surprisingly ( or rather unsurprisingly ) , i never changed. i was the same throughout my entire 2 year stint in bangalore. every alternate friday is a no-work day for me cos i always sit over-exited at office dreaming about my chennai trip that night..
i missed all those awesome fridays when i came back to chennai mainly because i never had anything to look forward to .. everything changed after another year when i got married.. these days i start dreaming n beaming with joy everytime i plan a trip to "my house" . i plan home trips for days together even though i visit them only for a couple of hours.
U should be in one city to know or wait for the exact train you would love to take home :P
The idea that you'll be in a different city every other day and you might as well get an opportunity to go home anyday on such a travel has made u lose the enthu i suppose....
Your home shd be just that - and nothing else. For you, home has also become the city you worked for almost a year and didnt like it too much. Maybe that?
Home is where the stomach is... Home cooked mom's food
@ Priya: Thanks :) Glad to know that you still have been able to retain that emotion. Planning a trip to your house - so cute :)
@ Archu: I too thought about that. Yeah, perhaps, the ease of accessibility has made me not think about missing home. But, I doubt whether that is the only reason.
@ Shreya: No, actually, the feeling started waning down slowly after a few months in IIMB. By the end of second year, it was at the zeroth level. Also, perhaps I have got too much of a taste of "home" during those 10 months I spent there. Maybe, a good break like not going back for a year or two would help me miss it.
@ Vinay: Glutton :) But, I do agree.
Just re-visit this post after you are married :) You will long for the "home where you grew up"... memories come flooding - even if because of contrasts. No two "homes" can ever be the same - even if you have lived in them.
@Deepa: Let's see.. long way to that if and when that happens :D
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