Been there. Done that. Alright, shorty! Good for you. But you've lived like a king (or queen, of course. I don't wanna die!) only at the place you call home. And, fortunately enough, I have one too. And there's no place like it! Not in this world, for sure.
It's not that I've realized this fact suddenly, out of the blue because of some divine intervention or just like that. It's just that my recent trip to my place reinforced this fact so much, so well and so deep that I can't help but write about it for no darn reason. I had already done, like, a six trillion dolalrs worth of shopping in the last month itself and had traveled a bit and now it was time to go home. You know, the real home. And here's how it went. Hold your breath...
The occasion was...damn, I don't need no occasion to go to my native place, but, still...that my younger sister will be getting married in a few months and she was also coming home along with the even younger one. The whole family was gonna be together after quite some time, which in itself is a reason to celebrate. Plus I don't go home very frequently so my parents were really excited. How really? Really, really! This is - for the most part - not only comprehensible, but, desirable as well. Cuz you know, I'm the son! (Believe me, I've seen, no, known, parents who just hate to be with their kids. And to be honest, knowing their kids as well, I can tell you that it isn't their fault to literally hate being with their kids. Some people spread happiness wherever they go. Some people spread happiness whenever they go. That's how the world works.) Now, it is okay to expect your parents and old friends to wait for you to be with them anxiously. Your parents love you and your old friends want to get drunk with you for, you know, old times sake. But, how do you explain when your mom tells you that your neighbours and relatives are anxiously waiting for you as well. Well, I can. The reason is that every single family in my vicinity runs an unlicensed marriage bureau and I, they think and make me feel, am the most eligible bachelor in the city. 'Nuff said.
The Indian Railways
So, I'm ready to board the Indian Railways from Pune once again. Second class sleeper. Some people never learn, right? Yeah, they don't. And that's what makes this world funny. I'm honoured to be contributing positively to the Gross Happiness Index (?) of the planet. I repeat, as I often do: If you don't have the balls to hold your breath for half an hour or so, you shouldn't be boarding the Indian Railways. Also applies to people with breathing ailments like asthma. Trust me, you poor asthmatic passenger, you have a better chance at surviving the trip if you can hold your breath instead of trusting your inhaler. It's a Friday evening and I start from office early (The best way I've figured out to leave office early is to do so on Fridays when you have a bus, or a train to catch) and reach the railway station. Another reason I like to travel on Fridays is because a lot of girls like it too. Don't we all like a lot of things just because girls like them too?! Well, you can mock me as much as you want, but, I'm a proud feminist! Women are ruling the third major rock from the Sun and you better keep the Queen happy! ;-)
Not too much time for departure and the train is there on platform no. 1. The first thing I do is find my seat and adjust my luggage. The seat no. is 6, which means I'm one of those sitting closest to the toilets. Yes, The Indian Railways' toilets. Oops! And the second thing I do is to look at the passenger list sticking beside one of the doors. Not to make sure if I'm on the list, but, to check out who else is there. Ms of any age don't interest me at all unless there's an F of a reasonably acceptable age sitting beside them. But, that's for later. For now I mentally make a note of all the F-16s to F29s mentioned on the reservation list so that I'll walk past their seats and check them out when my back starts paining sitting on the rock hard seats. Not much luck in there. Two F-14s, an F-18 [a cute, animated smiley] and an F-33. Well, lets revise. I don't want to travel among the hottest possible angels every single time, but, what's the deal with so many M30 to M45s. Okay, now I get it. I'm sitting in the Pune-Patna Express and all the Patna residents are going back to their respective native places too. Alright, dear God! By now, I've accepted that I'm not your favourite creation, but, don't you have an obligation to at least bring my stress level down a bit on a day in which I fixed two production bugs and convinced the QA people about the invalidity of another, gave a 2 rupee coin to a beggar who tipped-off another beggar that I'm giving money and told a girl with the cutest possible voice over a phone call that I wasn't looking for a job change right now irrespective of the size of the company with the opportunity to spoil my life in??? (The bug was not going to be marked invalid and I was the one to fix it, the 2nd beggar kept standing 3 inches away from me demanding her and her little kid's fair share of the national GDP for, like, 15-20 minutes and the company I didn't even consider going to is...kinda...really, really big.) They say LUCK is Labour Under Correct Knowledge, but, the "Knowledge" part is something that makes me come back to square one every single time.
I frown, curse my very existence and sit near the toilets. All of the people sitting in my compartment - and there were, like, a million of them - had Patna written all over their foreheads, their accents, their topics of discussions and the uninteresting looking snacks they make with murmura and peanuts. It takes me 20 minutes to reach my luggage under my seat and get the book I packed ever so cleverly so that I could take it out to read while traveling just in case I don't get a chance to talk to interesting and/or cute fellow travelers. The book is The Motorcycle Diaries by Che Guevara, the Argentine - and later Cuban - revolutionary about his travel adventures. (No, I don't think of him as a terrorist, as one of my friends does. But, that's a topic of another discussion. Most people I've met with his picture on their T-shits think he's some musician. It's funny because it offends people with left-leaning thinking like me and we think of such people as typical right-wing morons. At least I do.) Awesome, awesome travel diary. I read it for another hour and I'm in another world. The overwhelming crap smell doesn't bother me anymore...
Ninety minutes of an out-of-body experience later the dust starts settling, my back starts paining, the crap smell becomes unbearable and the local anecdotes from Bihar become much more interesting (I assume that with the increasing sound levels of laughter they draw) than just a revolutionary's travel account of an amazing journey through Latin America in the 50s on a bike. I stand up and start walking with the book in hand in search of the mysterious F-18. The reservation chart said she must be sittin' just a few compartments away and my mind adds 'all alone, with a graceful smile on her face, her hair flying in all directions because of the wind coming in through the window just for her' to the railways' reservation chart description. She doesn't turn out to be what I imagined (honestly, prayed for, begged for), but, considering others I'm traveling with, who doesn't like to look at a babe during a journey, however fat, dusky (dark?) and out of proportion she is?! Time to come back, reclaim your all important upper berth and sleep! No, dinner isn't an option. After all, I've booked seat no. 6 in Pune-Patna express and 90% of taste is smell. ZZZZZzzzzzz.......
It's 7 in the morning now and the residents of the ultimate destination of this train have started babbling again. This time it is about making this country a developed one and why the first woman Prime Minister of our country was [an expletive even I can't write here]. Always good to wake up to knowledge flying through the ears. You know, in the morning we are more receptive and learn easily. I lie down for about 15-20 minutes (yes, that's how long I take to actually get up after waking up), I think I've had enough knowledge to be able to get into any Ivy League B-school. I get up, put my shoes on (which for the most part is the only difference between my night clothing and the day one on weekends) and head towards the source of the foul smell that initiated my waking-up process. Take a crap in the so-called western-style toilets (frankly, I couldn't believe the railway guys could put western-style toilets in Pune-Patna Express, but, they did and that was the reason I found one not being used) and wash my hands with toothpaste. Yes, toothpaste. I forgot to purchase a shampoo sachet before boarding, which acts as a soap for me during train journeys; easy to use, available everywhere and smells good enough to forget the typical railways crap fragrance experience I have to go through for 15 minutes prior to using the shampoo. Then I brush my teeth with the same toothpaste and no matter how much you ask I'm not going to tell you about the process used to separate the toothpaste for use in two entirely unrelated tasks generally carried out one after the other on most days. My plan is to patent the process and earn money every time someone uses it while traveling the Indian Railways.
There's no place like home...
I decide to take a morning walk to measure the length of the train, which turns out to be not-too-much. My ever-optimistic internal self tells me there are beautiful faces to be seen in this not-long-enough mechanical caterpillar. I see almost none and come back waiting for the journey to end. It's almost 11 now and we must be reaching in a few minutes. To pass time I start smiling to my fellow travelers over their not-so-funny comments on the news stories they're reading from some Hindi newspaper they just purchased. After 3 minutes the bubble bursts and it becomes unmanageable to decide whether to smile or frown as I'm, by now, being bombarded with loud stories from 4 different news-readers, all reading different pages of the same newspaper in our compartment. I take another walk. Damn, I'm becoming impatient. However much I try to be normal, I always become impatient and over-excited to be home and the last half an hour is like a day.
Here it is! That's my city. Jabalpur.Wo-hooo!!! I'm home. This is the Madanmahal station and is closer to my home than the other one, but, doesn't have an official stop. The train slows down to a seemingly manageable speed and I jump. With the weight of my luggage and that of my own I've put on for the last 1 year, I lose my balance. After a second or two and tumbling once or twice on the platform I hear cries. "Oh my God!" "Is he okay!" "Pagal hai!" "Marega ek din!" I stand up, dust myself off and don't pay any attention to anyone on the platform. The hardest part is not to have any expressions on my face to show that I'm actually feeling a concussion growing on the back of my head and it's paining like hell.
Out of the railway station and it's a different world every time I come here. Small city, established among plateaus, nice, easy climate, and lots and lots of places to visit. But, it's my home I'm longing for. Now, just because it's your city doesn't mean you own it. 3 dozen cycle and auto rickshaw owners around me, asking me, no, telling me to board their vehicle. I brag to a cycle rickshaw-driver that I'm from the city and I even know all the turns and speed-breakers and I am able to convince him to take me home for just 20 bucks, which was actually - I'll later be told - too much and "I've become stupid after living in big cities for a long time."
As much as you want to spend more and more time with your girlfriends and boyfriends, there's nothing that is remotely as inexplicably touching as a long and silent hug from your mom. Most of my neighbours are out of their houses. I can't remember I've ever seen so many genuinely happy faces together outside my neighbourhood. At least not because of me. I'm a Rock-star!!! There's no place like home...
Now, it has been an unwritten rule in my family for the last 2 decades, the first thing my mom asks me is "Kya khayega?" There's no place like home... I remind her I had told her that I'd have palak paneer when I talked to her while in the train. Turns out the question was asked just as a continuation of the tradition and palak-paneer is ready. I only have to take a bath and be at the dinner table. I don't take a bath and no one insists me to have one. After all I'm the son. My dad is the sweetest and the humblest possible dad ever. Doesn't speak much, but, just loves to see me by his side. But, it's an unofficial mother's day today and I'll be lying down on my mom's lap talking do dad about the well-being of all my relatives on his side, making my mom jealous and she's the one feeding me from her hands. Best mom ever! Best palak-paneer ever! There's no place like home...
The whole of the day is spent sweet-talking what my life's been since the last time I've been here and my epic trip to Hyderabad and trash talking all that bad has happened here ever since. Dad's into politics and is a centrist. I'm into politics too and am a left-of-centre guy. Big, long discussions. He always lets me win. Best dad ever! There's no place like home...
My sister is to come at 9:30 in the evening and I go to bring her home from the railway station. Hellos, hugs and we're out of the station on her TVS Scooty pep. I had sold my bike a few weeks back. And its moments like that one that make you regret the cool and smart decisions you thought you've made when you've made them. Jabalpur cantonment is the best maintained area of the city and is between our place and the railway station. Ummm...the smell of the city, the cool, familiar breeze and the sight of the same people at the traffic signal, gas stations, ATMs and all...people we've never-ever talked to, even while using their service, but, their sight feels comfortable, familiar, my own... There's no place like home...
Bear hugs, even heavier delicacies in dinner, stories, good-nights and we sleep. The next day is the one we have virtually nothing to do and spend all of it wandering around, washing clothes, disagreeing with everyone on everything and telling friends I'm there. I also met two new neighbour families who seem to have understood very well the rule of our neighbourhood that I'm a celebrity there and treat me like one. Hot, steamy food with awesome smell caressing my nostrils arrives at dinner time from 4 neighbours. Hell, I am a celebrity! My sister's furious as I'm a spoiled brat and in my presence she's not taken care of, but, seems to have made peace with destiny. She's a celebrity in her would-be in-laws' home and I've made peace with destiny as well. There's no place like home...
Have to wake up at 4 in the morning to bring the 2nd sister home from railway station. And THIS is the reason why most trains are not on time. Brothers who have to wake up so early to go to railway stations pray for the trains to be late. But, as all of you know, I have a love/hate relationship with God and he seldom listens to me, if at all. Mom is already awake at 3:30 and the loudspeaker calls to the Indian Railways Inquiry Service wakes me up as well. The train's on time, but, my sister's cell phone seems to have run out of power. I reach on time and find my sister easily. We reach home and some more bear hugs, ginger tea and 60 minutes of story-telling later everyone screams "poha-jalebi?!" almost simultaneously. The only way to describe it is: Divine! There's no place like home...
It's almost shopping O'clock and we're mobilized as if some country has attacked India. The ladies board a rickshaw and I'm with my dad on the Scooty pep. As we're about to take off, Vibhu comes. He'sone of my best friends and is almost as awesome as Barney Stinson. He's on his sister's Scooty pep and offers to come with us at the shopping store. When we reach, the first thing my mom senses is a conspiracy. She says Vibhu has come so we can skip selecting clothes and go wander like idiots around the city. I reply that now that she understands, I don't have to make stupid excuses. We take an off on his Scooty pep in, like, 20 seconds as if some country has attacked India. I listen to his story of how he was tricked by the barber into spending 500 bucks when he kept saying "yes" to every procedure he was suggested. Stupid is as stupid does. We go the Kingsway bar (and restaurant) and order Bacardi white rum, you know, for old time's sake and revise our epic story of "Beer Charh Gayi." More on the story some other time. I, being the nice, family guy that I am, order mocktails. Not because can't drink alcohol, but, because it is forbidden for me. No, it's not my mom. And you know who it is. Plus this place serves the best mocktails available. Who says you can't have fun without alcohol! Plus...they also serve the best sizzlers possible. And I. Am. A Foodie. And the rest is history.
We come back to find no one at the store and come back home. Vibhu lives 200 metres from my place and drops me outside my house. I start spreading mouth-freshener in my mouth to all corners shown in toothpaste and toothbrush advertisements and walk to the door. Locked. I call my sister and she tells me they're at some other sari store in the same area. I walk to Vibhu's for his vehicle to go to the other store. When I reach I meet his parents and they have a couple their age as guests. I ignore the guests. Uncle calls Vibhu, who's upstairs, but, we can listen to him talking on his cellphone, the 4th he's purchased in the last 6 months. Me to his mom: "आंटी लड़का हाथ से निकलता जा रहा है. बहुत बात करने लगा है फ़ोन पर. कोई फ़ोन वोन गुमे नहीं है उसके. वो सब लड़कियों को दे देता है और आप लोगों को बोलता है की गुम गए. अब इसकी शादी करा दो नहीं तो बात हाथ से निकल न जाये..." She cuts me short: "हाँ इसीलिए तो आये हैं ये अंकल आंटी लोग. जा ना तू ऊपर चला जा...वही है विभु." OH. MY. GOD. I just screwed his chances to actually get married... Lets go upstairs. I tell his sister what just happened while he's still talking on his phone and she found it difficult to laugh without making the uncles and aunts listen to it. Ten minutes go by and I get nothing to eat and Vibhu's sister and I conclude that I've actually done my job. I will later come to know what I've done was a good thing as it was easy to guess what the girl would look like by looking at the DNA she'd have inherited. I spare no one I encounter from laughing their [you know what] off by telling them this story. I inadvertently screwed and saved my best friend's life just by being myself. How many people get to live a life like this one?! There's no place like home...
The next day is spent in shopping for yet more clothes and jewelery. I have a say in everything, being the unofficial head of the family, and what I find good is purchased. While we're home we watch a few episodes of Lost I brought in USB drives to give the series even more fans and fanatics. Then the next day we select the decoration, place arrangement and other things of the banquet hall we've selected for the wedding. I get to meet a few engineering students whose parents think I'm Bill Gates or something and send their kids to me for advice every time I'm there. I advise them to do what they want, enjoy life and study well (it's so easy being a mentor, isn't it?!). We make a list of the people to invite in the celebration and, as expected, have disagreements over who to invite and who to leave out. But, you know what, I have the final say in every single thing. Whoever I select is on the list. By the end of the day the old routine again becomes normal. Meeting old friends, having disagreements in everything, slacking, planning to tell mom that the first chapati's going to be the last as I'm already full (because I have to eat, at least, 5 or 6 more after I say it's my last), making fun of TV serials my mom watches, pillow fighting with sisters, clicking their pictures when they're not looking their best and laughing over them showing it to everyone and all... There's no place like home...
We get up again the next day for yet more shopping and eating out. I make fun of the shop named Rinkle Garments (who'd name a clothing store with a name rhyming with wrinkle?) and the photos of Karan Johar and Angad Bedi on a shop and Raymond's showroom respectively. By now I've forgotten each and everything about the world outside my own city and am just too satisfied where I am... Free... Together... Alive... Lively...
But, everything ends... And so does this trip. It's time for me to go back to where my livelihood is...leaving the place where my life is... The best way to love something is to realize it might be lost. And here I am...re-living every moment of that week by writing my mind out...missing each of the moments I lived completely...cherishing each of the disagreements we had for no darn reason...looking at each of the funny pictures I took of everyone and everything around...laughing over how I almost screwed-up my best friend's life... But, wait a minute, where are all the pictures of the girls I must have been shown by my parents, relative and neighbours??? Oh, man! That excitement of meeting me was genuine and not because they had to show me pictures of girls they want me to marry?! Oh, man!!! There's no place like home...
It's not that I've realized this fact suddenly, out of the blue because of some divine intervention or just like that. It's just that my recent trip to my place reinforced this fact so much, so well and so deep that I can't help but write about it for no darn reason. I had already done, like, a six trillion dolalrs worth of shopping in the last month itself and had traveled a bit and now it was time to go home. You know, the real home. And here's how it went. Hold your breath...
The occasion was...damn, I don't need no occasion to go to my native place, but, still...that my younger sister will be getting married in a few months and she was also coming home along with the even younger one. The whole family was gonna be together after quite some time, which in itself is a reason to celebrate. Plus I don't go home very frequently so my parents were really excited. How really? Really, really! This is - for the most part - not only comprehensible, but, desirable as well. Cuz you know, I'm the son! (Believe me, I've seen, no, known, parents who just hate to be with their kids. And to be honest, knowing their kids as well, I can tell you that it isn't their fault to literally hate being with their kids. Some people spread happiness wherever they go. Some people spread happiness whenever they go. That's how the world works.) Now, it is okay to expect your parents and old friends to wait for you to be with them anxiously. Your parents love you and your old friends want to get drunk with you for, you know, old times sake. But, how do you explain when your mom tells you that your neighbours and relatives are anxiously waiting for you as well. Well, I can. The reason is that every single family in my vicinity runs an unlicensed marriage bureau and I, they think and make me feel, am the most eligible bachelor in the city. 'Nuff said.
The Indian Railways
So, I'm ready to board the Indian Railways from Pune once again. Second class sleeper. Some people never learn, right? Yeah, they don't. And that's what makes this world funny. I'm honoured to be contributing positively to the Gross Happiness Index (?) of the planet. I repeat, as I often do: If you don't have the balls to hold your breath for half an hour or so, you shouldn't be boarding the Indian Railways. Also applies to people with breathing ailments like asthma. Trust me, you poor asthmatic passenger, you have a better chance at surviving the trip if you can hold your breath instead of trusting your inhaler. It's a Friday evening and I start from office early (The best way I've figured out to leave office early is to do so on Fridays when you have a bus, or a train to catch) and reach the railway station. Another reason I like to travel on Fridays is because a lot of girls like it too. Don't we all like a lot of things just because girls like them too?! Well, you can mock me as much as you want, but, I'm a proud feminist! Women are ruling the third major rock from the Sun and you better keep the Queen happy! ;-)
Not too much time for departure and the train is there on platform no. 1. The first thing I do is find my seat and adjust my luggage. The seat no. is 6, which means I'm one of those sitting closest to the toilets. Yes, The Indian Railways' toilets. Oops! And the second thing I do is to look at the passenger list sticking beside one of the doors. Not to make sure if I'm on the list, but, to check out who else is there. Ms of any age don't interest me at all unless there's an F of a reasonably acceptable age sitting beside them. But, that's for later. For now I mentally make a note of all the F-16s to F29s mentioned on the reservation list so that I'll walk past their seats and check them out when my back starts paining sitting on the rock hard seats. Not much luck in there. Two F-14s, an F-18 [a cute, animated smiley] and an F-33. Well, lets revise. I don't want to travel among the hottest possible angels every single time, but, what's the deal with so many M30 to M45s. Okay, now I get it. I'm sitting in the Pune-Patna Express and all the Patna residents are going back to their respective native places too. Alright, dear God! By now, I've accepted that I'm not your favourite creation, but, don't you have an obligation to at least bring my stress level down a bit on a day in which I fixed two production bugs and convinced the QA people about the invalidity of another, gave a 2 rupee coin to a beggar who tipped-off another beggar that I'm giving money and told a girl with the cutest possible voice over a phone call that I wasn't looking for a job change right now irrespective of the size of the company with the opportunity to spoil my life in??? (The bug was not going to be marked invalid and I was the one to fix it, the 2nd beggar kept standing 3 inches away from me demanding her and her little kid's fair share of the national GDP for, like, 15-20 minutes and the company I didn't even consider going to is...kinda...really, really big.) They say LUCK is Labour Under Correct Knowledge, but, the "Knowledge" part is something that makes me come back to square one every single time.
I frown, curse my very existence and sit near the toilets. All of the people sitting in my compartment - and there were, like, a million of them - had Patna written all over their foreheads, their accents, their topics of discussions and the uninteresting looking snacks they make with murmura and peanuts. It takes me 20 minutes to reach my luggage under my seat and get the book I packed ever so cleverly so that I could take it out to read while traveling just in case I don't get a chance to talk to interesting and/or cute fellow travelers. The book is The Motorcycle Diaries by Che Guevara, the Argentine - and later Cuban - revolutionary about his travel adventures. (No, I don't think of him as a terrorist, as one of my friends does. But, that's a topic of another discussion. Most people I've met with his picture on their T-shits think he's some musician. It's funny because it offends people with left-leaning thinking like me and we think of such people as typical right-wing morons. At least I do.) Awesome, awesome travel diary. I read it for another hour and I'm in another world. The overwhelming crap smell doesn't bother me anymore...
Ninety minutes of an out-of-body experience later the dust starts settling, my back starts paining, the crap smell becomes unbearable and the local anecdotes from Bihar become much more interesting (I assume that with the increasing sound levels of laughter they draw) than just a revolutionary's travel account of an amazing journey through Latin America in the 50s on a bike. I stand up and start walking with the book in hand in search of the mysterious F-18. The reservation chart said she must be sittin' just a few compartments away and my mind adds 'all alone, with a graceful smile on her face, her hair flying in all directions because of the wind coming in through the window just for her' to the railways' reservation chart description. She doesn't turn out to be what I imagined (honestly, prayed for, begged for), but, considering others I'm traveling with, who doesn't like to look at a babe during a journey, however fat, dusky (dark?) and out of proportion she is?! Time to come back, reclaim your all important upper berth and sleep! No, dinner isn't an option. After all, I've booked seat no. 6 in Pune-Patna express and 90% of taste is smell. ZZZZZzzzzzz.......
It's 7 in the morning now and the residents of the ultimate destination of this train have started babbling again. This time it is about making this country a developed one and why the first woman Prime Minister of our country was [an expletive even I can't write here]. Always good to wake up to knowledge flying through the ears. You know, in the morning we are more receptive and learn easily. I lie down for about 15-20 minutes (yes, that's how long I take to actually get up after waking up), I think I've had enough knowledge to be able to get into any Ivy League B-school. I get up, put my shoes on (which for the most part is the only difference between my night clothing and the day one on weekends) and head towards the source of the foul smell that initiated my waking-up process. Take a crap in the so-called western-style toilets (frankly, I couldn't believe the railway guys could put western-style toilets in Pune-Patna Express, but, they did and that was the reason I found one not being used) and wash my hands with toothpaste. Yes, toothpaste. I forgot to purchase a shampoo sachet before boarding, which acts as a soap for me during train journeys; easy to use, available everywhere and smells good enough to forget the typical railways crap fragrance experience I have to go through for 15 minutes prior to using the shampoo. Then I brush my teeth with the same toothpaste and no matter how much you ask I'm not going to tell you about the process used to separate the toothpaste for use in two entirely unrelated tasks generally carried out one after the other on most days. My plan is to patent the process and earn money every time someone uses it while traveling the Indian Railways.
There's no place like home...
I decide to take a morning walk to measure the length of the train, which turns out to be not-too-much. My ever-optimistic internal self tells me there are beautiful faces to be seen in this not-long-enough mechanical caterpillar. I see almost none and come back waiting for the journey to end. It's almost 11 now and we must be reaching in a few minutes. To pass time I start smiling to my fellow travelers over their not-so-funny comments on the news stories they're reading from some Hindi newspaper they just purchased. After 3 minutes the bubble bursts and it becomes unmanageable to decide whether to smile or frown as I'm, by now, being bombarded with loud stories from 4 different news-readers, all reading different pages of the same newspaper in our compartment. I take another walk. Damn, I'm becoming impatient. However much I try to be normal, I always become impatient and over-excited to be home and the last half an hour is like a day.
Here it is! That's my city. Jabalpur.Wo-hooo!!! I'm home. This is the Madanmahal station and is closer to my home than the other one, but, doesn't have an official stop. The train slows down to a seemingly manageable speed and I jump. With the weight of my luggage and that of my own I've put on for the last 1 year, I lose my balance. After a second or two and tumbling once or twice on the platform I hear cries. "Oh my God!" "Is he okay!" "Pagal hai!" "Marega ek din!" I stand up, dust myself off and don't pay any attention to anyone on the platform. The hardest part is not to have any expressions on my face to show that I'm actually feeling a concussion growing on the back of my head and it's paining like hell.
Out of the railway station and it's a different world every time I come here. Small city, established among plateaus, nice, easy climate, and lots and lots of places to visit. But, it's my home I'm longing for. Now, just because it's your city doesn't mean you own it. 3 dozen cycle and auto rickshaw owners around me, asking me, no, telling me to board their vehicle. I brag to a cycle rickshaw-driver that I'm from the city and I even know all the turns and speed-breakers and I am able to convince him to take me home for just 20 bucks, which was actually - I'll later be told - too much and "I've become stupid after living in big cities for a long time."
As much as you want to spend more and more time with your girlfriends and boyfriends, there's nothing that is remotely as inexplicably touching as a long and silent hug from your mom. Most of my neighbours are out of their houses. I can't remember I've ever seen so many genuinely happy faces together outside my neighbourhood. At least not because of me. I'm a Rock-star!!! There's no place like home...
Now, it has been an unwritten rule in my family for the last 2 decades, the first thing my mom asks me is "Kya khayega?" There's no place like home... I remind her I had told her that I'd have palak paneer when I talked to her while in the train. Turns out the question was asked just as a continuation of the tradition and palak-paneer is ready. I only have to take a bath and be at the dinner table. I don't take a bath and no one insists me to have one. After all I'm the son. My dad is the sweetest and the humblest possible dad ever. Doesn't speak much, but, just loves to see me by his side. But, it's an unofficial mother's day today and I'll be lying down on my mom's lap talking do dad about the well-being of all my relatives on his side, making my mom jealous and she's the one feeding me from her hands. Best mom ever! Best palak-paneer ever! There's no place like home...
The whole of the day is spent sweet-talking what my life's been since the last time I've been here and my epic trip to Hyderabad and trash talking all that bad has happened here ever since. Dad's into politics and is a centrist. I'm into politics too and am a left-of-centre guy. Big, long discussions. He always lets me win. Best dad ever! There's no place like home...
My sister is to come at 9:30 in the evening and I go to bring her home from the railway station. Hellos, hugs and we're out of the station on her TVS Scooty pep. I had sold my bike a few weeks back. And its moments like that one that make you regret the cool and smart decisions you thought you've made when you've made them. Jabalpur cantonment is the best maintained area of the city and is between our place and the railway station. Ummm...the smell of the city, the cool, familiar breeze and the sight of the same people at the traffic signal, gas stations, ATMs and all...people we've never-ever talked to, even while using their service, but, their sight feels comfortable, familiar, my own... There's no place like home...
Bear hugs, even heavier delicacies in dinner, stories, good-nights and we sleep. The next day is the one we have virtually nothing to do and spend all of it wandering around, washing clothes, disagreeing with everyone on everything and telling friends I'm there. I also met two new neighbour families who seem to have understood very well the rule of our neighbourhood that I'm a celebrity there and treat me like one. Hot, steamy food with awesome smell caressing my nostrils arrives at dinner time from 4 neighbours. Hell, I am a celebrity! My sister's furious as I'm a spoiled brat and in my presence she's not taken care of, but, seems to have made peace with destiny. She's a celebrity in her would-be in-laws' home and I've made peace with destiny as well. There's no place like home...
Have to wake up at 4 in the morning to bring the 2nd sister home from railway station. And THIS is the reason why most trains are not on time. Brothers who have to wake up so early to go to railway stations pray for the trains to be late. But, as all of you know, I have a love/hate relationship with God and he seldom listens to me, if at all. Mom is already awake at 3:30 and the loudspeaker calls to the Indian Railways Inquiry Service wakes me up as well. The train's on time, but, my sister's cell phone seems to have run out of power. I reach on time and find my sister easily. We reach home and some more bear hugs, ginger tea and 60 minutes of story-telling later everyone screams "poha-jalebi?!" almost simultaneously. The only way to describe it is: Divine! There's no place like home...
It's almost shopping O'clock and we're mobilized as if some country has attacked India. The ladies board a rickshaw and I'm with my dad on the Scooty pep. As we're about to take off, Vibhu comes. He's
We come back to find no one at the store and come back home. Vibhu lives 200 metres from my place and drops me outside my house. I start spreading mouth-freshener in my mouth to all corners shown in toothpaste and toothbrush advertisements and walk to the door. Locked. I call my sister and she tells me they're at some other sari store in the same area. I walk to Vibhu's for his vehicle to go to the other store. When I reach I meet his parents and they have a couple their age as guests. I ignore the guests. Uncle calls Vibhu, who's upstairs, but, we can listen to him talking on his cellphone, the 4th he's purchased in the last 6 months. Me to his mom: "आंटी लड़का हाथ से निकलता जा रहा है. बहुत बात करने लगा है फ़ोन पर. कोई फ़ोन वोन गुमे नहीं है उसके. वो सब लड़कियों को दे देता है और आप लोगों को बोलता है की गुम गए. अब इसकी शादी करा दो नहीं तो बात हाथ से निकल न जाये..." She cuts me short: "हाँ इसीलिए तो आये हैं ये अंकल आंटी लोग. जा ना तू ऊपर चला जा...वही है विभु." OH. MY. GOD. I just screwed his chances to actually get married... Lets go upstairs. I tell his sister what just happened while he's still talking on his phone and she found it difficult to laugh without making the uncles and aunts listen to it. Ten minutes go by and I get nothing to eat and Vibhu's sister and I conclude that I've actually done my job. I will later come to know what I've done was a good thing as it was easy to guess what the girl would look like by looking at the DNA she'd have inherited. I spare no one I encounter from laughing their [you know what] off by telling them this story. I inadvertently screwed and saved my best friend's life just by being myself. How many people get to live a life like this one?! There's no place like home...
The next day is spent in shopping for yet more clothes and jewelery. I have a say in everything, being the unofficial head of the family, and what I find good is purchased. While we're home we watch a few episodes of Lost I brought in USB drives to give the series even more fans and fanatics. Then the next day we select the decoration, place arrangement and other things of the banquet hall we've selected for the wedding. I get to meet a few engineering students whose parents think I'm Bill Gates or something and send their kids to me for advice every time I'm there. I advise them to do what they want, enjoy life and study well (it's so easy being a mentor, isn't it?!). We make a list of the people to invite in the celebration and, as expected, have disagreements over who to invite and who to leave out. But, you know what, I have the final say in every single thing. Whoever I select is on the list. By the end of the day the old routine again becomes normal. Meeting old friends, having disagreements in everything, slacking, planning to tell mom that the first chapati's going to be the last as I'm already full (because I have to eat, at least, 5 or 6 more after I say it's my last), making fun of TV serials my mom watches, pillow fighting with sisters, clicking their pictures when they're not looking their best and laughing over them showing it to everyone and all... There's no place like home...
We get up again the next day for yet more shopping and eating out. I make fun of the shop named Rinkle Garments (who'd name a clothing store with a name rhyming with wrinkle?) and the photos of Karan Johar and Angad Bedi on a shop and Raymond's showroom respectively. By now I've forgotten each and everything about the world outside my own city and am just too satisfied where I am... Free... Together... Alive... Lively...
But, everything ends... And so does this trip. It's time for me to go back to where my livelihood is...leaving the place where my life is... The best way to love something is to realize it might be lost. And here I am...re-living every moment of that week by writing my mind out...missing each of the moments I lived completely...cherishing each of the disagreements we had for no darn reason...looking at each of the funny pictures I took of everyone and everything around...laughing over how I almost screwed-up my best friend's life... But, wait a minute, where are all the pictures of the girls I must have been shown by my parents, relative and neighbours??? Oh, man! That excitement of meeting me was genuine and not because they had to show me pictures of girls they want me to marry?! Oh, man!!! There's no place like home...
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