When I go back I am unable to feel that same sense of warmth and belongingness. That place is not my home anymore, that place is not my own anymore. Those walls I rested on, those steps I sat on, those grounds I played on and the paths I walked on feel distant and hazy, like a love of long long ago.
It can never be mine again, there are strings of attachment sewn by a layer of detachment. Attachment to my memories of the place, and places within the place, It’s as if I have left some part of me in each small corner, and each trail I walked on has its own tale to tell. Valley taught me it is okay to be myself.
You would have sensed the confusion in what I just wrote. As I write this I am confused, flooded by emotions and feelings, which demand from me to be expressed. That was a time when I was strong and vulnerable. I could just let go and drift, walk away, not afraid of being judged, especially by myself.
I go there to be myself as much as I go there in search of myself.
Outside those gates, I have to be a puppet, the movements are my own, but are controlled by the one pulling my strings. You start racing to get ahead, and somewhere in this process leave yourself behind. When we are trying to hold on, we should just let go. We would not have to try, if it was ours.
Even though back then things were confusing, looking back I wish things now were as simple as they were then.
The smile when I needed one, the hug whose warmth took away the tears, the impromptu dance every morning, the songs that we sang, the boundaries we broke and learnt to respect. The lessons of life we learnt holding each others hands, lead us onto a path where we grew as individuals as we grew as one.
The memory of, the long midnight walkwith my loved one, the splendid moments of joy and vulnerability with my friends, the guilt and helplessness when things just don’t fall into place, going wrong but ending on the path of realization. All this taught me to love, to give, to understand and to look beyond. All this taught me to live.
It represents a time which will never come back again. It also represents a time whose echo will always resound all through my life. I often switch between these two sides, my mind and heart argue, none of them can win as both are right. The time will not come again but It shall always be.
I go back to experience the feelings of belonging, warmth, comfort, and most importantly the feeling of a place where I learnt to be myself. Even though I still cannot say I know who I am, at least I know I am on the right path. It was a place where I could fall and would not have to fear as I knew I would have people to help me rise, all I had to do was ask.
As I walked across school once evening, everything was empty and silent. The only sound I could hear was mine. This was the first time when I sensed the presence of silence.It was as if the whole Valley was resonating with silence. All the leaves were still. No one dared to disturb the silence. Not only did I sense the presence of silence, but also its strength.
The charm of watery sambhar, cold roties, tasteless vegetables and lime juice will always remain. The long nights spent talking about everything under the sun, along with a heavy dose of maggi and a prized loaf of bread will always remain. All the bathroom water fights, the impromptu dances we broke into, will always remain. The shoulder to cry on and the friends who would make you laugh, the fives eggs a week, the internet time, will always remain. Laughing out loud at the smallest things, sleeping soundly with a test tomorrow, bitching about the food, and getting a stomach upset after eating Pasta, will always remain. The evening coffee, and moonlight conversations, will always remain. Now I have everything, I have a whole city to myself, yet the enduring charm of staying in hostel will always remain.
Now we all in different corners of the world, or it at least feels like that. The faces I saw everyday, will not be seen for a long time to come, some connections will also weaken over time. We were all walking together back then, and now are running on our chosen paths. Some connections may not be as strong as the rest, but they are connections nonetheless, and, hence will always be a part of us. Ignored but not forgotten.
Dear friend,
You are running on a different path, but when I fall on mine you will be there to pick me up. That’s a unspoken promise we made, and which we will follow.
.
