A Stranger in my Home

I stand staring at the black nothingness that engulfs the view through my balcony. The sea stretches into oblivion with a few faint twinkles. Below is the spread of the hutments and small houses. A distinctive breeze raises the hair on the back of my neck. Something is amiss.

I feel like a stranger in my own home.

I return to India after 16 months with a sense of deja vu. As if something is wrong. As if I dont belong here. The cacophony of noises on the street, the traffic, the sheer glut of people chokes me. As if someone is smothering you with a cloud of swirling dust. I felt elated uptil the point I reached home - as if I was undertaking a great journey of sorts. Now that I'm here, its downright weird. My house has been transformed in my absence, the neighbours are new, the cars in the garage different. It seems that I felt time was still, and I'm returning back to what I left - expecting things that aren't there anymore.

I pause, take a breath. Juxtaposing that its just been a few hours - relax. Feel like listening to Pink Floyd's 'Comfortably Numb'. I echo the lines - "I can't explain, you won't understand, this is not how I am".

I guess things will quieten in a few days, make me feel more at home. I guess. The queasy feeling in my chest subsides a bit. The power of this city starts to wash over me.

A few days later......

I love Mumbai. I've said it a hundred times. You can't take that out of me. The shock over, I finally feel at ease.

I finally feel at home.