An old, and familiar feeling overcomes me as I land in Gurgaon early this Monday morning. My mind and my heart is once again brimming in a hundred possibilities. Maybe it’s the rain. Maybe it’s the smell of the same familiar rain from home, from Bombay. Maybe it’s the sight of the same slight drizzle that fell the day I left Gurgaon. Or, maybe it’s the mist. The same mist that hung low when I had once moved to Gurgaon one cold February morning.
I can remember all the little details from that day. The friend I made at the corporate-start program, the only other crazy in the room. The text message from my boss-to-be the minute I landed, I remember thinking, now that’s a welcome. The lunch: with strangers in the wet grass, and cold sandwiches. The evening: a walk through a hazy Gurgaon lane. And, not to forget: the warm, machine-made tomato soup I was introduced to. It smells like the soup they sells on trains, they said.
And, I believed them. I believed everything Gurgaon sold me. The hot and horrid summer, the cold and cathartic winter, the train rides into the hills (with tomato soup.) The drive through foggy mornings, and flooded roads, and the greasy chicken and egg biryani. The landlords who wouldn’t give, the ghoulishness of the tall glass buildings, and the people in them. The friends and love for company.
I believed them all. Even when some of them let me down.
Time, our old friend has a way of working things out. Friends from foes, the ones you need from the ones you want, the ones who bring you down- time has a way of sifting them out.
As I landed in Gurgaon this Monday morning, I knew time had fully healed. Even in moments of occasional despair, I realized I needn’t budge, alter, change.
I could still believe, I could still be me.
Only this time, I’d have to believe time.
Don’t stop believin’
Streetlight people ~ Journey