Idea Of Home

Sandipan Khandelwal

The meaning of home keeps changing with time. We rarely think of these things when we are kids; we just know where we live, eat, and play. With the transition to adolescence, we realize and start to resonate with the things and people around us. We establish and connect to the things we relate to in our life.

I was born in a Rajasthani family. My native of Rajasthan was very short-lived. When I was about a month old, we shifted to the adjacent state of Gujarat in a city called Rajkot, to which I referred to as a home for the good 17 years of my life. My father left his hometown and shifted to a new state - a new city with his family - to start a new life to look for better opportunities

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I grew up in a culturally diverse neighborhood. Being an outsider, you often feel left out or out of place, but that feeling disappears over time as you learn to live with it. As I grew up, the urge to leave home also grew and was very consistent. Goodbyes are always tricky, but I have tried to make my peace with everything that happens. Like my father, I, too, left my hometown to look for the world out there. For higher studies, as soon as I got the chance, I left Rajkot and came to another diverse land of Maharashtra in the city of Pune. Until now, I had no understanding of a home - It had only been that I left one.

With the fresh blood of a 17-year-old and adrenaline pumping in me, I come to the city to try to make my place in a town full of strangers. Pune, as always, was somewhere I wanted to go and thought about since right after my 10th. The city is full of culture and people, and the geography is out of the world - at least for a kid from Rajkot. There were kids from all over the country, all on their own, all living their individual lives. The air had a sense of freedom and independence. With being all alone, it didn’t feel lonely.

I never missed my hometown; I was glad that I was out of it; the only time I ever really did think of home was when something wrong happened, or I felt out of place. When I got my first apartment, everything fell into place and changed after that. Building up the home by yourself, this adulting experience, is what I longed for. I met friends like family, built relationships with people, fought with many and what not. The city itself is very welcoming and loving. It is hugged by the mountains around it; the weather will always remind you of someone. I started exploring the place out, and soon, I was on different treks every weekend.

We don’t see mountains in Rajkot; the sudden richness in the nature around me made me sort of a Wordsworth myself. I discovered a new me who is not afraid of new things, someone who likes to live his life one-quarter mile at a time. The place gave me the meaning of home, where I feel the freedom, the chance to be anyone I want to be, to dream. When it was time to leave Pune, everything came to a standstill like all our lives had been paused, and we were shifting back to the older times. This was the time when I understood the meaning of home. Cities don’t change people. People don’t even change people; we are who we are, but the change does change the rhythm for a quick second. We recollect our memories and experience all at once, and the emotion is just too overpowering. With some intoxication, it’s enough to make grown boys cry.

I realize now that it’s never about a place, a room, or a state that makes it home; it’s always the human aspect, the memories, the emotions that we hold. I change many apartments throughout the course, but with each new place, the boxes of old homes make it less unknown. Over time, the notion of home keeps changing, the idea of a home will change through the course. It’s never about the place, neither Rajkot nor Pune; both are incomplete without people in it. The idea of home has a self-attained position in our hearts where we allow ourselves to be free, be us. We are in pursuit of this endeavor, and life happens along with it.

I have many homes, many places where it feels like home; it could be the hills, the streets of Pune, my friends’ place in Rajkot, and all people close to me across the country. Home doesn’t have a mathematical constant value or position; it’s our state of mind.

Small Town, Big Lessons

Shubhangi Nagalia

When I was little, I used to think Dehradun was the world. As I got a little bit older, I started thinking that it was a country, and then I was told that it was a city. It was quite a realization as a 2- 3-year-old kid, finding out that the city I lived in was not the only place in the world. It is quite fascinating to think how space is one with us as children, and how we come to look at spaces as distinct later on. Having said that, I now realize that Dehradun has always been a state of being for me, as opposed to a geographical name. The best part about the city is that there is nothing special about it, and in a way that makes every single feature of it special. It is as if time doesn’t exist here. I go to the same places, the same corners that I have been going to since I was small, but the feelings remain constant. But what one feels here, is not a feeling, it is beyond. It is akin to that which inherently remains constant in the midst of outer changes. The beauty of this city lies in the fact that it is not its cafes and modern features that bring joy and contentment, but the wilderness and the little tapris of happiness located here and there where you just sit and let the construct of time pass you by.

The charms of small towns, one thing everyone belonging to such hometowns will tell you is that the days are slow, much slower than in metropolitans. When you go outside for a walk on the streets enveloped with wilderness, you almost feel the time brushing past your face. Time doesn’t matter here. And as the night descends, you are engulfed by the sound of chirping crickets that rings through your ears, whispering of home.

There is a certain liveliness in doing everything here, even something as dumb as bunking tuitions. Every time I drive through Dehradun, I can see my past high-school self riding on two-wheelers with my friends throughout the town. Where would we go, you ask? Well, we would mostly go around Racecourse which is an area that is circular. It used to be an actual racecourse for horse races but was converted into a habitable area after the partition. We would go to the “Ghanta ghar” and feast on ice-creams. I know it sounds funny, but “clock tower” does not have the same ring to it.

But the place we would mostly go to was the “Maggi Point.” Contrary to what it seems like, maggi point is not one place, but many. When we go “upar ki side,” meaning upwards, towards Mussoorie, we see a plethora of maggi points scattered on the side of the road. And no, they don’t just serve maggi, but all sorts of wholesome junk food. Over the years I have had the pleasure of trying every one of them. But some maggi points hit differently. There is this one that I frequent with my friends since forever. As high-schoolers, going there was just a way to have fun, but now it has become a way of life. Earlier we used to go there for the food, and now we go there for the view. Well, the chai and maggi and bun makkhan are collectively close seconds. There is a certain beauty in sitting there as the sun sets, overlooking the entire city of Dehradun in the form of scattered specs of lights while sipping chai with an occasional sutta in hand.

And if you want to have the best street food of your life, you’ll have to take the left in front of Dwarka store. You would then be greeted by the beautiful “Bun-tikki” thela. Bun-tikki is not food to be cherished, it is an experience to be had. Bun-tikki will awaken all your senses with one bite, and until you finish it, you will find yourself drowning in flavours. I used to save five rupees every month to have it as a kid. And now I save having it for a moment of absolute joy and oblivion.

So when one feels the need to be cradled with clouds, one drives for 45 minutes to arrive at Mussoorie. But if you drive 25 minutes to the outskirts of the town, you can find yourself stopping by to take a dip in a river that flows by. You could sit there with your feet dipped in the river for hours, and after a while, you would realize that it has carried all your worries and thoughts away with it. And all that remains is peace. After all, it is the city of love, it makes you fall in love with life as it is.

Over the years I have come to appreciate so much about Dehradun, its abundance of everything: of nature, of love, of beautiful and sometimes irrational people. I guess that’s the best part about living in a valley; you’re neither here nor there and it has taught me that even in moments of despair when we feel that we have nothing, in reality, we are surrounded by everything.

(The view from maggi point)

Shillong

Shubhankar Chowdhury

Of the twenty-two years of my life, all of them, I have lived in Shillong. This city, called by many as the Scotland of the East, is the capital of Meghalaya; and was once the capital of an undivided Assam, post-Independence. This city has seen a lot, the British Raj, the fear of a Japanese Invasion, the fear of a Chinese Invasion, riots, you name it.

It is a city with a vast history, and I am but a product of that history, a witness to its present and, hopefully, a part of its future.

The winter mornings here are beautiful.

The frost covers the grass all over the Upper Shillong area, and the yellowish-green grass illuminates a dreamy white glow that lasts till the wee hours of the morning until the bright yellow sun rays hit the grass and start melting the frost. The sky is blue, a deep blue color that I haven’t seen anywhere else, in all of the places I have been to.

There are clouds scattered throughout the sky, changing their colors every minute, under the light of the sun. At one moment, they appear red; at the next moment, they turn golden and finally white. The air is so cold, one feels like there are hundreds of needles piercing the skin - but I love it. I love the cold; I love the numbness it brings because it’s a part of me, and I, a part of it.

In school, we would play football before the morning assembly - from 7:30 AM to 9:00 AM - and we would feel the air against our skin and the dew on our feet - absorbed by our football boots. Even in the cold months of November, our shirts would be wet with sweat till the end of school - that is how much we loved playing and loved the environment we were born into.

Be it Durga Puja, Christmas, Diwali, or Eid, I have celebrated all of these festivals. Not a single year went by without Adil calling us to his place for Eid ki Dawat, nor did I miss the Durga Puja Visarjan from my grandmother’s colony; My house has been decorated with lights on Diwali and Christmas, every year. The medium-sized pine tree at home has served as our Diwali decorative tree, as well as our reusable Christmas tree, every year.

Durga Puja pandal hopping is fun, with localities like Rilbong, Jail Road, Rynjah erecting the most magnificent pandals every year. The streets are alive with food stalls, toy shops selling plastic guns with round yellow bullets, and people who make designs of Mehendi for their customers. It is like a carnival for 5 days all over the town. The Diwali vibe is best seen in Jhalupara, a locality on the outskirts of Shillong, which makes the best momos in town. It is also the Wild West of the city, the streets always bustling with people and people bursting crackers a week before Diwali - that excitement, coupled with the cold air, brings a weird feeling of nostalgia, one that is unexplainable, but very familiar.

During Christmas, the entire city is decorated with lights, and all the lights are of the same color, giving the city a synchronized look as if everyone is celebrating the festival together. In the heart of the city, Police Bazar, a stage is constructed and concerts go on all night, on Christmas eve and New Year’s eve. A week before Christmas, people take to the streets and sing carols in processions spanning entire localities.

The dominant culture here is that of the Khasi community, which is mostly an oral tradition, and they have amazing myths which have survived for years. There is a waterfall, in Sohra, about 50 km from Shillong, called Dan-Thlein (Cutting Snake).

Legend has it, that many years ago, there was a huge snake that would devour travelers. One day, the villagers decided to capture the snake and kill it, tying it with ropes. They killed the snake and chopped its body to pieces which over the years have solidified into the huge boulders that rest at the bottom of the waterfall. Almost all places here are associated with some sort of myth, be it stone giants fighting, or talking animals attending meetings that end up going south. Even the name ‘Shillong’ is taken from the name of a Khasi God, ‘U Blei Shillong.’

Years of memories and nostalgia cannot be compiled into one single article, but in the end, all I would like to say is that although I am going away from this city to make my career, I will never leave this city. This is the only place I know, and also want to be my home and I can never imagine life without it. Through thick or thin, happiness or sadness, one fact will never change, SHILLONG MEANS HOME!