A trip down memory lane

The 16^th of December, 2012. December- my favourite time of the year. As I write this, I am in Bangalore- the city that taught me to fall in love with the spirit of December. I am on the bus to Mangalore. As the bus halts for some time, I have decided to use this time to pen down my thoughts while they are still fresh.

I spent 2 days in Bangalore- the rare break that I get for my own self. When I get back to college tomorrow, I know people will ask me how my trip was. They will expect me to say I had a ‘bash’. But how can I make them understand that I cannot see Bangalore from their perspective? That Bangalore to me is a city with a soul- and that it is to this soul that I connect. I look beyond the external glamour of the city. To me, it is a city that has enriched my life with the most vivid of sensory experiences. It is a city that has seen me grow…a city that has also grown. We share these stories of growth…and we reminisce the common past we have. It is a bittersweet feeling to be here- a heartache at the separation and an ecstacy at the reunion. The city beckons to me. It is tragic to be a stranger to a city that nurtured me…that was part of the most crucial years of my life…that houses my most cherished memories. That I own nothing at all in this city hurts. This city still echoes with the carefree laughter of my childhood and with the silent sensuousness of my adolescence. I perceive my father, mother and brother here- a lot more than I perceive them elsewhere. Perhaps because we were an intact family in Bangalore. After Bangalore, we all went our separate ways. My brother settled abroad and I moved out too. My parents moved to Kerala and then my dad finally passed away. I miss ‘us’ as a family. And here in Bangalore, I can still feel us as a family.

Bangalore was a beautiful city to grow up in. The 90s were magical years that raised us with sensitivity and care. Intellectual growth was not at the cost of emotional growth. To watch this city now is to watch its entire journey of growth- its evolution into a piece of beauty.

On Saturday morning, when I hopped off the bus at Indiranagar, it was only 6 am. It was still foggy and the lazy rays of the sun failed to cut through the fog. It was as cold outside as it was in the air conditioning of the bus. But I loved this cold- I hugged it and realized just how much I missed it in Mangalore. At first, it was a strange feeling. I couldn’t sense any familiarity to this place. But in the half hour that I waited for ‘I’ to arrive, I gradually seemed to identify with my surroundings. As the city slowly picked up pace, I saw in it traces of what I had always seen- a city with a huge working population…people busy and preoccupied with thoughts of the day ahead….a slowly brewing rhythm that picked up pace. Most importantly, the anonymity that is common to metropolitan cities across the world- I absolutely cherish this anonymity. The beauty of a metro is that it offers every individual a niche- a niche that very much belongs to the individual, and yet identifies with the core spirit of the metro. It is a world which represents the sum total of multiple different worlds, all of which retain their individuality and yet contribute to the overall picture of the metro- endowing it with a beauty that one can’t find in small towns, no matter how developed they may be from an economic point of view. As I relished the freedom of anonymity, I also noticed the conspicuous lack of ‘overdressing’. In small towns, people seem to take pride in being overdressed all the time. People dress conspicuously and also inappropriate to the occasion. It is not only distracting, but it also gives away the lack of refinement in their mentality. As the minutes ticked, I paced up and down, taking in the sights and sounds with fervour…letting them overpower my senses. I took off my hairclip and cherished the freedom to let my hair loose without worrying about the sticky and grimy feeling one gets in Mangalore. When ‘I’ arrived finally, she was apologetic for the wait. But for me, it had been magical- like having savoured freshly brewed coffee.

I am at ease with I’s kids. It has always been easier for me to relate to kids and to men. I somehow do not understand the mindset of the conventional Indian woman and I fail to contribute much to conversations with them. I think most men never really completely outgrow their childhood while most women just shed their childhood with adolescence. Of course, there are exceptions…and a good many. But with the conventional Indian woman (beneath all that external coating of modernity), I am an utter failure. In fact, one reason I forcefully took this break was to get away from this category of women and to allow myself to feel normal.

It was relaxing to converse with I (I admire her for her sensibilities and skills at adapting to different environments) and the kids were sheer entertainment. They made me laugh and they made me feel and think. They have so much creativity in them and I am glad I encourages their creativity and doesn’t kill it like a good many parents unknowingly do. I always take kids seriously- there is so much to appreciate in their thought process, imagination and behaviour. These kids were rather empathetic too. In my mind, I thanked them for the endless positive energy they were flooding into me. We talked and we played games. With kids, I lose my social phobias. I am game for any learning, adventure or new experience. I do not feel conscious for they do not judge. I can be myself. And it is heavenly to get rid of the ‘conscious’- to completely forget your own self and plunge into everything around. This is how you discover yourself…and you discover your passions.

This time, I took the bus to navigate the city. I did not want to take short cuts and quick rides; I wanted to take familiar routes and feel the city at my own pace. I clung to every bit of familiarity that came my way. Individual places had changed tremendously, and yet, beneath all that crust, there were still things you could connect to. I saw the metro pass by at various points. Back in the 90s, I could not have imagined this. But now, it was easy to take it as part of the growth process of a city which is one of the fastest growing cities in Asia. I looked at the sky- it was the same as ever. I managed a bit of shopping at the old and familiar alleys of commercial street- it is amazing how you can still find some exquisite trinkets here- that is, if you have an eye for beauty.

In the evening, I took me to this IT park with a lavish spread of food joints and a stretch of well-maintained lawns and fountains that were a feast to the eyes. The ambience reminded me Canary Wharf back in London (save for the mosquitoes that feasted on my legs!).

It was not difficult to sleep that night because I was exhausted from the day and the journey. But at 4 am, a stuffed nose woke me up. As I lay awake, I saw the skyline of this city- the shimmering lights which twinkled at me as I looked out through the window. The question that popped up in my mind at that time was one that had been at the back of my mind all along- would I look forward to returning back to this place? Is this home? Is this where I belong? Well, being the nomad that I am, I know that I would be happiest gallivanting around the world. But it is true that I would love a base here in Bangalore- a little place that I can come back to…a little place where I can always go back to emotions that I will never feel in real life yet again. Emotions that are now the property of the past. A place where I can always feel dad, mom and Sudeep.

This trip has transformed me- transformed me back to what I truly am. It has instilled in me the confidence to be myself…to detach from my current environment…to feel part of the larger world that I always belonged to…and to look at the current environment only as a passing phase in life. I hope I sustain this spirit till the end of my course. Also, I plan to make a trip yet again in 2013 where I intend to visit some of the places that I am intensely nostalgic about (Anand has promised me pictures). I wish to write from those memories and add that piece to the autobiography I am compiling at snail’s pace.