Thursday, August 02, 2007

Everyday is an endless stream of cigarettes an empty dreams...

Dearly Beloved,
We have not been at home for a while. We have not been anywhere for a while, excet in office and/or in a stupor. We are alive, but only just so. There are parts of us which are irredeemably lost, but these being such minor inconveniences, the heart and such like, we do not regret the loss. At least not noticeably so. What we do regret is Leaving Home.
Home, which was a flat in Jadavpur, Kolkata. Small but beautifully done-up and always comforting. Home, which was a rather over-sized university campus, just across the road. With a pan-wallah who always took out two of my Special brand when he saw me crossing the road in the morning, ten minutes late for my first class. With a jheel, and corridors I'd practically slept on and certainly eaten off. With people (and dogs) I won't even talk about because I'd rather not start crying at this moment and I feel I'm well on my way already.
Home, which was, and will always be Kolkata.
I've lost count of the number of times any and all of these homes have made me clutch my head and tear my hair in despair. I've loved them and hated them. With equal fervour. And the reason I know Delhi will nver be home is becase Delhi leaves me cold. And this has nothing to do with the near-Arctic temperatures of my office. It's the place, the people...they're bleeargh. Someday I'll tell you horror stories of this place. For now let me resort to cliches. Home is where the heart is, or so they say. At this moment, my heart is fourteen hundred and sixty one kilometres away.

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