Leaving the nest
There is something that happens to you when you finish packing that last slipper in your suitcase. There is something that beckons you to prolong your needless shirt packing exercise. As the Google calendar tells you that you have 1 day for your shift to Hyderabad, there is that feeling that tells you to just egg on , just hold on, which tells you to hold on to time itself and not let go, but alas it flows, and takes you by the cuffs and drags you on to something that promises to be a better tomorrow, but you are not sure, unless you bask in the warmth of the eventual fate that you are destined for.
The last time you mention the address that you grew up in while ordering that same Biryani with aloo, for home delivery, the last time you spell out your address to the unassuming voice on the other side of the packeted gateway, the last time you say, C for Calcutta and G for Goa, while describing the CG Block in your home address, that last time you say that, it crushes you, it crumbles you to the bone, that this might be the last time in a while you will be describing your “home” address that way.
The room that has welcomed you for the entirety of your existence, the cold water in the fridge, the speakers of your TV, the willow of you Cricket bat, the seat of your cycle, the CPU of your computer,the willowy smell of your wooden almirah, the dust on your books, the charger on the wall, the regulator on the switchboard, the Batman Wallpaper on your wall to even first signature that you tried on the wall of your room. All of them, beckons you to challenge the advent of time itself and slow down your eventual departure.
Your grandmother’s presence and strength, which can tide you through every eventual challenge that you might face.
Your mother’s morning tea and her incredible devotion and love for you, your dad’s apparently crazy , but actually brilliant ideas, and his impulsive yet beautiful nature, your uncle’s humor and dependability and confidence boosting demeanor which always charged your batteries, your friend in an aunt who had no qualms of discussing any topic under the sun no matter how uncomfortable that might make outsiders feel, your uncle’s buying of Diwali crackers and sneaking into Aliah for the Paratha with mutton stew, the occasional phuchka and being one of your closest confidants and your aunt’s earth shattering laughter, which has fallen silent in the last few minutes.
Your two sisters who redefine what it means to be loved, and what it means to be unconditionally trusted. From the Pokemon to the tennis practise, from the Hindi serial to the blissful smile, which could fill your heart with joy, accompanied with the slightly peppered shouting matches. Your two year old brother, who in his childlike smile and grin will make you cry like a baby to be leaving in the middle of the night.
The grandparents of yours who live in another house, who have banked not only their dreams , but also their aspirations on you and who you have not called nearly enough as you should have or have not visited as much as you should have, still have not only high regards , but also high hopes from you. The “mashi” and “chotu” who you don’t meet as much you should have met, peg their hopes on you, wishing you in those late night WhatsApp messages.
To that uncle who took you to your tuitions when your mother was scared that you might not be able to deal financially with the auto wallah, to the woman whose cooking defines your entire life, to that woman who even in the most difficult of times would always have a cup of tea ready if only you asked for it.
As i stand on the verge of leaving the house that i have always known to be mine , i am haunted by the fact that my friend who was always up for a walk whenever you rang him up, might not be logistically able to do that anymore, and its maybe because of you. You start to cry when you think about the friends that you will most definitely miss, the school which has seen the 12 formative years of your life, the college which saw your development and those walls will hopefully remember you, as that is the one thing we strive for, as we might not always grace the covers of magazines or sidewalks, but what we can grace and what we should grace are the living memories of the human mind.
Yes, i cried like a baby while writing this, but wouldn’t you do the same?