I am on the run, the highway is my home.....

A friend's post on shifting cities and changing home was food for thought for me. Home for me has always been Kolkata. But being a "fauji wife" meant I was always on the move with my household in trunks (torongo,I heard it after ages) and memories in my head and the increasing number of the photo albums in our kitty. Home was transferable , temporary and transient. I have no complaints , cos it was fun - this feeling of settling in making a home out of a lived-in house giving it my own touch - there was something exciting in that gypsy life - till Bhaskar gave up his job and we came back to Kolkata.
The problem with Kolkata was that I never had a "house" of my own - dividing my time between my parent's and my in laws house I realized I do not belong anywhere. I still had my room at Mainak - my drawer full of nostalgia, a room with a view - that overlooked the eastern horizon of the city in the mornings and I could count the stars at night, yet it wasn't mine really . And I really hated the house at Garia - with it's teeming people and unfamiliar bed and sharing the washroom with others, literally depressed me in those initial years. Though eventually I did settle down in Garia, made a home out of the ground floor of the house, yet I am never there in my heart.
In Kochi , I stay in a "Purple House"( according to Abhishikta ) with a balcony overlooking a patch of verdant green that is my temporary home. Then in Bangkok there is the Condo at Soi 29 amid the hustle bustle of food festival everyday - and that is my home. A vagabond at heart and a gypsy in my head......

So what is home ? Sitting with my cup of coffee over a bread and toast breakfast and chit chatting leisurely with Bhaskar is home for me ( it's rare - usually there is the invariable argument over whatever). Chatting late night sprawling over the carpet and laughing over the inane with Chibu is home for me. Propping my feet up and watching a film with Baba and sharing the latest gossip is home for me.
With two out of the three missing, home is a lonely place at times - coffee. cookie and continuous rain. At times it is a sanctuary that takes me out of the places laden with memories that's like a chronic ache.
Till I find my equilibrium again , it's " I'm on the run , the highway is my home .........." And as long as possible Amen to that!

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A holiday with self :)

A long overdue blog about the path that I was seeking , or did the path seek me out ? Over the years the sheen of belief was wearing off and I was beginning to question the master about the magic - about faith becoming commercial, about what Bhaskar stated, "This is all about money". Packing my bags off and going solo isn't very uncommon in my life, but this time I was not on work per se. Checking-in into the Ashram, was on my bucket-list for ever-since, and it was an amazing experience. Despite the crowd, the ambiance just reverberated with a mix of reverence, energy , faith, hope, prayer - and questions too ! Like I mentioned before meditation was not about spiritual pyrotechnics, but a metaphor connected to life. Like the corner I chose had a vantage view of the stage and despite a stench that started emanating from the corner, I just could not leave that place, for the view that corner offered got me stuck there. Life is like that, we are often stuck in the rut , ...

Morning bells are ringing ......

Heidi lived in Alps with her Alms uncle - I read this story in a book that was called The Big Big Story Book and it had a compilation of amazing stories that were my first foray into the world of English story books. Recently on a long flight I watched the movie much to delight of the young steward who was our attendant that night. My first glimpse of the Alps was from our flight ...the dawn breaking to spread the orange hues over the snowy terrain...looked mesmerizing even to someone who is not too fond of the mountains. Switzerland was beautiful, with its manicured terrain and flowers like pretty maids all in a row, picture perfect setting and breathtaking, like a touch me not porcelain beauty. Coming from my "elo melo" city I wondered how people managed to keep a country so organized , I have trouble keeping my room in ship shape...... No, I would not like to live there ......it's too distant and too cold ,but what I will carry in my heart is the awesome time .......

The road may be narrow and dark

This write up came back with a note of regret – for not being able to make to the next round in the competition, to the editor's table. Well, this is the first time I competed , that is if I do not count the House Competition essay writing, where I came second after Champa. Actually I do not why I took part – chance, curiosity or plain gambling …..because writing for me has always been a catharsis – an expression that I can share …..So no regrets , really! The road may be narrow and dark…….. It was 1983 and life with Baba always veered on the unexpected and the adventurous. Like that road trip from Kolkata to Delhi via Agra. We had this faithful Ambassador that took us on this journey with Baba at the helm and our cleaner Kalipada as his first assistant. I was the official navigator and Giri uncle, my father’s friend, in charge of our ummm, let’s say security, since me and my cousin Dimpi, both all of 18, needed an escort , officially. Baba always liked the un-tr...

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