My trip to Shillong, was happening after five years. I was
finally going to breathe the fresh mountain air that had given me life and sustained my childhood again. I was
also going to see some of my college friends, after a long time. However, the fact that excited me the most, is that, it would be my daughter’s maiden trip to that beautiful
land.
The plan was to meet my friends in the picturesque higher altitudes
of the hill town known as Upper Shillong, but I was going to try my best to
squeeze in a few moments in downtown Shillong and make a round of Ward’s
lake, although with the standstill traffic into Shillong, I had to abandon the latter.
We started in the morning, along the singular road from
Guwahati to Shillong, crossing the familiar landmarks, some of which stood
there forever and some that were newer, but had made their mark. We crossed the
Sai Baba temple and the famous Ganesha temple in Jorabat.
With a prayer on my lips and coin in hand, I bowed as the
driver reduced the speed, so I could fling it on the temple’s terrace. It had
changed a bit since my childhood days with many extensions. I must have crossed
it innumerable times, while traveling back and forth, but never had the fortune
of stopping and praying inside. It is one of those simple things in life that
never gets realized, just because we don’t do it, even if we can, even
if we want to. In the same manner this
temple has always been a drive-through shrine for myself and many others. I
distantly remember visiting it in dreams.
 |
| In Cherrapunjee, with a local roadside vendor, 'Kong' selling fire roasted corn |
Soon after the temple, comes a few deep bends in the road, winding
through the edges of the mountains. It is at this point, that you really feel
like you are going to Shillong. The air suddenly starts to feel crisper and
fresher. When we were younger and lived there, these were the much-awaited turns, that brought respite from the Guwahati heat. They were what we
waited for, to cross, to feel like ourselves again.
This time, as I crossed them, completely unexpectedly, my heart froze. I longed for my home. The home into which my parents always welcomed me back with a warm embrace, while the Shillong floors felt cold under my feet. The home that had all
the books in the world, in every direction you could look. The home that had the
Kissan orange squash glass bottle, long stripped off its wrapper, filled with
chilled soft Shillong water, that could be the most refreshing drink ever, in the kitchen.
It hadn’t hit me until then, that none of that existed in
there anymore. I hadn’t realized how much I would miss them. Shillong and home
were synonymous and now they were separated. My mom had moved out of the town,
after my dad passed away in 2015 and with that the Shillong saga had ended. I
wondered how she must have felt coming down the hills, the same slopes, after
having spent her entire life there.
I had left Shillong when I was eighteen to pursue college
education in Guwahati. But I had always felt a sense of belonging because
my parents lived there and now I was stripped of that feeling. I was just a
visitor. I was just visiting
When I was a little, we traveled back and forth from Shillong in government transportation run buses. Few years later, fancier private buses, with a higher
fare, had started plying. The latter had more comfortable seats and played '90s Bollywood music for much of the trip. Even amidst the noise, those were some of my
moments of silence and reflection as an adolescent. At that age, I was somehow deeply convinced, that I would live in those hills and valleys, we crossed along
the way, when I grew up. I couldn’t think of it being any other way. I wanted to be of and in Nature. It was only more fired up by movies (and songs that played in the background) which showed the protagonists, the
lovers, running away from their families
and living in the woods.
Why were we all in such a rush to leave a land we so loved?
I haven’t met people from any other place who reminisce their hometown as much
as Shillong’ites do. There is something about it that is blissfully nostalgic,
despite the disturbed situation back then.
Even now and with great frequency, I have certain places in Shillong emerge in my memory, out of nowhere at the most unthinkable times of the day. At such times, I am living and breathing in it for that moment.
Even now and with great frequency, I have certain places in Shillong emerge in my memory, out of nowhere at the most unthinkable times of the day. At such times, I am living and breathing in it for that moment.
Why do we get separated from what we love and then long for them
for the rest of our lives? Maybe, it's all an illusion, after all!
