My wife and I have landed in Delhi to celebrate Diwali at home. The place of ‘home’ has changed over the years. However, the idea of ‘home’ is still the same. I had left Delhi nine years ago; my parents continued to live there for five more years until they too decided to shift to a place near Delhi. If you can call the distance of 150km ‘nearby,’ that is. “Expressway se le lo iss baar,” I tell my driver who has come to pick us up at the airport. My manager has arranged a private taxi, as crossing Faridabad or Noida in Uber with an unknown driver still feels like voluntarily walking into your own murder. I might do it someday. But today is not the day. We stop by a chole bhature place before taking the expressway. A tasty plate of cholesterol is all I need to keep my blood flowing. Slowly, if it may. I tell my wife that cholesterol has chole in it. She laughs. I think she sometimes laughs at my jokes so that I don’t keep cracking more. The courteous laugh to stop the future annoyance. Smart. But I never stop. Smarter. Off we go.
I am so envious of all these north Indian boys who can fly home now. I have paid too much too early in my life to go home and just be at home. Sprawled on a sofa like a broken egg that is trying to meet the borders of a hot pan on fire. This year I will overtake the number of years I have been out of my hometown versus the number of years I was in my hometown. Too many places to call any one place a home, except the one that I left long ago.
I am so envious of all these north Indian boys who can fly home now. I have paid too much too early in my life to go home and just be at home. Sprawled on a sofa like a broken egg that is trying to meet the borders of a hot pan on fire. This year I will overtake the number of years I have been out of my hometown versus the number of years I was in my hometown. Too many places to call any one place a home, except the one that I left long ago.
I kid, I miss Chole Bhature.
'I paid too much for these Diwali-time flights to not post stories' - is too real!