WhatsApp Image 2018-02-26 at 12.26.55 PM

#Hometown #Nostalgia #Perspective #Seeking
It is nice to feel nostalgic and have a romantic bias towards one’s hometown, as long as it remains confined to our memories, and does not obstruct our perception of present realities. Even a dense metropolis looks serene, when we’re not caught up in its own maze, from a far distance above. Distance matters, especially, the direction from which it is observed. A linear distance within a metropolis rarely screams serenity, since it can only scream of horns and hawkers, while a distance from above, can scream of beauty and beatitude. Perspective Matters, Opinions Don’t!

When 20 million people live so close by, there’s bound to be minimal agreement amongst them, and restraining their cacophony is the last thing in their minds, to showcase a pseudo idea of civilized behavior under the guise of etiquette and social mannerism.

But, the opportunity to have a better survival then anywhere else, lures us to build up the steam in an already heated up city, and yet the menace created by the city life seems worthwhile after all. Taking infrequent nature holidays becomes the fad, at the expense of filling the bronchioles with some form of carbon on a daily basis.
I grew up in this city, my hometown, some long time ago. This is the finer section on the map, affectionately called the “Queen’s Necklace” at the southern tip of the town, and it is a matter of wonder, if like the elusive necklace, the name was also robbed by the invaders during their brutal reign of over 200+ years. But, the spirit of the hometown does not get diluted by the violent strokes of history and its devastating recordings. Growing up, playing on the streets, running barefoot, drenched by monsoons, fascinated by real games like marbles and tipcat, hide and seek, board games when bored like Monopoly and Ludo, attending school while awaiting the 2 month summer holidays, the unfailing care from parents, the involved attempts by teachers to get us ready for the real world, the suburban train and bus commutes, and so many other things make up for many lovely and harsh memories, all clubbed together in a collage of impressions which stay with us, until we die.

I may claim I’ve grown up, but I’ve a distinct feeling, I’ve only grown older, and growing up must be something else.

A friend send this photo from an aircraft, and as it usually happens with memories and photographs, an array of feelings and thoughts, interspersed with a collage of vivid dialogues, events and hopes from the past, flared up and a few unrealized tears must have escaped, in this bewildering attempt at figuring out the game of being born, taken care of, living amongst the herd, getting older, seeing elders die, and ending the game with an abrupt death.
Nostalgia can be overwhelming and a much needed trigger for seeking existential truth, which we carefully avoid, knowing well, that without questioning and striving for some answers, its only going to bring confusion and paranoia as we age towards a finish, unless of course, some friend sends you an aerial photo of one’s own hometown of that elusive necklace.

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