“So, here you are too foreign for home too foreign for here. Never enough for both.” ― Ijeoma Umebinyuo, Questions for Ada.
I had never lived in my home (the childhood home or the house I partly own) for more than 30 days after my bachelor’s. Home is a fluid concept for me. A yearly visit was enough not to develop any homesickness. When I moved to Singapore, the proximity to home was not affected. It kind of improved compared to that of Ahmedabad. Flights were cheap and quick. But ever since the pandemic, I was unable to visit India. I even had a job change and moved to the United Kingdom. But a visit home felt like a distant dream.
After the Omicron scare, we decided on a trip to home. It was the ester break for my son so that we didn’t need to take leave from his school. We were unsure about the summer and how the world will be by then. So we took a chance and flew to Kerala. This time, I was excited. A desire to go back to my roots, reassuring the identity and may be reliving some old memories.
Initially, I had mixed feelings about my experience. I took up writing this newsletter issue (I started while I was in Kerala!) to have more clarity on my thoughts. To de-clutter or zoom out, to get some perspective. I am not a romantic who wants their childhood home as the same as it was forever. The main reason is that I no longer associate myself with the culture that raised me as a kid. I cannot un-see the division in society and the unjust norm it has created. At the same time, I do cherish the memories of people. The memory of my grandfather who took me to water the fields, the memory of my late father who used to take me to the nearest library, and memories of my grandmother with whom I went out in search of mangoes.
After the first day of jet lag, I went out for a walk with my family. There is a new road built through the paddy fields behind our house which connects to the nearby village. The two villages were separated by one small stream. Now there is a bridge. So every day we walked down the road crossing the bridge and met people from other villages. It felt like an alternate dimension. Those people were there a hundred yards away from us, for a long time. But they were never accessible to socialise.
I had this scary realisation that the pandemic has taken a toll on my communication skills. For the last two years, most of the conversations were official with colleagues or personal with my partner and my kid. In a professional or academic environment, we optimised our communication to pass the information effectively. Since it was the pandemic, the interactions needed to be short and effective. I somehow lost the motivation to talk freely, without being preformative, without a plan to convey 1, 2 3 bullet points, just for the sake of talking. Being funny or interesting felt like a lot of work.
One of the huddles is the thinking language. Over the years, I developed the habit of thinking in English, which makes it easier in the day to day communication. But when it comes to visiting home, this does not help. I remember the time I felt the pretentiousness of NRIs for using too many English words. But after the initial inertia, conversations became easier. I found myself making small talk with many people. I talked with people I did not know previously. Somehow it was easier since the relation did not have the baggage of the past.
I visited the institute I did my PhD from in Ahmedabad. This is the city I lived for 7 years. So many things have changed, and many remained the same. The memories hidden deep inside, waiting for the right trigger, were rushing out. To my surprise, I found out that I have not lost my Hindi communication skills after all. I did a short trip to Udaipur as well. The long bus journey through the deserted, rocky terrain of western India was a special experience. I felt a kind of longing knowing that I may not travel this road again.
I returned to the UK after 3 weeks. We were exhausted and tired due to the tight schedule. However, the trip was a necessary one to get in touch with my deep insecurities or being rooted or memories. On the other hand, my son had a blast with cousins and friends. He is counting down the days for the next trip.
Loved it - it's personal and heartfelt...