Moving from Pune to Mumbai

Today we complete a week in our new city, in our new home. The week before last, as our boxes got packed with our things, and we emptied out a home we had lived in for 6 years, the feeling was wistful, bittersweet. We were packing our belongings, but also our memories of a wonderful time in our lives. We did our many #lasts ; last walk in the verdant Pune university, last misalpav at Bedekars, last chocolate lava cake at JWMarriott, last series of lunches and dinners at friends' homes, friends we will hopefully carry in our hearts forever, but can no longer meet on a whim. Pune is just two hours away from Maximum City Mumbai, and yet, it might be in a different country - so different are the two places. Pune was languid, verdant, hilly, but also proud, cultured and -like it or not - closed to outsiders. Like the walled city Shaniwar wada at its centre - Pune's walls between its insiders and outsiders were high and unbreachable. The insiders all knew each other, or were one connection away from knowing each other. The outsiders were tolerated at best, often just ignored. 

Mumbai - fast, pacy, buzy, and unapologetically commercial, has no time for pride. It is loud in many ways, kitchy in so many others, lacking you may say, the cultural purity of Pune. But Mumbai doesnt quite care. It is too buzy living, wholly and fully, to even notice what anybody thinks about it. Like the ocean it sits beside, it is an ocean of dreams. It is where Indians run towards, if they want to make it in the world, or sometimes to just escape their own. It pulls you into its embrace instantly, but dont expect to be mollycoddled. You immediately join the many millions of anonymous, irrelevant folks jostling for their bit of sunlight in this mighty ocean.

Just as the week before last, was about wrapping up our memories, last and this week have been about unpacking them, and beginning to create our series of #firsts. Our first walk down to Foodhall for an intimate mother daughter meal, our first dinner at home with friends, that first morning walk in the quiet bylanes of our neighbourhood, first stop for pani puri at the world famous in Santacruz Ram & Shyam- chaatwala, first visit to the local Santacruz market, slowly but surely understanding the contours of our neighbourhood, our new home. 
Home is a feeling I have realised. Sitting in that empty house, waiting to hand over the keys back to the land lord, the home that had hugged me when I cried like a baby after my dream for my start-up ended, and the home that sent my mother away on her last journey felt like an estranged friend. I knew its spaces, its contours intimately, but it was no longer mine. 
But when I sat in the empty house in Mumbai, a house that was a complete stranger to me, waiting to welcome my beloved belongings, I felt I was home already. Feeling embraced, like the millions of dream chasers in this Maximum City.

The Lonely Onlies

These are the lonely onlies. One half of a perfectly matched pair of earrings. Their partner is no longer there with them. Lost somewhere, somehow. By themselves they appear intact, whole. But without their mate, they are wholly incomplete. Aren’t we - many of us atleast - like these earrings ? We need a partner - a soulmate to make us feel whole. A soulmate - our twin soul - whose presence completes us and whose absence makes us feel like we have lost a part of ourselves. A romantic partner, a best friend maybe, or a sibling. That perfect pairing took years in the making. A quirk got added here, a habit formed there, till we ended up as perfectly matched. Our identity tied to being one half of a pair. Losing our other half then alters us too, permanently. We are then perennially destined to be the lonely onlies- the one half that got left behind. Holding on to memories of another time..and wishing for a past that can never return.

Redwoods, Banyans and Bougainvillas

‘How do you do this ?’ A friend asked. ‘I need roots’. And I thought about that : Roots can be like those of the Giant Redwood - that go deep - built painstakingly, over generations. Roots that help you grow very tall, but maybe need just the right mix of ingredients to thrive. Inspiring awe for sure, but in some ways fragile too. Roots can also be like that of the Banyan - Many roots - each laid down at a different time- spread wide across - each looking small and inconsequential, but together providing sustenance. helping the Banyan thrive. The Bougainvilla has roots too. Shallow, to critical eyes, but put a branch anywhere, in any climate, in any soil, and it will still burst aforth with millions of flowers. Sometimes it will be atop a tree, or have climbed along a fence, taking the help of whatever it can find. Its resilience - we take for granted, abd brand it’s ability to thrive - as oh so common. But it is a rare bougainvillea that hasn’t thrived and a rarer one that you can ignore. No matter how many other plants it is surrounded by. 
The nomadic way of being I have come to appreciate, is not without roots. We learn, like the Banyan to build many roots. My heart gladdens when somebody mentions Bangkok, and if I Hear Thai anywhere, I want to turn around and say ‘Sawsde Kha, Chan Phut pasa Thai nit noi’ I feel pride when somebody from Bangalore shines in the spotlight, and each time I board a plane leaving it, a pang escapes me. I feel thrilled when I meet a Gujarati and can speak in a language I hold dear. And to Mumbaikars I show off that I know both Andheri (E) and Napean Sea Road. I preen when Pune is ranked as a great city to live, and mourn that Bangalore is not. I am passionate about US politics in the same way that I am passionate about Indian elections. I love Delhi for its large hearted people, US for its to push itself to be better, more inclusive every year, Mumbai for its efficiency, and Pune for its fabulous weather. From Thais I have learnt the importance of ‘sanuk’ and that losing our temper is a reflection on us. From Puneris, I have learnt to value simplicity, My college in Bangalore taught me how be be truly ‘cool’ and my maid in Mumbai has taught me work ethic. I haved trekked when in Pune and lounged on the beach in Hua Hin when in Thailand and camped in the national parks when In the US. I am discerning about the best Misal in Pune and the best Somtam in Bangkok, the best sandwhich Mumbai abd tge best Parathas in Purani Dili. I can be your guide in in Chinatown in Bangkok. on Commercial Street in Babgalore or in Crawford in Mumbai, with equal ease. I have memories of laughing till my tummy hurts with my friends in Bangalore and drinking on weekend with friends in Mumbai. Of my daughter’s first steps in Gurgaon and her first day of school in Bangkok. Of burying my mom in Pune , and dancing late into the night in Ahmedabad. Of house parties in Bsngkok and girlfriend breakfasts in Pune.  
We Nomads - we are a curious lot - we sprout many roots like the Banyan, but can flower anywhere like the bougainvillea. We are a little bit of every place we have put roots in, and yet know no place is completely us. We are both attached - hooked to our relationships, our memories - and detached - knowing and flowing with the impermanence of it all. We have taken the best from every place we have lived in, abd learnt to ignore the imperctions of each of them. 
I have been often asked ‘Which Is the favorite amongst the places you have ever lived in’. Does a bougainvillea ever choose its favorite home ? My answer always is ‘Every single one’.

Leaving Pune

Today I am in reflective mood. A move is on the horizon. We will move cities, though this time, it is an encore. A metropolis that gave me wings as a single working girl and then a couple of years later cradled Trayi beckons again. Noisy, Buzy and still, strangely comforting. As if saying ‘welcome back.’ 
And yet, leaving Pune will be bittersweet. I went for a walk at 5.30 this morning and It was noisy - noisy not from sounds of humans or our machines, but from the sounds of nature - chirping of hundreds of types of birds calling out each other..and as dawn broke, I could see a clear blue sky emerging - a luxury I hear in Mumbai where Blue Sky is now just a business metaphor. 
When we left Bangkok 6 years ago, our friends gave us a happy rousing send off - in the expat world we all understood that we were all travellers enroute to another rest stop. No matter how long you stayed, it was always temporary. Making friendships was a lot like speed dating. You evaluated friends quickly and became mates for life within months..because both parties knew that time was precious, in short supply. 
Pune, on the other hand operates at a langrous pace. People here have lived on the same street for decades. They have family living a couple of streets away and friendships that have stood the test of time - since kindergarten or maybe 5th grade ! For for a city that has a poplutation of 3-4 million, it is surprisingly small. Everybody knows everybody, or can find a common friend in one 5 minute conversation. If you are a newcomer, it gives you a sideways glance and goes about its business. It takes its time to embrace you, so you take decades before it allows you to call it home. But those that call Pune home, return from wherever they have gone to, to be cradled by its warmth. Pune - old timers declare proudly - is a city with a one way ticket. Those that come here , can never leave. So every conversation with Puneri friends these days is tinged with a sense of betrayal ‘You didn’t like our Pune enough?’ they seem to be asking, almost suggesting that moving is somehow a personal rejection of their city, of THEM almost..
But nomads must do what nomads are wont to. Pack up our belongings and our memories, the sights and the sounds of this picturesque city-town, and move to where life beckons next. Our last few weeks in lovely Pune have well and truly begun.

Amma - 1 month after

Tomorrow marks the 1 month anniversary of Amma’s passing. Is it one month already ? Is it only a month ? Both thoughts sit side by side inside my head. It seems a lifetime ago since I heard Amma’s voice...Wasn’t it just yesterday that she was sitting around the dinner table eating pani puri..scraping coconut butter off the pan ? I close my eyes..I see her talking crystal clear...I open them and she is a bit hazy now.... 
Living in Pune, it is easy to imagine that she is going about her daily routine back home in Bangalore..and my mind slips into that automatic delusion ever so often..until the events of the past month flow by in a flash, and then that now familiar stab of pain returns. 
We are all limping into a new normal now- Appa, my brother, his family, my aunts, and I. New routines are starting to replace old ones.. New support systems being formed..as we learn to hold on to each other, instead of being held by her... Trying in small small ways to fill the gaping hole, she left behind. It is a new way of thinking, a new way of living, a new way of being. 
Amma, you always said ‘Inneki chetta, Nalayki rendu’. ‘If you die today, it is the 2nd day tomorrow.’ It’s a month tomorrow Ma, and while time has indeed moved on, in so many many ways, Time stands still.

Relationships

Relationships are like trees. They start out as saplings and grow as they are nurtured and nourished with love, care, trust and time. The longer and more purely they are nurtured, the stronger and more robust they grow. Some require care continuously, others thrive even with sporadic watering, some shrivel and get stunted if smothered with excess sunshine, but starve them completely and they will all eventually die. 
Relationships die in several ways. Some die slowly over years of neglect and abuse. So slowly you wake up one day and find your feelings have died quietly a while ago and you never noticed. And then you keep watering a dead plant hoping it comes alive somehow. 
Some relationships die suddenly- like somebody hacked their roots mercilessly - killing in a series of bloody swipes, something that was thriving till yesterday. Killed carelessly to make way for something else. And then there are the most unfortunate ones - the forest fires- where trees growing all together in proximity all get burnt down by an unfortunate spark in one.

And finally there are those, whose branches get chopped off, or lose their leaves and flowers to weather a cold storm, but whose roots are intact, waiting to flower when spring arrives.

Memories

We live on a treadmill of time, constantly running past our present and leaving strewn behind, as markers of our journey, memories. 
Memories : painted in the canvas of our mind with broad brushstrokes of emotion : joyous, repulsive, anxious, hateful, loving. The details, lost to the sieves of age, or saved by them. Innocuous minutae – the color of a dress, the look in a loved one’s eye, the design of fabric on a couch, the ringing of laughter in a friend’s voice – saved for no reason sometimes, and other times because they meant so much. Other stories blanked out because they meant very little, or sometimes, because they hurt too much. Some memories, expanding in the aftermath, because of how often we choose to shower them with attention. Others fading, as we diminish their value. All of them, colored forever, by the lens we choose to view them with. Lenses, chosen unwittingly perhaps, sometimes deliberately, but chosen nonetheless. Lenses, that become hard to alter, once chosen. 

Memories, are the building blocks to our evolving selfhood, shaping us constantly. Each event, leaving its mark, in how we think, what we value, who we value, who we discard. They are the cement in our relationships-bonding us forever with those that we share fond memories with- however fleeting. Laying invisible or maybe, discernible cracks in bonds that have left us with dour aftertaste. Memories are our bridges across time, allowing us to traverse decades in a fraction. To revisit bonds, to recreate events like they occurred yesterday. We are little else, but a collection, a treasure trove, an edifice created by our memories. And the memories of those we touch in our journey. We act today, as our memories have shaped us to. And our actions in turn will shape the memories. 
This past week, I have been submerged in memories of a very joyful time from my adolescence. Old friends, lost to time, but now reunited because of our memories.

#Home

Home' is sometimes, a country, a city, a locality, a house, a room. Favorite streets, familiar nooks igniting memories.Familiar flavors,wafting smells tingling the senses. Familiar sounds, familiar tongues that make us smile. Familiar faces, favourite people enveloping us with warmth. 'Home' can also be a just a bunch a things : your bed, your blanket, your plate, your coffee mug; the teddy you love to hug when nobody's watching, your torn shirt that you wear to bed each night, your comfort food made just so. Things you carry along when you move, or just when you go away for a few days - to make the alien more bearable. Most often though, home is people you love : your spouse or partner, your kids, your parents, your pet that runs to greet you when you arrive, your siblings maybe, that rare friend..People, whose presence makes any place home, and whose absence, robs home from every place. Above all, 'Home' is a feeling. A feeling that you belong, that you are loved, that you are missed. 'Home' is where your heart sings, home is where you are without your masks, home is where you go to hide when the world wounds you, home is where you replenish your self, when you feel depleted. Today morning, I woke up at 4.00, dressed up and left my home -my house, my city, my things, my family- and boarded a flight. I landed, took a cab and arrived home - to my mom and dad. Home, for some of us lucky ones, is many places, many things, many people, all igniting that familiar feeling 'I'm Home'. What is your home ?

40TH Birthday!

Forty, as per current trend, is the celebration of the half way mark of your life. If you are lucky, as I have been, you are , by the time you hit this milestone, mostly done with the job of growing up. Your insecurities lie in your past, as do your grudges, your confusion about your priorities, and your haziness about which relationships matter, or should. And what takes its place is a searing clarity about what really matters and who really matters, or should. Fortunate as I am about having discovered the ‘what’s’ of my life, I am even more fortunate to have been blessed with several ‘who’s’ that enrich my life. These are the people, who entered my life at various stages – in school, in undergrad, at IIM, at my various workplaces, in the various cities that I have lived in – Nasik, Bangalore,Bangkok, Pune – and then never left. They are the people who have chosen me and who I have chosen as a part of each other’s lives, not because we have a blood bond, but because we share something deeper – a soul connection, a deep friendship, a love that has seen and weathered several storms, and maybe an unconditional acceptance of each other, with all our flaws. When so many of these incredible, warm and generous people, whom I am lucky to call my friends, take the effort and the time – to come down from Bangalore, Delhi, Chennai , Bangkok, Pune, Mumbai, to prioritise my special day in their incredibly buzy lives, I feel humbled by their love. When my family – my husband, my aging inlaws, my daughter – do everything in their power to make me feel cherished, I feel nothing but gratitude to experience their selfless, tireless love. When colleagues at work put toegther a thoughtful special surprise, I feel surprised to deserve their care. And then there are the loved ones who, even as they are unable to be with me in person, make it a point to let me know I am in their thoughts – calling me, sending me video/audio messages, whatsapping me or sending me a personal note – gestures of love that let me know they care. Life, I know by now, is filled with searing highs, sweeping lows, and lots of blah days in between. The infinite big and small gestures of love I have experienced in the last three days – make these, by far the most cherished, memorable, days ever. These are indeed the best days of my life.