Belongingness..

It has been more than five years since she has been living in a city which was not her own. She wasn't born here. She did not grow up here, not as a child at least. She belonged to a city not too far, yet different. She was too young when the transition occurred, willingly and for the better. She never complains about the challenges that she had to face But, can't deny that there were challenges. Challenges elaborate but doable. There wasn't even a choice, to be fair. She had to deal with them and grow.

Does growing up ever end ? She thought as an Eighteen year old. When she turned eighteen she felt like a grown up. So is she even now but that's not it. It is never enough and it shouldn't end. To live a healthy life one should continue to grow with each challenge, with each prospect and with each mistake. Making mistakes is alright too. 

One not so pleasant day at work transformed into a great evening and an even better night. She was at work all day and it was undoubtedly a good one but then came at play the biggest spinster of all, misunderstanding. Life had only then begun to appear a happy one. Work was good, she was happy and wouldn't want anything more. In such a phase of complete bliss even a twig on the path seems like a thorn. She broke down. That, by the way, is the last thing she wanted to do. But, she was not used to this life and the process. It happened, she tried to forget it and she did so but the sullenness remained. She needs to be more sure of her impulsive actions, she thought. But she had always been told, "talk it out, it makes things better". She did, things did get better but not completely. The last thing she wanted to do was to appear like a weakling at this new place. With these myriad of thoughts in her mind she decided to meet him. To get a feeling of homecoming. And they met. 

The sky was blue again, the stars did shine and love did blossom and why wouldn't it? She was in her happy place after all. They dined together, the place was not one of their favourite ones. "Come on, let's go to this new place, you will love it", he said, she pestered for a while but gave in to much of her own surprise and even more to his. They reached this place, otherworldly. It was new, beautiful and did help in bringing her back to life. By the end of their rendezvous, she had completely healed. They called for a cab. And then the magic happened. The most uplifting part of the day was that the cab that came to pick them up had a number plate of her own city. She was so excited. Even before she could properly settle in the cab she asked the driver, "How does your car have this city's number plate?"

The driver responded with his connection to the city. Just that and they resumed talking again, the boy and the girl. The ride back home was relaxing. She realised that she had not been so comfortable and so much at peace in the past whole week. She enjoyed it and wished they could stay in the back seat of a car like this, for longer. But then came his home and he left with a smile that will get him through a couple of days. Soon the cab driver began to talk. He told her all about how he ended up in this business, how in the beginning working with #Uber felt like, "It's raining money". They began talking like there was a connection. A connection that made talking easy.  The connection was none other than being from the same land. Of having shared a certain history with each other, the knowledge of those places back in their city, the names of roads and landmarks. That is what connected them. After having spoken to each other and giving way to her feminist side like always, she advised the driver, "Do make sure your daughter studies well and does all that she wants in her life."

They passed through another lane where she had spent a long time in this city. She showed him with excitement, "this right here is my college." In that very moment she realized how connected she was to her college too. This was definitely a revelation. She did not spend much time here. But again it was part of her identity. She belonged to it and it belonged to her. That's when she connected all the dots. 

She realized, amidst all the being and becoming, sobbing and laughing and all the struggles, she now belonged to her new city too, as much as she did to her own. All these years while trying to live she had created memories and when she reached home, it was not just returning to her rented apartment, it was homecoming.

Some leaves from a life I never lived but is still mine.

Have you ever visited a very old building, a monument perhaps, and felt that it belonged to you or you to it ? I have heard a lot of people talk about a strange nostalgia in such places. I felt that too. Not only do I feel that I belong to the place but also that I own it, or did, at some point of time, in a past life (yes, I am a believer). If the nostalgia in question was a disease, I would describe mine as stage four, incurable, laden with infections like mistaken identity disorder and 'chronological outrage'. But, science or medicine can neither pollute nor begin to fathom my feelings of belonging-ness in them.

My hometown is Agra (yes, Taj Mahal and all that). The earliest visit that I can remember to not only the 'Taj' but to all other Mughal monuments in Agra and the latest explorations of Mughal architectural sublimity in the Capital, were all embellished by the same recurring feeling of belonging to them. I am incapable of imagining the forts without the many army men that must have guarded the place back in the 1500's and later until the domino like downfall of the Mughal Empire. Although, I feel more attached to the times of Akbar. In fact, as complicated as it gets, I feel like home in the monuments associated with him. Take any that he has laid his glorious feet on and I feel it's mine too. Living exactly 100 meters away from his tomb, Sikandra, in Agra, could have etched an everlasting mark on my heart but that is only a factual justification for something so deep that I can only partially describe, unless I write a book about it.

Everytime I am about to enter a seraglio, I look up only to find a Dasi (help-maid) showering flowers on my head from the little Jharokha (An arched window to let light in) to celebrate my homecoming. Eventually, on entering I see the hallways adorned with the best quality red, velvet curtains and the floors carpeted with gold-embroidered carpets, the announcers announcing the gracious arrival of Shehzaadi "So and so", while, I walk through the passages owning the whole 'Royal Palace'. Every moment I spend inside, takes me deeper and deeper into the abyss of my belief that the place still belongs to me and I to the time when it was in it's full flourish. I never see the roofs with their present cobwebs and faded colours but in the way they must have looked when they were just built and exhibited to the King for the first time, when performances and 'Mushairas' were held under them and when torches and jewels were used to light the quarters. I always visit the 'Meena Bazaar' of the Agra Fort like Jodha would have, with the excitement of a little girl on looking at the decorated shops and the discretion of a grown woman to bury it inside (yes, I am always in character!).

I don't simply visit these monuments but each time I go, I do myself a favor by living them. The visit is a treat to myself in times of crisis, happiness and otherwise. Needless to say,that I make sure I pay them a visit when there are hardly any other visitors, which is, very early in the mornings. That helps me imagine (read hallucinate) better. The premises are empty, un-populated, unadulterated and peaceful at that time and I can easily quench my thirst for tranquility in the harmonious, home-like atmosphere. Each time I leave, I find a part of me left behind reclining on the pillars on the terrace or the arched corridors, looking at the crowd coming in to turn my home into a tourist spot. You might think that technically I am a tourist too, but no, I am not a tourist. I am a traveler and in this case, a time traveler.

P.S. : Of course, all this happens in my head, but why on Earth should it mean , it's not real ? ( Harry Potter to the rescue, ALWAYS)