Journal, Pen

Searching for The Roots – 1

I reached out for my backpack and the guitar. It was hard to stand steady with both hands occupied, as the bus was taking turns sharply, one after another. From the last seat, I managed to reach to the first after a little struggle. I saw the old playground through the windscreen, nostalgic rush ran through my spine. And then, dozen of familiar faces passed by, couple of them were looking at the bus. But most of them look for blonde tourists, as brown people don’t interest them much. I asked the driver to stop at the next turn and I heard few tourists talking about how beautiful the place was and how lucky I was to live here. I smiled a little with an intention to thank and warn them at the same time. But the bus had already stopped. I stepped outside and found my aunt waiting to pick me up. As the bus started moving again, I saw some of the tourists taking picture of the old temple by the road. How amazed they were to see the old temple, and how familiar and ordinary it looked to me.
Signs will Guide you Home

Signs will Guide you Home

I greeted my aunt and asked how she was. Like every typical Indian family member, she started with how healthy I had become. It almost made me laugh but then I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. It was drizzling before but now it started pouring fat drops. So we rushed for the home.

I could see the house clearly. How different it looked with the cherry tree chopped down which used to hide it. The cherry tree and all that struggle i had picking the most juicy cherries. Those were the good times. From a little closer, I could see the bush by the main gate. The bush, under which my dog used to wait for me to come back from the school and used to bark at any unknown passerby or at those kids who used to tease him. And how unreal it seemed when he died. I was wondering if I could ever love my new dog the same. Though, he isn’t that cute and is very dumb at times, but he deserves the same love and caring or maybe better.There he was, curled under the same old tree! Same old tree which blossoms pink flowers every year and every year a pair of Bulbul makes its nest under those dense flowers. How many times I have peeked inside the nest and smiled at those sky-blue eggs splattered with brown dots. With all that noise I was making with my feet, I woke up the dog. It took a couple of seconds when the analysis turned into familiarity and familiarity converted into utter joy. I always wonder, no matter if it is one day or one year, how come dogs manage to be happy with the same intensity each and every-time. I patted his head and scratched under his neck and he jumped over and over at me, sniffed my bags and licked my hands.
And then I realized, that’s why you always miss your home.


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