Going home

Crossing Majiwada, my beady eyes begin to open by habit. As we move beyond Manpada, the air is getting rarer. Traffic sparser. With a little tilt of my head, I can view the Western Ghats to my left beyond the newly constructed apartment blocks. I open the window little more and cool my lungs with deep intakes of fresh air. I feel a chill on my back, with my sweat drenched shirt getting dried in a huff. The road is well-lit, better than most in Mumbai in fact, but everytime I come home, I feel I am going back to my village. My wilderness. My space for life.

I get down the bus at Vijay Garden, and walk the road to home. The atmosphere is that of a well-developed small town evening. Alive with the night chatter and selling, it is quite unlike the deathly silence of dark nights in my actual, native village. My apartment complex is also humming with activity, with night work going on to build the next tower. I move beyond the derelict, half-built buildings to my quarter, and move straight to the play area. Seeing me, my kid is forcibly taken off the swing, which he has occupied majestically for the last one hour. Giving my laptop bag to wifey, as I pull him towards myself, he has still not had his full and wants to break free. I persist shamelessly in smothering him with kisses, while he bares his teeth to attack me. I take him towards lift by which time he has started screaming a little. We go up, I put him down to open the locks, he looks around. We go in, he immediately spots his drum stick and moves towards it happily. He has forgotten the swings, and realizes he is back to his kingdom. I enter my home, my hearth.