Day 21: Bengloor-life banter

It’s certainly a sign of change, growth, movement, evolution — call it what you will — when you think back to a time in your life and you simply cannot relate to, or recognise the person you used to be.

Surely transformation cannot change you that much, I catch myself thinking, almost like I want to hope against hope that I have turned into a wholly different person. But there’s the truth. I do not recognise many aspects of myself from 6 years ago.

I cannot relate to the lifestyle we had, our work-life balance, how much I short-changed myself, and how little I settled for, in terms of gratification from work.

I do not recognise the person that lived with the in laws, in a house of 7 people waiting to greet you right outside your bedroom door, every time you stepped out. It was a time I had to get out of my night shorts and get into pants every time I wanted to leave my room. Nobody asked me to do it, I just did it because I felt it was expected.

I do not relate to most any of my friends from back then. I’m no longer in touch with most, but even the few that I am friends with either through the occasional whatsapp message binge, or on facebook, I cannot relate. It’s probably why I actively do not let any of them know when I do visit home.

I am borderline aghast when I think of some of the really silly/risky/stupid shenanigans I got up to, especially in the years before I was married. I was definitely a special kind of stupid person who operated under a combination of mild peer pressure and wanting to prove to myself that I could pull this grown up person thing off. Except, I was doing it all wrong. I know that now. And present me wants to sometimes go back in time and give past me a hug some times and a slap sometimes and assure her that eventually it all works out.

That the city is no longer my association of home, doesn’t help either. I feel like a visitor, an alien, a villager stuck in big city lights for the most part. Heck I don’t even know how to call and pay for a cab on my phone. But that apart, Bangalore has morphed into such a mutant, many-tentacled monolith, that I find myself cowering into corners to avoid getting around. Save for my home, catching up with my louwed-ones, and the customary visit to the in-laws, I never have the inclination or the energy to explore, get around, and paint the town red.

It’s certainly not the city I grew up in, but it isn’t even the city I left in 2010. For a few years I mourned the loss – both ways – the ache in the pit of my stomach from having to leave it and the stab in my back from how fast it changed. But not anymore. Now, I simply can’t relate.

Streets meander into a hazy mess, entire localities fuse into a nebulous mass and I have very little outside of the walls of my own home, where I feel that “Mama, I’m home” kind of feeling. It is like being stuck in limbo, floating weightless.

So when the thought of potentially moving back crops up in my mind. I want to fight back tears, shut the door on that conversation and never look back.

4 thoughts on “Day 21: Bengloor-life banter

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  4. I have been through the phase you are in and have felt similar things about my hometown, but life heard my thoughts and made me shift (permanently) back to my home town giving up the fast-paced metro life I’d grown to love.
    Cutting to today (that is 5 years later), I have similar feelings for the city I was in before shifting here.
    So maybe, like you mentioned, it is just a part of our growth and perhaps evolution.


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