I have been really missing home, my ma, thinking a lot about my dad and that warm kiss he gave me on my forehead right before I left them standing outside the Mumbai airport- it was so full of love and affection, and I am really thinking a lot about my recent visit home, about India. I just feel a deep sense of panic when I realize no matter what, I just cannot see my parents right now. Like, right this moment, it just won’t happen. I feel physically anxious. My heart skips a beat and I feel a sense of doom. While I have always been more of an independent person, an open proclaimer of how I do like being on my own and home-sickness has never been a raging issue, I do have these intense moments and I do miss my parents you know!
It is not this or that. It is both. I relish living here because it is quiet, comfortable to blend in, it is neat and beautiful, it gives you your personal space and it makes you feel like an adult. But there are moments of deep emptiness, mechanical and shallow everyday routines without any semblance of personal warmth and there are times when the same independence and distance you crave, become the loneliness you really do not want. At those times, no amount of material comfort, wonderfully crafted little knick-knacks that claim to do everything for you without you having to move so much as a finger, can fill those gaps.
I think that is what ‘your own culture’ thing is. This is what it is I think. That belonging to your own culture must be the feeling that you get when you ache for family, familiarity and the past while surrounded by virtually everything that man can conceive of.
I wish I could be more cheery and merry and visibly happy. I am not unhappy, I am not ecstatic but I find expressing my happiness very flamboyantly a difficult job. I enjoy that strange air of sadness around me. Not everybody will get it and I think at 31 I have learned better than to expect this anymore.