Home

Even before the train has pulled into the platform, im waiting at the door, my luggage ready, ipod wired in and sleep forgotten. The sky is still dark and the earth is heavy with the scent of rain, washing out all the muck and grime, cleansing the air and making new the day. The loudspeaker is blaring but the only sound I hear is the sound of birds chirping nearby, preparing to greet the day. And even as I walk the world’s longest platform with a suitcase in tow and a bag that’s stuffed to the brim, I barely notice it. A coolie offers assistance but I wave him aside, carrying my considerable luggage up the overhead bridge myself. As I get down on the other side, cab drivers come up and I follow the closest one to the white ambassador that has served loyally for over fifteen years. I don’t even haggle over the price with him, dying to get home. The baggage is shoved into the boot and I hop in, praying that the railway gate remains open till we get past. It is. Soon, we enter the campus and the gateman pulls the car over to ask my destination. I tell him and we proceed. As we drive past the main gate, I cannot hope but admire the sight of a still night, devoid of people and vehicles. Tikka approaches and pangs of nostalgia hit me as I remember the times we used to spend there after tennis/badminton, sipping away on a dew, sweating like pigs. The main road has been remade and not a pothole is anywhere to be seen. I tell the cabbie my route and settle back to gaze out of the window again.

Pretty soon, the car stops in front of my house. Dada’s room is the only one where the lights are on, and I see Dad working away at the computer. Quickly, I unload my luggage and pay the driver. As I open the gate, the front door opens and my father comes out. I wonder if it’s just me or has he got a little fatter. The general issues orders pertaining to the disposal of my laundry in the washing machine and instructs me to go take a bath. But first, I look around the house as I do invariably every time I come home. It’s gotten a makeover recently and im still getting used to the sight of the blue walls and lighting. I enter my room put down my backpack and flop into the bean bag. God that feels good. I notice the towel Ma puts out for me so I don’t need to rummage about. It’s blue, like my room. After a couple of minutes, dad prods me awake and forces me to go take a bath as I am “Stinking like a pigsty”. Oh well so much for deo. After the needful is done, I boot my laptop, check facebook and start downloading a couple of movies. Somewhere in between, I fall asleep.

It’s ten thirty when I wake up. I yawn, stretch and then go to the bathroom to brush and shave(yes mom, don’t act surprised). The rest of the day is spent in watching movies, unpacking and eating. Home cooked food at last. Lunch is much the same as always, except for the lobsters(be jealous, brother). The afternoon I sleep away, waiting eagerly for the evening to come. At five o clock, I make my way to TATA Steel, to play soccer. A skinned knee, sore legs and bruised ribs later, I make my way home but not before a dew at tikka. It is at times like this that I remember Tarun, Gaurav and the gang. I wonder what they’re doing. I go home, shower, and go out to tech market to buy whatever it is that ma wants me to. A 2l dew finds its place in my list. Think of it as a tip. After delivering the goods, I roam around the entire campus. I stop at my old school, smiling now and then as I remember some of the incidents that happened there. An owl sweeps past overhead, its feathers brushing the sky like a piece of velvet against the night. I go past the morgue, the hospital, and eventually reach the gymkhana. It too is being renovated and I take a moment to stop and look at it. Hot summer days, the swish of rackets, the sound of a shuttle being smashed to and forth come unbidden into my mind. Nothing was impossible back then, no game was too hard, no opponent unbeatable. What a time it was. With some difficulty, I start the engine and purr past it. I take the long way home, filled with happiness and contention. I go by the Vikramshila, the new complexes and finally stop at the gate. Ma asks where ive been and I tell her I was out smoking. She looks at me with one eyebrow raised and doesn’t even retaliate. I accept defeat and sit down to dinner. KFC, yummy! A chicken bucket does not last long as I chomp through it with speed a tiger would be proud of. Half an hour later, my stomach punishes me and I beat a hasty and highly undignified retreat to the bathroom where they say, you can find nirvana at times. After the meditation, I go to the bedroom and make fun of ma. She seldom retaliates, choosing to laugh more often. At eleven, I go outside and stare around at the raw beauty of this isolated little worldlet, right in the middle of nowhere and I wonder, maybe this is what happyness feels like. The birds call out to each other; a lone cyclist makes his way past, silhouetted against the street lamps, and the wind runs its fingers through my hair I breathe in deeply, seeing the campus as I did not see it in the eighteen years of my life here. The smell of wet grass in the air, tranquillity everywhere, memories of times gone by and oh, Kgp!

It is almost three am as I write this. My eyelids are almost shut, weary with sleep and exhaustion but I don’t want to sleep. I want to stay awake and see this place in all it’s beauty. For everytime I come home, it gets just a little harder to say goodbye.