I paid a visit to my old home. It was such a surreal feeling to step into the dust, the honeyed light filtering through the window panes, inhaling the slightly musty smell made me feel extremely nostalgic. This is probably the longest that I have stayed away from this home.
Can we ever give names to the homes we dwell in over the years? I always harbored this dream of naming the homes I would live in the future. They first began with Gulmohar as my love for the tree exceeds my natural admiration for it, then came Russian names I had read in Tolstoy books, years later I became more fascinated with regional trees. Every song I heard crooning ballads about a longing for home would make me want to feel the same. When I went on trips for more than a week, I would miss this home. Every house, street, public spaces would remind me of my hometown. Yet I haven't truly ventured out for long.
Yesterday, it felt just different to be back. The bookshelves, the overflowing consoles with books, cabinets with all the trinkets, felt drastically different. As if I had woken up from a dream after a long sleep. When I opened the wardrobe I was surprised to see the shelves with all the clothes neatly folded and with a faint smell of being unused for long. I had forgotten my clothes, the many drawers in the wardrobe holding up my art supplies, folders, little things that I made space for in them. I opened the refrigerator to find an almost new jar of Nutella chocolate spread, cherries in a bag, a half eaten foil wrapped chocolate wafer, the ice crystals covering the freezer. Suddenly felt like I had discovered a whole new world again. I laughed on my discoveries and walked throughout the house remembering the feel of being there. The warm flooring and humid air outside reminded me of summers spent here, lounging on the living room sofa reading my favorite magazines and books. I had this flash of sitting in a corner and writing in my diary aloof from the entire household.
Can staying away really make someone so nostalgic? Maybe its the same for people who leave away from their homelands in different countries and cities, cherishing these moments from their memories and clinging to every single emotion that connects them back. Such longing for a place left me bereft of energy. When it was time to leave, I couldn't wait to lock up the house again and yet while descending the long staircase, my heart felt heavy and once again, the pangs for being there came up. The familiar streets held the same longings for my eyes. My mind kept fluttering back to the street that led to my friend's house. She no longer stays there too having moved a couple of years ago and yet I remembered myself with her walking those lanes, eating ice cream by the small dairy in the corner and the little dark library at the end of the road leading up to her house. I was not just nostalgic for my own home but hers too since it was my second home. Throughout our growing teenage years and during college, all weekends, Saturday evenings and Sunday afternoons were spent at her home. Luncheons and home movies with the sun setting by in the terrace are my favorite memories. I miss you Livi, I miss us and I do miss these homes we dwelt in.
December also brings special memories. Last month of the year, with the uncharacteristic little chill in evenings and morning mists with gaajar halwa make me want to go back in time. Through this blog, in a way I am. I wish time passed more slowly and let me inhale and sleep in its wake. Alas! If only wishes came true, then I would wish for some fairy dust to weave its magic and take me back to those halcyon days of my childhood.
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