Notes From A Homebody

I love coming back home. There's no other feeling that quite compares with the experience of entering Shillong city after the cab ride from Guwahati. Every time I come here I feel like I've been away for centuries, and I never, ever want to go back. The colours are fuller, everything has a richer texture, be it food, or drink, sleep, or rain. It just feels like more.

My grandma has been feeding me non-stop since I got here. She keeps telling me that I've wasted away to nothing and now I look like a plank of wood. I feel like a tragic figure in some terribly maudlin book every time she says that, but it has its compensations. She's been outdoing herself in the kitchen in a bid to fatten me up, and that is saying something.

The little sister is growing up, and trying her best to be complicated. I feel like telling her sometimes that its alright to be an adolescent while you're at the right age, instead of trying to get the whole world to take you seriously. There's enough time for that. And its always easier to get the world to laugh with you instead of sulking and hoping to be miraculously understood. But I suppose that life is a better teacher than anyone else can ever be.

I've realized that I'm essentially a domestic cow. No matter how far away I go, or what I do, I'll never really be at peace till I'm home again. Darn. I'd hoped that I'd turn out to be more interesting. Anyway, lunch awaits (masala stuffed fish...yummylicious), and I better get home before it starts to rain again and I get drenched. Toodle-oo!