The Homecoming

It’s been a while since I even tried writing something to add to my blog. I’ve actually missed our communication through my posts - your comments and my responses that happen over the first few days of posting, by which time all the readers have either read the piece or have forgotten about it. 

It’s not as if I’ve been really busy or really lazy or anything else of the sort. I just haven’t had anything I’ve been inspired to write about. No interesting memories that came to mind, no new adventures I could put into words that would make a for a good read. With the pandemic, hopefully behind us, I’ve been getting into the rhythm of travel again, which as always has been exhilarating but not something that resulted in stories that I particularly wanted to share. I will however, share a picture of Riddhi, the tigress who I was fortunate enough to spend about 20 minutes with in the jungles of Rajasthan. Definitely one of this year’s travel highlights.

Having lived in various places over the period of my life, I’ve written multiple posts about ‘home’, even though home is more than the building one lives in. Everyplace I’ve lived in has obviously been unique in many ways. And each time I’ve thought that this will be where I’ll live for the rest of my life, for some reason I move out and move in elsewhere. The joys of being single and weird!

A couple of days ago I started watching an Indian series that caught my attention and kept my interest (not a particularly easy thing - my ‘Continue Watching’ list is enormous). A short while back, as I was watching Episode 5, it struck me as to how many parallels the show had with me and my life. One of the characters is ‘Ratan’, another characters last name is ‘Sethi’, one of the characters used to live in Chicago, moved back to India and was running a cafe with a personality that is uncannily like mine (just from the scenes in the cafe). It kind of started making me feel like the writer of the show must be someone I've actually met. There are actually two writers, neither one has a name that sounds familiar. Of course I do meet a lot of people in the cafe and have had extended conversations with many, so who knows?

The protagonist of the series is a guy who lives in Bangalore (yup, Bangalore), loses his job and moves back to his parents home in Indore, where he plans to live until he finds another job. Coincidentally enough I’m headed to Indore on Friday. 

Without giving away too much, the story is about him returning home, adjusting to the family who he had been seeing barely for a week during the holidays over the years, not having the freedom that he had gotten used to and subsequently not just adjusting to the new way of life but preferring it to the alternative of another career in a bustling city like Bangalore. While I still have one last episode left to watch, I pretty much know where the show is headed.

Many of us feel like our lives are unique - at least I rarely come across anyone from my generation with a similar story as mine. However, I do come across a lot of younger folks who seem desperate to retire early and live a life that isn’t driven by their employment. Easier said than done when you have a family but I hope that at least some of them are able to do it. 

Although It’s been forever since I gave up my life in Chicago, I still get asked the question as to why I moved back. Earlier I would fumble through my response because you think that there isn’t one single reason but a host of them. Over time though, I’ve learned to tell them what the single most important reason for my being back was. It’s not as if I was unhappy in the US - I really had a great life but even after living there for 11 years, I realised that something very important was missing. 

More than anything else in the whole wide world, I missed that warm fuzzy feeling of being home. 

For those of you who watch Hindi shows, the one I’ve written about is called ‘Ghar Waapsi’ and can be viewed on Disney Hotstar. I just got done watching the final episode and am hoping that there will be another season. 

Solo Trips, Serial Killers and Goa

And just like that, once again we are under the power of Covid-19, the virus that has been screwing up our lives for the past couple of years. Can someone tell me why China has no cases of coronavirus? Or are people dropping dead but nobody is allowed to tell?

So here I am, once again spending most of my time indoors. Thankfully last year I finally went ahead and indulged in some home improvements, so at least my apartment is a nicer place to hang out in. The plan is to make some additional improvements but I no longer have faith in plans.

This morning I was going through some old pictures and came across a bunch from my solo trip to Goa in August 2015. On an impulse, I had booked myself an Airbnb in South Goa, not completely remote but still very serene. It’s a part of South Goa that has mostly 5 star hotels and I was most definitely not in one of them. Instead I had an entire apartment to myself. A fairly large, almost spooky place on a quiet residential street, surrounded by trees and about a 5 minute walk from the pristine beach. 

Landing into Goa late afternoon, by the time I reached my living quarters for the next few days, after an almost 2 hour scenic cab ride, the sun was starting to go down. I quickly changed into my shorts and rushed to make sure I wouldn’t have a single ‘beach-free’ day. The white sand and the golden sunset was a sight to behold. There were a few couples walking around and as always I ended up playing photographer at their request. 

The gold and ....

The silver of Goa

As it started to get dark, I began heading back to my apartment, took a quick shower and walked over to a little restaurant across the street. The plan was to drink a couple of beers, have a fish dinner and turn in early, after having had a long day. 

The restaurant turned out to be larger than it looked from the outside, was nicer than I expected with some al fresco seating. I picked a small table in the outside section for myself, the sea breeze feeling good on my face and ordered a chilled beer. Just a few minutes later, a man, probably in his mid 30s came and sat at the table in front of me. We nodded at each other and I began looking at the menu. 

“I recommend the calamari,” he said. 

I smiled, put the menu away and responded that I would take him up on his recommendation. 

“I quit my job a few minutes ago,” he said out of the blue. He put his hands behind his head and stretched out his back, like he was trying to relieve all the stress from his body. “Oh man it feels so good to say that. I almost can’t believe I finally quit!”

“Sounds like I should be saying congratulations,” I replied.

“You’re the first person I’ve said this to,” he laughed. 

Now I was even more intrigued, invited him to my table and offered to buy him a beer to celebrate his recent state of being unemployed. 

So apparently he had been working at one of the big hotels close by as a sous chef, absolutely hated the management and had been thinking about leaving for a while. After exchanging some unpleasant words with the Executive Chef, he just wrote out his resignation and walked out of the place.

“Sounds very dramatic,” I said.

He laughed, harder and longer than I would have expected. “It totally was!”

The laughter continued for a bit and he was wiping tears and nodding his head. I figured it was the relief, the finality of something he had been wanting to do for a while, but didn’t have the courage to, until now. 

After about an hour of discussing life, food (especially sea food), travel and being free spirits, he asked if I would be interested in getting out of the place we were at and visiting some of his favourite restaurants. Clearly, I didn’t need to be asked a second time. 

So instead of having dinner by myself and going to bed early, I now had a chef guide who was introducing me to places I would never know about. We went to 3 different restaurants, all charming, small, local hideouts, places that were big on taste and small on hype. The delicious tiger prawns, the king fish and even some lobster that I would never have tried if I hadn’t made a solo trip to Goa, run into someone who became a friend and took a leap of faith that this friend in actuality wasn’t a serial killer.

Photographs aren’t just about sceneries and people. They’re also reminders of stories that are behind them. Stories that make our lives a little more special and interesting. 

I’ve always believed that friendships can be lifelong or just for a day. That was the only time I met Rajat. Although we did exchange numbers and a few texts the next couple of days, neither one of us made any effort to meet again. Six years later, I can barely even remember what he looked like. I had almost forgotten about that evening until I came across the photos from the trip. 

This third viral wave has made me extremely restless. I want to be out there, adding more stories to my life, without having to worry about infectious diseases and social distancing. While I probably have a repository of stories to tell from my life, I am greedy for more. 

This is a poem I wrote that some of you may have seen already. It's about the serial killer that has been hovering around our lives the past couple of years and seems appropriate to end the piece with. 

Live in joy or live in fear

Omicron why did you come here?

The choice to stay at home

Should be made by us alone

Not by an annoying bug

Who disapproves when people hug

Twenty twenty two please set us free

Covid nineteen go climb a tree