Going Home
Raghav called up a few
days before Christmas. “I’ve got some great news!”
“You’re getting married?”
“Well, not that great.”
“You’re promoted?”
“No, Mandakini.”
“What’s the great big
explosive news then?”
“You’re getting to see me
again! I’m coming home for Christmas.”
“For how long?”
“Nine days. I’m getting
there on Christmas day and I shall stay all the way till the Sunday after New
Year. Isn’t that great? We can spend New Year’s eve together!”
“I won’t be here.”
“What? Why?”
“I did tell you that I was
going to my mom’s for the New Year.”
“Oh. How long are you
staying?”
“I’m back on the 3rd.”
“When are you leaving,
then? Will I see you before you go?”
“No, I’m leaving on
Saturday.”
“This Saturday? The day after tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“But why didn’t you tell
me?”
“I distinctly remember telling you that I was going home for the New
Year. If you choose not to remember, that’s your problem, not mine.”
“Calm down,” said Mandakini.
“Whatever you do, he mustn’t find out you’re jealous of Sonali.”
“I’m not jealous of Sonali! I’m upset because my best friend doesn’t
seem to care about me!”
“Miki, honey, is
everything all right?” asked Raghav.
I took a deep breath.
“Yeah, Raghav, everything’s fine. I was just annoyed you didn’t remember, that’s
all. And I’m at work, so I’m a bit preoccupied. Can we talk later?”
“Sure. Shall I call you
later tonight?”
“I don’t know when I’ll
get home. I need to wrap up my project before I leave on vacation, so I am
going to be busy today and tomorrow. And I haven’t packed for my vacation
either. I’ll call you back if I can tomorrow, else I’ll call you on Saturday,
all right?
“Okay. Will you have time on
Saturday? You’re going home…”
“Yeah, but I should be
able to call you from the airport or something. Sorry I can’t talk now.”
“No problem, babes. You
have fun at home, all right?”
I was going home.
I wasn’t sure what ‘home’
was any more. It had been nearly six years since I had moved out of my mother’s
house. I had lived in Guwahati for three years, doing my graduation. Then I had
lived in Delhi for nearly two years, getting a management degree. And now I was
in Gurgaon, living alone. This was my home, I liked to say to myself, this was
the home I had made for myself. I would never go back.
And yet, I thought of
Diphu, and of my mom, and I could smell the cool fresh air. In a way, that
would always be home.
I worked till late on
Friday night, wrapping up my project to my – and Nilanjana’s satisfaction. I
had kept packing for that night, for my flight was at noon on Saturday, so I sat
up most of the rest of the night packing, and wishing I had Divya to help or at
least to give me company while I worked. I slept a few hours and got up with a
headache that two cups of strong tea weren’t able to kill. Then the cab that I
had booked to take me to the airport reached late, after I spent twenty frantic
minutes calling up the cab company and trying to get them to locate the cab.
I kept my fingers crossed
all the way to the airport, looking impatiently at my watch each time we
stopped at a traffic light. On top of it all, my mom kept calling and asking
where I was, making me even more nervous.
I got to the airport and
stood impatiently in queue to get my boarding pass. It seemed that all of Delhi
and most of Gurgaon was travelling today: the airport was as crowded as a mela.
When I finally made my way through security check I learned that my flight
was an hour late.
I called up Ma to tell her
I had made it, and then looked for food. I hadn’t had anything since dinner and
was ravenous. I met another queue at the food stall. When I finished my
sandwich and coffee and got up to throw away the paper plate and cup, my flight
was announced.
I had to stand in another
long and extremely slow-moving queue, and by the time I boarded the flight I
felt as cranky as an old un-greased iron door.
It was only after I
settled down and took out my cellphone to switch it off that I remembered I
hadn’t called Raghav.
My flight to Guwahati was
through Bagdogra. I didn’t even know where Bagdogra was – I had a vague feeling
it was somewhere in West Bengal.
I had a window seat, and was
extremely lucky in that the seat next to me was empty, even though the aircraft
seemed full otherwise. The middle-aged man on the aisle seat making no move to
corner the middle seat, I put my handbag in it, and even put down the armrest
and put my feet up while the seatbelt sign was turned off. I dozed off
comfortably.
I awoke when the plane was
descending into Bagdogra. I looked out of the window and saw wonderful swirls
of mist and cloud. We went down, down, and a verdant undulating land rose up to
meet us. In my half-awake state, it seemed like I had taken a detour into
fairyland.
But this magical descent
cleared up my mood. We halted in Bagdogra for an hour, and I wished I could get
down and sample what looked like delicious weather – misty and breezy.
By the time the plane took
off again, it was growing dark and there were lights twinkling through the
mist.
“I wish I could stay on
here,” said Mandakini. “This looks like fairyland. Like there will be no
problems there, and no heartbreak.”
“That’s impossible,” said
Miki, but she too wished it was true.
1 comment:
The home one grows up will always remain "Home".
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