I wanted to make the title ‘Home’ instead of giving it the name of my hometown. But nowadays I feel confused to use the home word as much as the love word confuses me. I think way too much I suppose. I can’t help it. I have a habit of questioning everything that goes inside my head. I don’t know if that’s BPD too. So anyway, I went home for Christmas. This might sound like as if my whole family decorates the Christmas tree together and then we sing carol on top of our voice and eat dinner together on 25th. We do no such thing. We are a weird family that celebrates no occasion no festival together and yet we still manage to care about one another in the weirdest way possible. So it was the third week of December and I was missing my mother, her annoying remarks, my brother, my father’s nonchalant face. Well yes, you can say that I was missing home. The missing got worse when my apartment hunting had gone horribly wrong and I booked my Calcutta flight out of despair and desperation. It’s a different story that I found my place only the next day. But even after settling in my new flat when I realized that I was missing my folks no matter what I felt good. Well, finally I am becoming normal. So it was the morning of Christmas Eve I left my flat in thick jacket, leg warmers and tall boots and boarded the cab to Siliguri. I was fidgety with excitement all the way. Literally I wanted to jump out of the plane as soon as it reached Dumdum. Not to mention my journey till Siliguri was awful. The driver did not care to tie the bags overhead and the whole way I was half dead with anxiety that the Kanchenjunga would claim my bag along with the gifts I was taking home. Fortunately that did not happen and nine hours later when a very exhausted me rang the doorbell I was sweating like a pig in my turquoise feather jacket.  Five minutes into the house and my parents started fighting like cats accusing each other for being late to open the door to me. Home sweet home. Day one.

Surprisingly or maybe not so surprisingly I do not remember what I did the first two days except that my mother pissed me off once. On 26th I went to my head office and later met a friend from Darjeeling. We spent two hours on the steps on City Centre talking about something so deeply serious that I can’t discuss here, especially because it was related to other person’s personal life. We talked over tea and cake and then stole someone’s pens (Honestly that was not technically stealing, that bag was lying there the whole time and nobody came to claim it.), divided the loot in two and went home.

Again absolutely no recollection of 27th. On 28th I met another friend who was going back to the US by the end of the month. We did something that I had never imagined I would ever do. We went to watch Tiger Zinda Hai. I was about to post a review even, but then chucked the idea as it would have been pushing it too far. And since I am shameless and maybe a little bonkers in the head, I admit that I enjoyed the movie. In fact I was the one who applauded and cheered the most in the entire theatre. Only whistling was left as I cannot whistle. Ah sweet BPD.

29th again was spent at home. I posted something on the blog but rest of the day was blah and hence no memory whatsoever. On 30th that friend and I met again but it was not planned. We went to City Centre 2. I stopped at a special spot there and insisted P to click a picture of me there. A very special spot. I did some shopping, sat in a café then bade adieu to each other. Maybe next year we will meet again. Or maybe not. Nobody knows.

My New Year’s Eve and New Year day passed in a blur with me sitting at the dented spot on my bed and staring at my laptop. That dented spot (made by my very own ass) is like Bermuda Triangle. Every last ounce of my energy vanishes once I sit there. For two days I ran a movie marathon. (Doctor Strange, Thor Ragnarok, Behn Hogi Teri, Running Shaadi, Bareily Ki Barfi, Jab We Met, Lucy, Huntsman Winters War and I guess a few random FRIENDS episode) 2018 arrived. I turned up the volume a little bit louder so I couldn’t hear the sound of crackers. For next two days (2nd And 3rd of January) I stayed in my bed and read After You by Jojo Moyes, barring the time of lunch, dinner and bath. I slept very little too. And by god, how much I cried. In the end I was shivering from dehydration and I had to put cream under my eyes. You would be mistaken if you thought it was sadness. It was a catharsis. A sweet release. And I hadn’t felt so light in ages. It’s a damn good book.

On the night of 4th I smoked a joint, for the first time in my life. My brother gave it to me. I told you, we are one weird family. But to be honest, I did not enjoy it much and it left a perched feeling in my mouth that lingered till the next morning. Oh and I visited our local Gurudwara on 2nd – first time in fifteen years and second time overall. My mother suspected I had gone there to eat the pure ghee laden halwa Prasad and I tried to look as nonchalant as possible in front of her. But the Baba ji knew what the real reason was.

I would share the story of my coming back but this one has already crossed a thousand words so that’s going to happen on next post. Moral of the story after spending two weeks at home? My parents are fine. I am fine. They did fuck me up in many ways over the years with their over-protective attitude but still things are fine. And the separation is good. The fog is finally lifting.