I used to live there nearly 30 yrs ago. and was skyping with my parents today, while they visited the place. and the people. everything seems to have fossilized in that place. but of course so much time has passed. most of those same people, I used to know them so well then, they were the bulk of the world I knew in those yrs. now some have passed away, some others moved like I have, and those that stayed have grown older, and have grown branches - families of their own, kids who remind me of my childhood, of how full of hope, and how ignorant childhood in small town India is. his/her life can go anywhere from there, or can remain there. anything is possible. makes you wonder, childhood is so full of expectations, those small playful moments, in fact, waiting, biding time, choosing one of the many paths of life.

I've been very curious. asking my parents about how things are there. asking my sister, who went on a much shorter visit, and is now back home, her home, in a city which itself reeks of my past. feels a level lower than where I am now. and this place that I'm talking about, feels further removed, a lower level still. like in video games, you pass a level never to go back. unless you die out and have to re-start, all over again. going back is defeat, in a strange never-mentioned way. no one proclaimed it be so. but your heart tells you that.

but I am defeated. and maybe in this defeat is a cloaked blessing.

I wish, in ridding myself of all my grime, I hadn't come away loathing my origins. I wish I could still connect. cos there are some I left behind I would want to care about. I carry that guilt. without knowing how I could have done it differently. yes, I would have betrayed and ignored again, if it came to it. don't demand too much from me, whether you are a place or a people; I often am blind to it, and when I see I rudely refuse. I was taught to be self sufficient, although I have myself been saved and rescued many times. but I ditch any call for help, always finding the sound of it a burden or a taken-for-granted-ness. I am not apologizing, I wish I were.

the past. was it those stone floors and pillars. those corridors where we invented, mimicked, told tales, grew taller, ran about, learned how to use our legs. or was it the people. those who died. and those who are alive, for god knows how much longer. cycles. memory. complaints, of course complaints. why wasn't everything perfect. if only they had done this or not done that. blaming circumstances, and the people, for what I know was (is) my lack of generosity, my lack of gratitude. I was never a generous person, was never grateful. but I do want to go back. to those last words exchanged. where we left a conversation, it must have grown so much, what does it say now? what and who are you? are you happy? do you hope? do you want to see all that I have? do you want to show me and share with me what I missed? before one of us dies? I thought it was sacrilege your confidence then, in this world being godless. I thought it was over-confidence your sacrilege then. do you want to sit down and listen to mine now? do you agree, or have you changed?