It has been a week, since home is Bangalore and not Boston.
The home that always was/is as compared to the home that happened.
The days, noons, evenings and nights spent in that part of the world are too precious to merely hold their memories in photographs and people. It demands to be written about. In every detail, every stranger, every feeble second and every learning that found its way to me.
As the day approached when I finally had to fly away, thousands of miles away, and how? Just the way I always like it; alone. There was a surreal feel of emotions- in all leaps and bounds of fear of the unknown and yet the curiosity of it all. Somewhere above the earth, the sea, the ocean, the food, the time-zones, the air pressure, the tragedy of middle berth, the envy of business class, the flight camera, the freedom that crept into me second by second, the zillion thoughts, the possibilities, the uncertainties accompanied me. As clueless and as mindful as I was.
The past few months, evaporated into a thin air of nothingness, and there was one word, echoing in my head, Thank you.
[Germany]
The first(s) have a certain magic associated with them.
This first European country with the first negative temperatures that I had experienced. In a split second of extremes, I fell in love, for it resonated incredibly with my choices. The tragedy of middle berth again. But peeping through the people to somehow catch a glimpse of the sky was inevitable. The sky, so dear to me, seemed like a whole new world in this part of the globe. The clear blue over the clouds, armies of them, like a gaseous diffuse, yet again, started the muse.
Several hours over different countries, time-zones and moments later, Boston, in the US of A.
Like some sort of agreement, Rain is what welcomed me to Boston. Likewise, rain is what welcomed me to Bangalore, 42 days later. All these theories about how a factor like the geographical location can radiate so much of a difference amazed me. How the skin tearing temperatures could give rise to magical marvels called snow.
The first snow. The magic from the most favorite place.
The lovers from around the world make me feel at home. Further more, it is those things that everyone writes about, conversations, laughter, smiles, cultures and hilarious stereotypes that we learn about.
Like a wonderful form of home sickness, or home remembrance, I fell head over heels in love with home, the home that always was/is. With its plethora of languages, people, music, complexity, chaos, comforts, discomforts and love. In a magnitude like no other, in that majestic library of absolute silence and history attached to it. In the grandeur of Harvard. That day, the word echoing in my head, Theera Ula [Unending wandering, in thoughts, experiences and people].
It seemed as though I was in a movie. With the fact of being in Harvard not sinking in. With the sparrows that compete against the coo-coo of the pedestrians crossing sound. The artist who was always engrossed in his work and who spread happiness through his music at Cambridge. The importance of something as simple as a Coffee, the Filter Coffee I mean. The fragile mind, the notorious mind, that wants both the unknown and the known. The extreme I was in the lukewarm, now turning into the lukewarm I was in the extreme, half way across the world. The things I never cherished, those that were looked at like a marvel in this part of the world. The dusk of the South, the
sun that was strong and the appetite that kept diminishing.
The first seven days, noons, evenings and nights were, in all its glory, an intense metaphor wrapped into these words-
If this is not going to be familiar, can it be whimsical instead?
© Deekshita
Celebrating the then of Boston, in the now of Bangalore.
20:23 pm, Bangalore.
10:53 am, Boston.
The home that always was/is as compared to the home that happened.
The days, noons, evenings and nights spent in that part of the world are too precious to merely hold their memories in photographs and people. It demands to be written about. In every detail, every stranger, every feeble second and every learning that found its way to me.
As the day approached when I finally had to fly away, thousands of miles away, and how? Just the way I always like it; alone. There was a surreal feel of emotions- in all leaps and bounds of fear of the unknown and yet the curiosity of it all. Somewhere above the earth, the sea, the ocean, the food, the time-zones, the air pressure, the tragedy of middle berth, the envy of business class, the flight camera, the freedom that crept into me second by second, the zillion thoughts, the possibilities, the uncertainties accompanied me. As clueless and as mindful as I was.
The past few months, evaporated into a thin air of nothingness, and there was one word, echoing in my head, Thank you.
[Germany]
The first(s) have a certain magic associated with them.
This first European country with the first negative temperatures that I had experienced. In a split second of extremes, I fell in love, for it resonated incredibly with my choices. The tragedy of middle berth again. But peeping through the people to somehow catch a glimpse of the sky was inevitable. The sky, so dear to me, seemed like a whole new world in this part of the globe. The clear blue over the clouds, armies of them, like a gaseous diffuse, yet again, started the muse.
Several hours over different countries, time-zones and moments later, Boston, in the US of A.
Like some sort of agreement, Rain is what welcomed me to Boston. Likewise, rain is what welcomed me to Bangalore, 42 days later. All these theories about how a factor like the geographical location can radiate so much of a difference amazed me. How the skin tearing temperatures could give rise to magical marvels called snow.
The first snow. The magic from the most favorite place.
The lovers from around the world make me feel at home. Further more, it is those things that everyone writes about, conversations, laughter, smiles, cultures and hilarious stereotypes that we learn about.
Like a wonderful form of home sickness, or home remembrance, I fell head over heels in love with home, the home that always was/is. With its plethora of languages, people, music, complexity, chaos, comforts, discomforts and love. In a magnitude like no other, in that majestic library of absolute silence and history attached to it. In the grandeur of Harvard. That day, the word echoing in my head, Theera Ula [Unending wandering, in thoughts, experiences and people].
It seemed as though I was in a movie. With the fact of being in Harvard not sinking in. With the sparrows that compete against the coo-coo of the pedestrians crossing sound. The artist who was always engrossed in his work and who spread happiness through his music at Cambridge. The importance of something as simple as a Coffee, the Filter Coffee I mean. The fragile mind, the notorious mind, that wants both the unknown and the known. The extreme I was in the lukewarm, now turning into the lukewarm I was in the extreme, half way across the world. The things I never cherished, those that were looked at like a marvel in this part of the world. The dusk of the South, the
sun that was strong and the appetite that kept diminishing.
The first seven days, noons, evenings and nights were, in all its glory, an intense metaphor wrapped into these words-
If this is not going to be familiar, can it be whimsical instead?
© Deekshita
Celebrating the then of Boston, in the now of Bangalore.
20:23 pm, Bangalore.
10:53 am, Boston.
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