The Journey

I am on my way back home. The dilapidated bus I boarded a few hours ago has finally picked up speed. We’ve left the city and are heading towards the sleepy village I call home. The bus rattles along and the staccato noise of the engine becomes my lullaby. I dream unendingly. One nightmare gives way to another. An eternity passes and I wake up. The comforting voice I heard in my childhood finds its way across the barrier of time. Sleep my child. I’m wide awake.

The Sun has risen and the morning rays confirm my suspicions that time has stood still in my village. Little brooks give way to, and feed, luscious paddy fields. A kingfisher is perched on an overhead electric line. The bus stops at my destination. The kingfisher swoops down on its prey.

*

As always, I’m greeted warmly at the gate. My parents beam wide smiles and I return the favour. We descend into mild-mannered argument about who should carry the luggage to my room. I insist that I can do it and they refuse to let me bear my burden.

I’m in the living room now. The same room I spent many a joyous day in my distant childhood and my recent teenaged years. Nostalgia takes over and I wash it down with mouthfuls of tea. Mother urges me to eat more as I'm 'all skin and bones'. My father suggests that I get a hair cut. We chat. Outside, the Sun takes its rightful place in the centre of the sky. Lunch is served.

Another wave of memories – all my favourite dishes. We chat about life in the city and compare it to the happenings in and around the neighbourhood. It’s been a while since I’ve been in these parts. I learn with great interest that the kid next door has left the country in search of greener pastures. Leaving is something I’m considering too, I tell my parents.

After lunch, I sit down in front of the TV. I can’t remember the last time I was so relaxed. Worry lines run across my forehead, one supported by the other until they merge into my hairline. No worries anymore, I tell myself. I let go and get completely absorbed in the movie.

*

After dinner, I retire to my room upstairs. The room has been maintained well and most of the things from my past are still there. Books that I own are neatly stacked up in the chronological order of purchase. The stack starts with Enid Blyton, moves on to the likes of Robert Ludlum and then Marquez, Grass, Rand, etc. The last book I read was ‘Crime and Punishment’.

I lay in bed in semi-darkness, staring at the dangling rope. The trance breaks and I glance at my trophy cupboard. I was exceedingly happy during my childhood. Each one of those trophies was won incidentally, in the process of doing something that I enjoyed. My unusually happy childhood was followed by a relatively blemish-free teenage period. I’ve been spoiled by too much of a good thing. The reality of adulthood is a burden on my unprepared shoulders.

Now, I leave in peace – let the blame be placed squarely on the noose. Forgive me, all.