The search for new work and new shores ends with me moving to Bangalore today. It was an especially difficult decision to make perhaps because of the workings of a serotonin-deprived brain, perhaps because of the fog that comes with the clash of conflicting impulses.
The heart-thumping exhilaration of bolting into the blue through an open door versus the intangible apprehension of leaving the comfort of familiarity.
The city I love versus The city I might come to love.
Go-by-the-book versus turn-it-all-on-its-head.
The thrust-and-parry that happens between holding on and letting go.
What ifs, but thens, and devil-may-care.
There is the saddening realisation that all these years of nomadicness have made me immune to the thought of going away from home, that this seems to be adios to the city where I grew up. The sign of having arrived home would no longer be the faint outlines of the Bandra-Worli Sea Link visible from aircraft. Sherlock will mope about my absence for days or maybe weeks. Kalu, the stray dog who ignores the food I offer her and insists that I pet her instead will miss me too. I wonder if I will think of my home in Mumbai wistfully the way I sometimes recall the house in Delhi with its powder pink walls, long powercuts, loud neighbours, farmers’ markets, and the rumble of life. I wonder if I will miss walking by the promenade in the monsoon, or looking at unkempt greenery in the distance from the large French windows of my house. Or the flocks of house sparrows in our compound. Or the solitary mynah who perches herself by the window sill and chirps all day. Or the people who wish I wouldn’t leave. But now that my mind is made, the universe seems to be bristling with possibilities.