A Dawn at Dusk
Beginnings and endings and goodbyes
Tomorrow is my last day in Bangalore. And with so much going on, I’ll barely have time to sink it in. That’s a good thing; the farewell is denser than I had envisioned it to be.
Leaving town was an old dream that stemmed from the feeling that I was too comfortable at home-and to do anything worthwhile, I’d need to get lost to find myself-and who doesn’t want to explore lands and break free from home, no matter how loved you are-and to go out there as a boy and come back a man, or so the epics tell us- and it just doesn’t feel right to continue a life of sweet luxuries, when you could challenge yourself -leaving is just the real thing to do.
That was my train of thought-months before departure became certain-conjuring an image of a glorious goodbye. I could be the hero, setting sail against an orange sky. I’d travel far, do something tough and reinvent myself.
Right now I say-to hell with all of that. There’s nothing glorious about this heavy, depressing goodbye. I’m staying up tonight, to take in all of Bangalore, my childhood and all the thoughts that will be lost in a new city.
It hadn’t struck me back then, that leaving town in pursuit of a vague dream also meant the end of countless things. No more of lazy Sunday afternoons watching a movie with dad, helping mom out by cleaning the house, showering quickly so sister can use it after her runs, laughing secretly at my dad falling asleep on the couch, asking mom for special dinners, receiving important advice from sister, mom reminding me to do chores, serious analysis from dad, hurrying to leave house on time, dad’s witty stories that draw you in completely, debating whose turn it is to load the dishwasher and all of eating together at the dining table. Suddenly, leaving your family doesn’t seem all too rad.
Missing people is a part of growing up, but leaving to college sets in catalytic changes. I’ll no longer be under the shelter of my parents; slowly I’ll have to take over the reins. When I come back, it’ll be understood that I’ll need to do more and be more. I’m not afraid of independence, it’s just melancholic eh.
A cool breeze falls on my face, the famous weather asks for a mention. But it’s much more than the weather that I’ll miss about the city I grew up in. In the months leading up to college, I pondered what it meant to be a Bangalorean, and if I could call myself one. I can speak broken Kannada and ride BMTCs and Metro Trains. I have visited many of the famous hotels and parks and can negotiate with auto drivers.
Yet I’m not a local, not a Kannadiga, and must hold onto this identify of an outsider in spite of being born in the city. I am a metropolitan whose roots lie elsewhere.
So factoring all of this in, am I a Bangalorean? Yes I am.
You see Bangalore isn’t just the Church Streets, BMTCs, jasmine garlands, Lalbaghs, IT Sectors, HAL centres, influx of outsiders and potholes.
It’s also the Yashs, Aryans, Chiranthans, Adityas, Snehas, Lakshmis, Anurags, Aarushis, Hibas, Sanaths and Meghanas. It’s the schools I attended, the alleys leading to my block and the mesmerising sunsets. Bangalore is the 6 year old Anupam swinging a cricket bat. When I say I’ll miss Bangalore, this is what I mean.
It’s the most the beautiful city, because it made me who I am.
In spite of all the pain that I hadn’t foreseen, the departure seems timely and fair. After years of not wanting to grow up, I feel in sync with time and am optimistic about the future. I want to see what it holds and what I can do. My dreams are vague; I only know I want to feel something real.
It’s happening now-a cacophony of sorrow, anxiety, stress, happiness, excitement, eagerness and calmness. Can you feel the buzz? Things are changing, just as they should be
A dawn and a dusk sets in while I bid adieu to Bangalore.
