Scene 1
As the aircraft started hovering over the city and started
moving close to it, from down below the clouds the unmistakable skyline showed
up. In the afternoon sun, it looked magical even to a seasoned non-New Yorker
like me. I looked at the man sitting next to me and asked him – “ Now that you
have lived in New York for so long, do you find yourself at home here ?” He
looked away, uncharacteristically, at the now prominent skyline and said slowly
– “Well, you know Anirban, I grew up in the suburbs of Boston but I have left
it and my parents now live in Florida. But I don’t quite feel like a New Yorker
yet although I enjoy being here.” He stopped for a second before he said ,
almost hesitatingly, “ I have this feeling of homelessness now - I don’t quite
know where my home is anymore. “ After an even longer pause, he added , “ I am
not sure I like it but its not that I can change it”.
Scene 2
A sudden wave of sleeplessness gave me a jolt. I looked at my
phone. It was 3:30 am. I was back in India after almost three long years and
was sleeping in the room where I spent my high school and college years before
I left Kolkata. I knew I couldn’t go back to sleep any more. I got down from my
old bed and unsure of what to do, started connecting my computer to the power
socket. A few moments of electrical
lapse of reason and the light turned up. I looked around. Almost nothing in the
room looked like the way it used to be. I sat down on the lonely sofa and
started opening my e-mail. Almost like a long-lost reflex action coming back to
me, I had a sudden yearning to listen to Gulzar’s Fursat Ke Raat Din. I did not
have the cassette anymore with me and my portable stereo system that had kept
me company on many such late nights was several miles away in another home. I
turned to my friend MusicIndiaOnline.com that had rescued me abroad on many
such occasions. A quick search, a few moments of nervousness and then it showed up. Like a
friend who never betrays you, Fursat Ke Rat Din was indeed online at mio. I
clicked on the “play” icon desperately hoping that it would work one last time.
Gulzar’s unmistakable voice came ringing through – “Ek mood, ek kaifyat, geet
ka chehra hota hai. Kuch shahi se ……..”. I opened up all the windows. It was
dark outside and almost everyone around was asleep. A mild wintry chill came
gushing into the room. Suddenly something clicked into place. I sat down in
front of my computer and started working on my e-mail. I was at home again.
Scene 3
On the morning of the day before my flight back from India,
I boarded a bus from Rabindra Sadan and asked the bus conductor – “ Will this
get me to Purna cinema ?” He nodded and looked at me with slight disregard –
anything that moved in this direction, by necessity, had to go by Purna. When
he finally signaled me to get down, after managing the act of getting off from
a slightly moving bus, I gathered myself and looked around. Suddenly I got a tremendous
jolt ! What I had expected to see right across the street was a stripped down
version of the Purna that I had in my mind - with large hoardings and posters
of movies, mainly Bollywood, occasionally Bengali. It had been an unmistakable landmark
and even from within a crowded bus, you could figure out that you had reached
there. Nothing remained anymore. The cleaned-up front face of the building
looked scarily naked. It seemed like even the political parties were reeling
from a hangover before taking over the space with their agenda.
Scene 4
As I walked towards school with my elder son, he complained
“It is really cold”. I reassured, “ Well, you have been in a warmer climate for
three whole weeks. That is why it feels cold. I am sure it won’t feel so cold
tomorrow”. I added, with hesitation, “Well you know Ishaan, that you have
missed school for two weeks”. He didn’t look at me when he replied , “Yes, I
know that”. I responded, like my typical self, worrying about his progress in
school, but in a low voice since I could not anticipate his reaction, “Well,
you must try to catch up”. He said, “Yes, I know”. Unlike other mornings we
were not walking to school with his friends since they had decided to go by
car. The windchill, after all, really bit into the skin. We chatted more about
his trip back to India as we approached the school and I became yet more unsure
of how well he would connect back. This was the first time he had been away for
such a long time. As we got down the final flight of stairs, he said, “Well,
you know that you have to stop here”. Right at the beginning of the school
parking lot, we had a mutually-agreed-upon, unmarked line, beyond which he had
to be on his own. As I watched him walking away, head slightly down, my worries
grew. Suddenly there was a shout and he sprang towards a group of three kids.
They jumped up and started running together towards the school. Ishaan became a
red running spot getting away from me, into the doors of his school. In the soft
winter morning light, I knew that at least my son was back at home.
