Of all the things I miss, the feeling of belongingness is what I miss the most. You know, that calmness which comes with stability, of knowing that you are home. The city where I write from was once a major part of my growing up. But it seems different nowadays, almost unfamiliar. Perhaps it is the price we have paid for growing up, or maybe it is the hidden sadness of an ex-lover whom we have left without saying goodbye..
Yet, on days like today when the rain-soaked city presents itself in all its glory, I am reminded of the long-lost days of my childhood and growing up. Those pre-Durga puja visits to New Market and the mandatory doi chaat in front of Treasure Island afterwards. The sudden rush of excitement when the bus would go past Eden Gardens and its wall of fame. When Howrah bridge seemed like a far-away place, accessible only during the yearly puja vacation to some far-away destination on the most coveted Rajdhani Express. When lovers and friends spent hours chatting at Maidan, new and old friendships blossomed at New Market roadside jewellery stores, Grand Hotel ogled at in the hope of catching a glimpse of the favourite cricketer or film star. Memories are weird, they take you back to places and people and make you melancholic when you least expect to.
Strangely, on days like these, that feeling of belongingness returns. Perhaps for a moment, or a lifetime, who knows. It also brings along the realisation that, amidst all the new cities and infinite house shiftings, home is only one.
