Homecoming

Scraping off the thick layer of dust that has settled on the lock, I started shuffling through the bag to look for the keys. There was a bit of rust on the keys too. It took me a minute and a bit of force to finally get the door to open. And I was greeted with dust and a smell. What kind of smell? I don't know. The kind of smell you would get from old places. Rotting wood, old furnitures, the way they smell. That's how it was.

I flipped the switch. No electricity. Should have been obvious. The building is basically desolate. No one lives here anymore. The last family that lived here, moved out 5 years ago. It was 12 noon. I opened the window. Yeah, it goes without saying that it was covered with spider webs and dirt. And yes, I used a piece of cloth to open them. I am still afraid of spiders. I still am.

I closed the door and moved to the bedroom. The bed was still there. An almirah too. The bedroom door was open. As if it has been waiting for me to come back for all these years. The rays of the sun mixed with the suddenly stirred atmosphere of the apartment was creating a mystical show of lights. Or maybe I am just imagining things. I looked at the bed again.

Do you know what the saddest part is? I'll never sleep in the middle again.

Suddenly the sadness was way too much. I moved to my room. The computer table was still there. Not the computer though. My bed. We never took the beds. There was dust on the bed. But I sat on it anyway. Looked at the empty table for a moment. That gave me a smile. Well. That computer was my entire world. I sat there for quite a few moments. Looked around. There was nothing to my left. Not anymore. Although there was a circular mark on the floor where the stand-fan used to stand. Marks. Yeah. Looking closely, there were a lot of them. Some vague. Some more prominent.

There were marks and there were memories. A lot and a lot of them.

Looking at the window to my right, I thought of opening it. Just to peek through the window one last time, to see what the next door (more like next window) neighbors are doing. Probably watering those lovely flowers or cooking relentlessly all through the day. Believe me, that's all I ever saw through those windows. I promise. But I never opened. It's better to remember those blossoming flowers than too see some empty pots.

One could easily ask that, "Why now? Why after 30 long years? " To that I'd say. It's home. It doesn't matter how long I've been away. It's my home. And it'll always be my home. No matter how far I go. It'll always call me back. Yes, it might not look the same. Hell, it might even look dead from the outside. But it'll still be alive from the inside. It'll still be as if it was just yesterday that baba bought me my first computer. It'll still be as if I was just nagging maa to make me some khichuri. It'll still feel like I just had one of those playful arguments I used to have with baba. As if it was yesterday I fell asleep on my maa's lap. They will always be here. They will always bring me back.

HA 16, Janapath, Aswininagar, Baguiati is not just my address. It's a part of me.