It’s the dawn of August 06, 2007. I will leave home shortly, for a long time. I don’t even know if I will ever return, if I could ever sit on my chair watch the rain outside from glass walls. I have spent so much time in this room. In fact there were so many times I complained about it and now when I am to leave it, I feel that we are inseparable. Me and my room, two blocks of wood that were glued together that when separated, will have bits of one in the other. So in a sense the room symbolized my existence. It gave me all the support that I needed without any complains. I was staring at the wooden wardrobe that tirelessly held the products of my retail therapy. The table that has been the witness of changing computer technology in my room, the chair, which always knew if I was overweight. The French Press, which unstintingly made my caffeine shots. The white mug, I don’t know if I can ever hold it. The bookshelf that witnessed my growing up from reading alphabets to “Competing for the Future”. That chest of drawers, containing the dust gathered letters written by friends whose presence eased my life for fifteen years. I opened the drawer, opened an envelope, I travelled my entire life in a minute. Is it too late? The suitcases are packed, the plane leaves in three hours. What am I leaving for? I am living my life in pursuit of a dream.
The clock struck 6:30 A.M. I am to leave. I looked back once more. I saw Avi with his white mug drinking coffee staring at the rain, and scribbling on his notebook. He looked at me, with a patronizing smile and went back to watching the rains. I left my room, left the building. It was all sunny. There was no sign of rain. I looked up at the windows of my room. Seemed it was raining inside.
I am in the waiting lounge in Bangkok Airport now. Have to wait for thirteen hours for the next flight. Lets sketch. I took out my book, and three pencils. But I could not sketch. As if I never could. Its been twenty six years, and I am drawing like someone who held the pencil for the first time…What am I?
4 comments:
every change has a melancholy attached to it, and every return its nostalgia.. u need to go through the melancholy to find out the spirit of home coming.. to find out the meaning of your travel you will return.. but just a few roads more walked, so walk the roads now.. they will lead u home
It happens ... when we get used to something, be it anything, we start taking it as for granted. Its very much human. And when ultimately the time comes, when the change that we desire wait for us ... then a very strange feeling haunts the mind and truly speaking an incomprehensive pain generates within. It makes us feel down ... and all of sudden the regular things, which we might have ignored so very much, seems to be so special ... and confusion reigns supreme. Its really a hard moment ... the future calls us, and the past pulls us back.
Anyways, home is home ... and even all the wealth of the world cannot compensate the absence of it. Wherever u go, whatever u do ... u cant ignore the call of your soil ... and if u still remains deaf to it ... u will be the loser.
Its for the first time I am writing comment on anything ... dont know how u take it ... but thats what I genuinely feel. Take care, feel the happiness,... it resides nowhere, but within u ... just feel it.
Afterall, our ome is where our heart is..
and as the old saying goes...
"Time is the best healer"
So..the first gives you the perfect explanantion, and the second gives you the way to future dear buddy
hi avi,
that was beautifully written....esp where u wrote "it seemed to be raining inside". but hey, the great thing is that ur room and the windows, the coffee mug and the chair, r all waiting patiently for u.....get ur stuff over wid here...and rush to where ur heart is....
Post a Comment