A Tribute
For the ones who stayed back
Hello and welcome back. This week we have been obsessing yet again over the idea of home. I can’t help but find something new each time. In fact I might as well make this my full time pursuit. If I can’t find a physical home, might as well search for the meaning of it, eh.
A major chunk of my ideas about adulting have revolved around home. In my previous post Thoughts on Adulting (I) and (II), I have mostly spoken about my experience of living alone in a new city, and coming back to the city I left from. In fact, leaving and returning have been quite recurrent thoughts for me (read this post).
And so, I have been wondering a lot about people around me. Those who’ve been around me even before I existed. Those who’ve been here, no matter what. People who never left. People who always stayed. None of my age. It’s my building’s caretaker. Our cook. The panwari across the corner. Owner of that grocery store. The ironer right next to our building. The photocopy guy who has known me since I was a child never misses an opportunity to remind people of that. Every time I go to him, he starts telling the tale of how he has seen me grow, from a small kid carrying his school notebooks for photocopying to this giant adult who doesn’t need his help anymore because everything has become digital now.
All these people have seen me grow. And yet they have always looked the same to me. Nothing about them ever changes. The way they look. The way they speak. The things they talk about. Things that matter to them. And above all, their places. They never changed their place. I can be away from this city for years, and yet, every time I return, they’ll always be there. Right where I last saw them. Where they’ve always been. I am becoming more and more conscious of this.
In the last six years, I have been in-and-out of this place. I remember during my college years, I was always thrilled to come back to the city where I had grown up. I liked the idea of being welcomed. All these people that I just mentioned, would instantly smile seeing me return. Aa Gaye? You came back? They would ask. Bahut lambe samay baad dikhe hain. Theek to hain na? Seeing you after a long time. Are you doing alright?
This sense of familiarity made me believe in the moment that this is where I belong. Nothing communicates belonging more than a place to return to.
This is my second longest stay in this city after the pandemic. No moving out. No coming back. I find myself becoming increasingly observant of my daily surroundings. Suddenly, these people, these places, that have been here for ages, appear new to me.
I was amongst the initial set of people from my friends circle to leave this city for higher education. Gradually that number increased. Sooner or later, everyone left. Now that I am back, hardly anyone I grew up with lives here any longer. The ones who do, are on their way to move. “There’s nothing left here”, said one of my oldest friends who was telling me about our other companions who left and settled in different cities. He is about to do the same.
Isn’t that considered a passage of rites? To move out of your home during your twenties. I look at these people around me, who’ve always been here to welcome me. They are not from here. They, too, left their homes. And found a place to settle. Each had their own reasons. Work, providing financial support for their families, starting their own families. Each found their own reasons to stay. And now like trees, as old as the fabric of time itself, they continue to exist here. With their roots deep in the ground. They are now a part of this place. They are this place.
I feel a sudden rush of curiosity and gratitude realising this.
What made them stay? How does one find their place? How do you become sure of it? That this is it. This is where you want to stop. This is where the search for the best ends. I look at my parents, their friends, my neighbours. People who’ve been living in these same places for forty, fifty years. And it’s not that they never got a chance to go beyond. They did. Travelled to other cities. Saw glimpses all other possibilities. Cities, places, jobs that would have meant a different life. And yet, they chose to stay back. Or return. To this place they call their hometown. How does one find a place to root themselves?
Maybe it was a sense of responsibility that held them back. Commitments. Obligations. Duty towards their family. Maybe they genuinely found everything they needed, right here. Maybe they found comfort here. Each has their own reason. But the fact is, they stayed. So that they could be here to welcome the ones who left. Ones like me. Who never found their places except for that brief moment when they were welcomed.
I write this as a letter of gratitude. A tribute to all those who stayed back. Thank you for being here. For always reminding me that some things never change. That no matter wherever this search for finding my place leads me, I will always have a place to return to. People to welcome me. A place that will remember me, even on days I forget to. Isn’t that what belonging feels like? A surety that you will be remembered.
When Life Gives You Melon
Choose Water over Choly 🍉
Aakash xx