In Memories of Home

Not the tall-standing city lights, nor the blazing eyes of the vehicles that cut through the hazy darkness  in unwarranted speeds…….but could the warmth of a full moon that comforted my grievous soul in her journey towards “home”.  As the man in the next seat tried to fall into restful sleep so indifferent of my presence, I was fighting my involuntary fear of his odor, his color, of his impoverished state of life……but what did I have to fear in my world away from home…drifting from one home and heading to another!

As Fall arrives and the morning fog mystifies the lazy Sun, I wait and wonder if the clothes-pin still tightly hold the flowers of the scarf that I wore to School every day, if the north westerly have begun to fight the mellowed Sun of autumn in Kolkata? I face both the wind and the sun weaving hours of dreaminess as I lean over the 80-year old arms of my beloved – the terrace that listened to me in joy and in pain and that still patiently awaits my returning to home.

The drifting homes are sometimes only a couple hundred miles apart conquering one landscape after another in their stride, from the uninterrupted impeccably golden corn fields of the Fall in midewest US to the dramatic rolling hills of the Cumberland Plateau. At other times, homes are a culture apart, taking a flight across oceans, waiting to be re-invented amongst patterned window curtains and cobbled esplanades!!

“Guten Abend”, said the sweet old lady as our army of three young women continued the fight of hauling 50 lbs luggage up the dark, narrow and winding stairs of 23 Strassemann Strasse, Bad Nauheim, Germany. Even though we lacked the prowess of a common language, the kind lady welcomed us into our home for 5 nights through an animated tour of the cozy bedrooms, 60 year old books adorning the living room, the kitchen upholding the proud recycle bins, and a quaint little room in the attic. Be it the royal blue bedspreads with flower patterns, the Summer breezing through cotton curtains, relaxed Sunday tete-a-tete of people, the cacophony of crows at the break of dawn or our mock fight for a night under the attic window, I was in love with this home away of home. How can I miss recalling the traditional restaurant that served a chicken cutlet served with a salad of cucumber, onions and mustard sauce – it was not the Peep-n-Inn as a fellow Calcutta may mitsake; but in the historical, picturesque city of Bad Nauheim that gifted me the unadulterated spirit of good old Calcutta!

No matter how many homes one may build in a lifetime, the same flavors prevail, the known fragrances linger and memories get the last bet…….memories of not what we leave behind, but what we created out of marriage with moments, moments of bewilderment, joyous reinvention of oneself, of retrospection and the longing to return home.

I ponder if such flights are often escapes from reality in longing for a recluse….as I play with words choosing memories, wrapped in the warmth of Maa’s 30-year old Kashmiri shawl I can smell the Shiuli flowers as Autumn glorifies my home…..