The magic in your soul

There is always that sense of Belonging; a feeling that I’m home, when I’m in this town. It’s everything. It’s been seven years since I left but I remember every minute of the time spent here. I, of the notoriously horrendous memory, remember every glorious instance in technicolor detail. It’s not that I led a very charmed life here and it most certainly wasn’t extraordinary but, in it’s own way, it was perfection. And it is this perfection that keeps me safe. It is the lazy contentment of warm afternoons spent laying about a friend’s house surrounded by constant movement – dogs, cats, fish, everything. A warmth that I haven’t found elsewhere; a genuine care for another soul. A place of aimless drives and endless conversation. A place that accepts you as you are and takes you into it’s all-encompassing fold. A sense of peaceful lethargy sinks into your bones and everything is like molasses – sweet and slow-moving. This town hardly ever changes. It’s heart is still R.S Puram, it’s Strip is still Race Course and comfort is always Vadavalli. Sai Baba colony is the home to all those industrious, god-fearing families that make this town their home. Even the Wigg Centre for all manufactured hair requirements remains unchanging with the wonderfully tamilian santa claus standing guard to the little ramshackle hut that functions as headquarters for this enterprise. There is, of course, the mandatory Barista and Coffee Day as well the Bikes and even a Subway, but unlike the City [*shudder*], these places hardly matter. Freedom is what I identify most with memories of this place – the freedom to roam around till 2 am and not have to worry about the urban horrors that may jump in your path around the next turn; freedom to have a lazy cigarette at home, with the family, and not worry about parents or elders appearing from behind the furniture to catch you in that despicable act because they’d be sitting next to you, probably rolling a joint. It is the City [*shudder*] that seems to outlaw things that are commonplace here. I  am beginning to feel a deep loathing for the City[*shudder*] these days. It seems to turn most sane, rational people into little terrors and turn the everyday into terrible crimes.

However, I do think that the reason I love home so much is because I don’t live here. If I did, I’m sure I would loathe it as much. Familiarity breeds contempt. And memory has a wonderful way of painting over the bad times and highlighting the good. I’m just glad I have a home to come to when the City [*shudder*] gets too much for a poor soul like me. Lawl.


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