Edited by: Pratyusha Gupta
Every day in college has given me a sense of unfamiliarity. This place, inhabited by many others, is far from home. The bustling atmosphere, the unknown faces, and my shared room are all everyday reminders that tell me that this is not the place where I belong.The ubiquitous red of the residence halls as well as the academic buildings is becoming a tiresome sight to behold. I count days until I will no longer be able to see the red bricks. These long buildings are empty of any comfort that home brings. The white plastered walls of my room are as empty of emotion and love as this entire place feels. I think of home—the warmth of the wooden walls, the aroma of my mother’s food, and the love and care that linger in the air. Going back and appreciating these blessings that I previously took for granted is the only desire that I so profoundly hold within me. It is the little things about home that I crave.
Soon, months pass, and August turns into December. Filled with both excitement and fatigue, I wake up at 5:00 a.m. All night, I have been twisting and turning in my bed, thinking of how tomorrow I will be in my own bed, in my own room. I quickly get ready, board the first shuttle, and travel in two metros till I finally reach the airport. As I wait to board the plane, I am surrounded by people from my community who speak the same language as people do at home. I don’t know them, and they are likely as strangers as people in college are, perhaps even more so. Yet I feel some natural connection—a natural inclination—that I harbor towards these people. I do not talk to any of them, but their mere company soothes me.
I finally reach Srinagar airport after two long hours of traveling by plane. As I get out of the plane, I smell the scent of Kashmir—the thick, cold, heavy air accompanied by the smell of withered vegetation. I swiftly make my way, pick up my suitcase, and run towards the exit. Outside, I spot my sister and my father. Holding them in a tight embrace, I get into the car and spend another two long hours until I finally reach home.
Entering the gate, I gaze at my house. Everything about it seems so exciting—even the worn-out paint on its exterior walls. My mother comes out of the door to welcome me with open hands. In all this exhilaration, I trip while climbing the stairs. “No, it is not anything serious”, I tell everyone as I get up and finally enter my house, whose walls emanate cold air. I quickly head to my room, dressing up in warm clothes, before having lunch. My mother has prepared all my favourite foods, and after months of eating mess food, I can’t be more delighted.
However, much to my dismay, my enthusiasm begins to subside after a few hours. I feel an indescribable itch within me; this stillness seems so peculiar. Why am I not doing something? Why is everything so quiet? I don’t miss the bustling college atmosphere, but since I have become so deeply accustomed to it, this tranquil lifestyle seems difficult to adjust to. Contrary to what I thought, I do not feel at peace. Instead, I feel as if I am somewhere I am not supposed to be—somewhere I do not belong. But isn’t a sense of belonging the very essence of feeling at home, the lack of which compelled me to believe that I wasn’t at home in college? If I don’t belong to either of the two, is there even a place worthy of being called home?
Perhaps I no longer have a home where I fully belong, but I still have two homes where I live. As I adjust myself to the stillness of my hometown, my heart is beginning to feel at peace. Yet it is aware that this serenity is transient, as I am going to leave in a few days and put all this behind me. The ephemerality of home, combined with my occasional verbal stumbles of referring to college as home while conversing with others, fuel a realization within me. Perhaps I should not fret so much about belonging. I am a traveller, constantly shifting between two places, and instead of thinking that there is no place where I belong, I could believe that I belong in both. Home is not going anywhere; it is someplace I always ought to come back to. But college is somewhere I am going to spend most of my time, at least for the next four years of my life. I could possibly benefit more from conceding this truth rather than constantly rebelling against it. I have two homes now instead of one, perhaps.