Home and away

For instance, an infant’s first breath begins with the act of separation — a simple snip to the umbilical cord, the subsequent process of weaning as the child grows older, they all seem to stem from this base, yet beautiful act of separation itself.

Time flies and yet another transition is ushered in, a significant one at that, when this child is all grown up and ready to move out into the big-bad world. Moments like these are often fraught with sadness, as parents bear the heartache of separation.
However, the trend of moving away from home to study or work in a different city or even abroad has always found willing takers amongst us. Rapid globalisation and the need for better education, besides exposure to the international work culture has plenty more youngsters leaving behind the safe confines and comforts of their homes, in search of greener pastures. 

While the advantages of quality education and the chance of moving up the career graph cannot be debated, the downside of having to live away from family can’t be negated either. 

While there are cases where children growing up in hostels become too independent and often turn detached, there are yet others who are exposed to the challenges of hostel life, and most often grow up to be rather confident and mature individuals.

It is often in this hope that most parents anticipate the day when their brood is ready to leave the nest. For me, my time came at the age of 16, when I found myself on my way to a boarding school in Rajasthan.

I had jumped at the chance of leaving behind the sleepy, old town of Dibrugarh, in Assam for the boarding school experience that my father had convinced me was so essential for my “well rounded development”. I was so excited at the prospect of going to a new school that I never thought of what I would miss out on, till I got there. My initial excitement, which had been fuelled by Enid Blyton’s St Clare’s and the Malory Towers series, began to ebb a little as I realised that life in a boarding school was not all about fun and games and midnight feasts.

I was never a difficult child, but early morning PT sessions, compulsory afternoon games, restricted outings and regulated timings for everything didn’t go down so well with me. To top it all, one’s fundamental right to privacy was panning out to be such a myth as our letters home were scrutinised by the house mistress before they set out to be where I wasn’t — home!

It wasn’t the regimented routine that seemed difficult getting used to, but it was being away from my family, my friends, and of course, home cooked food, that was tough. I longed for the familiar, comforting taste of my mum’s curries, but instead had to make do with the unappetising meals dished out by the school mess.

I often fought bouts of homesickness, pretended to be strong and blinked my tears away but finally made peace with the fact that there was no way of getting home before the holidays.

As time went by, the introvert in me learnt to reach out and make new friends, learnt to break rules without getting caught and, for the first time in my life, studied hard to better my grades. It was this phase of school life that prepared me for college and  what lay ahead.

Although devastated at the idea of living in a hostel again in Delhi, I was relieved to hear that the restrictions of a boarding school no longer existed in college. But, during my time at college, I almost always missed out on festivals and joyous occasions when the entire family came together to celebrate. It saddened me when I was unable to feast my senses on delectable home food, or for that matter, not being able to gorge on til pithas during Bihu.

My parents were equally sad; with me away at college and my younger brother in a boarding school, all they had to themselves was an empty house. As is the case with most parents, whose children are away from home, all in the name of academics or in the pursuit of a well-paid job, my folks found consolation in the fact that this separation was a part of the sacrifices that modern families make in the hope of a brighter future.

As I figured, my future lay in my own hands. After college, I decided to stick around in Delhi rather than go back home, as great jobs were hard to come by in a small town. Pursuing a career in the media industry, which I was hankering after, was almost next to impossible.

Though I admit living on my own came with its share of trials and tribulations. This was perhaps the time when I missed having my parents around the most and would have liked their company and constant reassurance.

Amongst urban crowds, I was never alone and yet, I was lonely. I had found new friends, yet I knew they would never replace the bond I shared with my best friend back home. I had accepted the fact that being away could never come easy, yet, I hung on tenaciously to follow my dreams.

The process of youngsters leaving home is a crucial part of their transition to adulthood. For those of us living in the metros, all it takes is a cursory glance, to spot countless heads embarking on the same incredible journey, chasing their dreams endlessly, leaving their parental homes behind, all in search of their pot of gold.

As for me, I find myself making peace with life today and have no reasons to complain against the informed choices I made, and yet, my heart still aches for a brush with times that were.

As my work gets more demanding and even makes me move cities, my trips to my hometown have become more and more erratic. But, when I do manage a brief visit, coming away always seems to get harder, each time.

The lure of moving back home for good and experiencing life at a much slower pace, being close to my family and friends, spending a lazy afternoon on the banks of the mighty Brahmaputra or simply gazing at lush green tea estates and acres of paddy fields, just keeps getting stronger. I may have traded my small town life for that of the big city, yet in my heart of hearts, I know that I will always remain a small town girl.

And, as Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr very aptly put it, “Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”

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