Return/Come Back

I stood under the sputtering, air-locked shower head of the DDA flat, scrubbing off the grease of Dilli.

I left this place, without a trace, five months ago. Five months ago, I packed my life into a few boxes for the ninth time in nine years. And I left. I had left this diary unfinished, without putting up that final full-stop, and somehow this crazy city wouldn't allow me to have the final word. I had to go back, and I did.

To welcome me it seems, Dilli opened up it's skies, and cried hysterically. So much so that my irritated taxi driver almost made me get out of the car into the road, which had become a river, but then decided to take pity on me and take me to my destination after some begging and pleading. Phew. Dilli, you had begun to show your face again. I looked out of my window and saw school children, getting drenched in their uniforms, and in no particularly hurry heading back to their bastis (slums), where their mothers were probably waiting with their hands on their hips, cursing them for getting themselves that wet.

It was a strange, crazy and exciting trip back. I sipped tea and talked about my career with an old colleague, watched a way-past-his-prime Amartya Sen release another book about India and it's unequal growth and guzzled down some cheap white wine in an oasis in the middle of the bright lights of Gurgaon. I fought with three taxi drivers, a few auto drivers (who knew the auto rates had gone up!) and visited my old work desk. I wandered around Defence Colony market, past huge SUVs and girls in tiny shorts swinging in and out of the new frozen yoghurt shop. All in all, a highly productive expedition.

And as I contemplated returning maybe for Round Two, I began to realise that maybe I couldn't do it again. Dilli's hard exterior had broken me down many times over the past two years, and being cocooned away has made me softer.

I've thought so much about what makes a place home for me. Though at times Dilli mesmerised me with its beauty and its strangeness, it wasn't enough. I need the love, warmth and laughter of people. I need the feeling of being cherished, of having relationships that mean something, of enjoying the physical space where I live. 

And as the plane descended down through the white cloudy mountains in the sky, touching down in Chennai, I realised that I've missed being home, having a home, being surrounded by love, comfort and safety. I'm almost too afraid to leave now. But though I've been healthy, taking care of my emotional and physical well-being; I'm still on the lookout for my next move. After all, I have a mole on the bottom of my foot. Someone once told me that means I'll never stop moving, I'll never stop going on journeys.