Yearning - that is what I feel while thinking of Bengaluru as I slow-cook in the tandoor that is Delhi in the summer. I miss those wild, rampant winds and the gusty rain. I miss the thunder that would make me jump and my sister scramble into my room for shelter. Our nervous laughter and snuggles made for a modern re-enactment of the classic Sound of Music moment.
I wish I could boast about knowing Bengaluru like the back of my hand; but sadly, I can't. Those parts of Bengaluru that I have walked in and breathed in, have become a part of my DNA. I will tell my children about the Bengaluru winters, the rollicking monsoons, the sugarcane juice-filled summers - and they will learn that no matter how long you stay in a place, there is always more to know. Fourteen years were not enough for me to know Bengaluru. I don't know if, and when, I will return. But I know that the lush Gulmohar trees are beckoning as I write, their blossoms like the freshly applied henna, their scent warm and inviting.
The eclectic biryanis of Bengaluru, the stuff the gastronomic adventures are made of, oh, how I crave for them. I could just step into the bustling, brightly-lit hall of a Biryani Mane on the main road. One must really applaud the business acumen of these biriyani makers: Their eateries are always located near bus stops, their mascots none other than the sultry kebabs so alluringly rotating in the glass cases. Their doors are always open, as if an escape to the titillating aromas of their kitchen, luring many alighting passengers, for an oh-so-gratifying take-out, if not a dine-in.
If loaded with cash and feeling rich, I could swagger into a plush restaurant for biryanis served in bronze bowls. The meat here is often not as lovingly cooked as it is in the roadside kitchens, but their presentation, without the food-frenzied flies, have something alluring about them. The velvety gravies accompanying the aromatic rice are my favourite part of the high-end biriyani experience.
As I step out after a hearty meal and cast my eyes skyward, they meet the moon, bewitching, transcendental, swathed in a celestial mink coat of clouds, and yet so familiar. The moon in Bengaluru felt as if I had a guardian shaking a little protective moon-dust on me. The clouds were always a wondrous new landscape for my hopes and imagination.
Bengaluru that taught me to love, to trust, to grieve and to be wary. The city that threw innumerable trials and tribulations at me also offered me unexpected avenues to heal and transform. It nurtured my dreams and bade me goodbye for reasons I am still unravelling.
Setting foot in Bengaluru was one of the most crucial incidents in my life. Although I am yet to discover why I was meant to be there - there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I must strive to go back. Until we meet again...