I love traveling. I could live out of a suitcase. Moving from one place to another. The unknown doesn’t scare me. It’s welcome with all its challenges and hurdles.I have never felt home sick. Not since I was a Kid. But now,here I am home sick. I was fine all day yesterday. Tired in fact,walking endlessly scouting for accommodations. I even got some more art material and that makes me very happy. I came back to the hotel in the evening with a plan of starting work on my exhibition project. But while I was at the reception this huge African man(sorry don’t know what is the non-racist term.)who I have seen around in the hotel initiated a conversation that completely threw me off the hook. He pointedly asked-“Are you doing a diploma or a masters.” I was just about to reply when it struck me,how does he even know I’m here for a course??? I can’t begin to tell you’ll how much it freaked me out. I rushed to my room,double locked it and didn’t step out. Not even for dinner. For the first time in years I was scared, rather terrified. May be he was just having a casual conversation but it didn’t sit well with me atall.

To take my mind off I started sketching, (but I suddenly don’t know how to hold a pencil.) After a point the sharp high pitched whistle of silence got to me. I tried playing my favourite music but no help. Finally I left my window open so I could hear some sound,any sound was welcome.

I miss the familiarity of my house. Not the comfort or luxury but just the sense of safety and security your own home,your own country gives you. I miss the sounds of my house. The vessels clanging,the whistle of the cooker,the TVs on on different channels, the buzz of the machinery from the cake factory that is outside our gate, the annoying door bell which doesn’t stop at one ring, the incessant ringing of the phone which everyone hopes someone else will pick up, the running water,the washing of the utensils, even the breaking,the hum of the ac,the chatter of the staff, Vipul kicking off his shoes when he gets home, footsteps on the wooden stairs, dogs barking somewhere, the insane traffic noise,the honking,the creaking of heavy chairs against the accustomed floor and my music playing somewhere in the background. I miss it. The silence which I so cherished is now deafening.Bearing heavily down on me. Back home even the silence has its own sound. It’s own rhythm it’s own beat and it’s own words. 

I miss the smells too. The tempering of dal, the smell of steaming hot rotis, the hand wash,the crisp unobtrusive smell of clean sheets, occasional flowers, the Diya and the dhoop that gets done every evening in my house.

I miss the sights too. The dusk settling over a spent day. The foggy incensed air.The lights coming on in the house, the milky white of the walls,which are not so fresh now, the shadows of the furniture, the night with its bright lights and snaking traffic lines all ending in red dots, the fallen frangipani on the deck, the cold soothing cement floor, books lying around, the blue of the cushions carelessly dotting the white expanse.

I miss all of it….. 

I miss the safety of my home and more so I miss everyone who makes that home safe for me. My family, my friends, my parents…

And I miss who I used to be fearless and risk taking.

I miss myself too.