8 June 2016
Dear Papachu,
Sitting in this train, I had a sudden urge to write to you. There is something about travel that fills me with overwhelming emotion. I concentrate better on a berth than in a study room and airports are my classrooms where I learn how to read people. I truly feel alive when I am being true to myself, when I am being a nomad. I like to be completely free, I like to be my impulsive self. Go wherever I want, stay however long I want. That way I do not invest in people, I invest in places. I invest in memories. My destructive impulsiveness becomes interestingly constructive. I meet beautiful people and I really look forward to that but since I know from the beginning that I am moving on in a while, it is easier to part from them.
I’ve never really stayed at one place, even when I was a child. When I think of home, I think of Aai Baba and Gogo. I think of friends and neighbours and love, lot of love. I think of embarrassing childhood pet names and being treated like a child, of bickering in the kitchen and sibling rivalry, of my bookshelves and the smell of Aai’s Upma and Baba’s tea early in the morning. And just when I feel that I have found this place of happiness, I struggle to feel a sense of belonging anywhere. There are times when I feel I haven’t found it, my home. I long for a place I can call home, a place where I will feel peaceful and calm. A place where I don’t have to hide or pretend. A place where I can indulge in small pleasures of life and bring back memories from all my travels. A tiny abode that mirrors me. Ah, I dream so much about this little house of mine. It’ll have trees and murals everywhere and a dance studio and a small pond and vegetable patches. And a swing. No one ever lets me swing on a public swing. I am always afraid of sitting on swings, continuously looking over my shoulder. Checking if a guard or some nosy uncle is going to tell me that I am too overweight to sit on a swing. But I love swings so much. To and fro. To and fro. They always remind me of life, the past, the present and the future. We’re either busy planning for the future or looking behind in the past. We really enjoy it, don’t we? It is more exciting than staying in the present. Romanticising the past, fantasising about the future and somehow completely forgetting about the present. I don’t know why I am slightly melancholic today. When I opened my computer to write to you, I wanted to write about my upcoming backpacking trip this summer but I am writing about everything but that. I feel so heavy for some reason.
I am in a train to Amritsar right now. We boarded the train yesterday from Mumbai and will reach tomorrow morning. And then we are off to Kashmir! Yay! Now see, I’ve never been to Kashmir but I feel like I know that place. I miss it at times. Is that weird? And after years of dreaming about it, I get to live there for a month. The journey is already turning out to be interesting. A Punjabi father-son are sitting next to us, amusing people they are. I can’t stop staring at them. Their camaraderie is quite entertaining. They have tons and tons of food, almost three bags full of this and that for a two day journey. I also like how they are extremely organised with their packing. Such warm people, they’ve already shared a lot of food with us including a bitter gourd pakoda that I really enjoyed. I asked the son how it was cooked but he said that he didn’t know, the cooking being handled by the women of the house.
This is the first time I am traveling with my siblings. It is weird, exciting and discomforting. I wish to bond with them and at the same time, I feel caught. I have my limitations when it comes to dealing with family. I become a person I don’t like, you know how some people bring out hidden qualities of you that you hate? I become a standoffish, passive aggressive snob. And I never let my guards down. Where does the carefree Prachi disappear, Paapi? I’ve decided to put in a lot of efforts this time and I hope this doesn’t end up making me more cynical than I already am. I feel extremely guilty about this cynicism. How can I be so cynical about family? I see how much they struggle with it too. And how despite being so dysfunctional, we are always there for each other. Then why are the first thoughts always of disappointment, anger and fear? A huge puzzle, a one that I have no energy to solve. Although I am being pessimistic here, I still have a lot of hope. One day we’ll find our balance.
I have to go now, my computer battery is about to die. I’ll write to you again as soon as I can. I’ll have more to write after Amritsar. I am looking forward to visiting the Golden Temple and Jallianwallah Bagh. Jallianwallah Bagh is a reminder of a painful past to many. For me it is a place that can teach us a lot and ask us to re-evaluate our values. I look forward to going there and finding something. I am not sure what but I feel like that place will mean something to me. My father has an old photo album with pictures from when he was in his twenties. It has black and white square photos taken from a polaroid camera, one of which is him and my grandma at the Golden Temple. I like going to places where my family has been before I was born and I enjoy visiting places of worship.
I was going to stay at a couch surfing friend’s place earlier but now that it is the three of us, my father has booked us quarters in a government rest house. I hope it is not too hot.
I miss you. I wish you were.
Huge hug,
Prachi
