Resolve and Reason



As I mark 6 months of moving away from the only place I’ve called home to a new home thousands of miles away, I choose to pause and let some of it out, lest I burst from within. One constant question from everyone new I’ve met in the last few months is “Do you miss your family?” and this here is the answer.


I miss my mother’s bear hugs, my father’s forehead kisses and my sister’s constant care. I miss my handful of friends whom I’ve known since kindergarden days. Friends who can sense that I’m troubled just from my voice on the phone and friends who choose to forgive me every time I don’t answer their call. I miss my extended family of friends and well-wishers who are constantly concerned about my wellbeing. I miss my books that have moulded and guided and brought me up alongside my parents and sister. I miss dancing at Devaniya. I miss my guru. I miss Natesan Colony. I miss my straw mat. I miss my home library filled with books, each with its own personal memory. I miss my shelf with childhood trinkets and doors with stickers. I miss my old desk at work. I miss bike rides and adventuring with my black bike. I miss temples at every corner. I miss the familiarity of Alwarpet. I miss the madness of Mylapore. I miss the comforting sights and sounds of Chennai. I miss Alwarpet Anjeneyyar. I miss Karpagambal and Kapaleeswarar. I miss everyone. I miss everything.


There are moments where I see a shelf of Parle G biscuits in Walmart and break down. There are days when I walk around aimlessly in an Indian grocery store and stare endlessly and longingly at Maggi packets. My heart races when I hear a distant smattering of Tamil. On some days I just lie on the floor and stare into space and on other days I hold on the wall and let the shower wash out my tears.


My sister keeps asking me, “Do you want to come back?. I ask myself the real reason I decided to leave everything of importance behind and continue my life in a foreign land. I wipe my tears, pick myself up and move on when I hear my resounding answer these two questions.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mangoes and Memories!

Image
I had my first plate of curd rice with mangoes in almost two years. Watermelon and mango are two fruits I’ve never purchased after moving to Canada. When a wonderful colleague at a friend gave me a mango I took it home and it sat in my kitchen counter for a week until I could not bear seeing it shrink. I cut it up and sat down to eat it with tears prickling the corner of my eyes. Each bite and morsel brought out an evocative memory of scorching Indian summers and juicy ripe Banganapli mangoes. Memories of a mother who would just eat the tiny amount of flesh around the seed only so we would have enough, a father who would religiously carry bags of mango up three flights of stairs almost every day during mango season, a sister who would sneak mango cubes onto my plate, Sunday family lunches in the sweltering Chennai summer when every meal would end with curd rice with mangoes and piping hot puris with puréed mangoes which my mother would serve me endlessly. Such memories of love. Su...
Read more

Dearest Mommy

Image
Love letter to my beautiful mother who is my strength and my everything, which I wrote a few weeks before I moved to Canada. Dearest Mommy,                   For three decades, I’ve clung onto you – right from when you carried me in your womb two weeks past my due date, to routinely getting up with me at four in the morning when I revised for all my exams. Despite holding me so close to your heart, you are bravely letting me go far to pursue my dreams, and unlike all parents, you’ve always wanted what I’ve wanted. Now when I am standing on the threshold of moving miles away from you…there are interspersed moments of panic when I think of not waking next to you or not being enveloped in your reassuring warm hugs. But even in these agonizing instances of worry, your firm and determined eyes comfort me. No matter the distance I seek, I know I ca...
Read more

What's in a Name?

Image
'I said, bow ,' Voldemort said, raising his wand - and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand was bending him ruthlessly forwards...' - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by JK Rowling My parents named my Sharanya after my birth. I’ve always loved my name and have hated it when people butchered it over the years! Anyone who calls me Saranya has been subject to my death stare and immense contempt. But it would take me nearly thirty years to fully realize every syllable of my beautiful name. Years earlier, when I’d discovered the magic of the search engine Google, I remember searching for “Sharanya name meaning”. For the most part Google’s results told me what I already knew. The meaning of the name ‘Sharanya’ was Goddess Durga. But there was one site that mentioned that ‘Sharanya’ also meant ‘surrender’. And I immediately hated it. HATED IT . I’ve been a rebel in my own way and conforming was never my style. And discovering ...
Read more