At the end of this month, I am going to my hometown after a break of 14 months – the longest I’ve been away. My parents still live there, as do Vidya’s. When I think of going back, I feel a strange beckoning that is totally unfamiliar. I cannot classify it – it is too subtle and too fleeting. Suddenly, a melancholy comes upon me, a nameless sadness at an unknown loss. Yet, without explanation, that sadness is tinged with a euphoria that is as unexplainable as itself. It is difficult to classify it as pleasure and it most definitely is not pain. Maybe this is what the ancients meant when they were talking about “our pain” or nostalgia.
When I think why this is, or rather, why this has never happened before this or with anything else, I cannot put my finger on why this is happening. I have been to places where I know almost for a certainty that I’ll never be back. Places I have liked. But I have never felt anything like this there. I have been to places which hold many memories, and I have never been affected similarly. I have left behind people important to me, people influential in shaping me, people I love being with, and yet, I haven’t felt this way.
I cannot wait to see how I feel when I actually go back.