Returning home

“Sir, here is your Asian Vegetarian Meal,” said the British Airways’ air hostess as she placed before me a tray of what usually is an assorted collection of edible and inedible species of leaves, which one of my friends fondly calls ghaas-phoos. This abruptly pulled me out of my dream of already being in India to the harsh reality of chlorophyll, reminding me that I was still twenty hours and four branches away. But I was in for a surprise as I removed the aluminum foil over the tray. Biryani, naan, aloo matar, and gulab jamun, and I gobbled down every molecule. Nostalgia increased in inverse proportionality to the distance to home. The anxiety kept building up till I boarded the Indian Airlines (IA) flight in Dubai. All the weariness of travel vanished with the smiles of the IA air hostesses in blue sarees, not to mention the food served.


The very thought of retuning home shielded me from the babies who never stopped crying, the kid who had vowed to recite everything he learned at school, and the grandmas who chattered non-stop. The plane finally landed in Anna International terminal, Chennai after a very long four hour flight. My friends who had come to receive me kept waving and I jubilantly ignored the thoughts of my misplaced luggage and excitedly strode out of the airport.

I rotated a full 360 degree to catch a glimpse of my homeland after about one and a half years. My friends, in the mean time, haggled with an auto wallah who wanted more than double the actual rate. The auto took off and not for a moment did I have the slightest doubt that Chennai auto drivers could put Schumacher and Rossi to shame any day any time on their home turf. Zipping through the narrowest of the gaps between buses and bikes and cars and pedestrians, the auto driver scared me enough that I should admit closing my eyes on more than a couple of occasions.


However, we did safely reach my friend’s house and I thanked god to be alive. We talked our hearts out for about four hours and then took off for lunch. Stuffed kulchas, mutton rogan josh, prawn masala, and paneer butter masala at Kwality Riviera, our official restaurant during BTech days … yeah that was quite a feast. Then we left for Satyam, the cinema complex which we frequented during student days. The arguments with the auto wallah, the adventurous motorists, pictures of amma on all the walls en-route, long queues for the movie tickets, anxious black-ticket sellers, pretty faces returning from the previous show, gumbals of college guys with the excitement of bunking afternoon classes, couples flowing into the parking lot on bikes, huge posters of heroes (not to mention the garlands), and gossip all around reminded me of good old days. The hustle and bustle was something that I had dearly missed for quite sometime now. The movie began and so did the screaming whistles … yes … finally I was home.