The Homeland

“Hello, India!” I yelled, and a thousand echoes bounced back, India - the land of my birth, called out with open arms, “I am here for you, Welcome back!” From London to Bangalore - it’s been a year, a seismic change that transpired from our desire to live ‘the big Indian dream’. Chase a dream and do it with determination, it will come true. Yes, a dream came true as I returned to India after 11 years with our British-born child, an ode to my childhood that brings a million memories back to life.

The transition has been smooth, for not even a moment felt like I was out of place. The initial days of uneasy curiosity are long forgotten with mindful calmness having returned to life. Yes, we still have so much to see and explore of this mystical land, but there is no rush, rather an opportunity to savour as this time we are here for long. 

Unlike in the UK, I have chosen to work part-time from home, giving myself the luxury of time to recharge and indulge in my 4-year old. We live within a gated community, colloquially referred to as a ‘society’, in an airy apartment overlooking tastefully landscaped green spaces, water fountains, and an outdoor swimming pool. No doubt, it’s a life of privilege. While this community has all amenities that one can find in a progressive city, it has us wrapped in a warm woolly social fabric akin to the 80s/90s. Everybody knows everyone, kids mingle with careless abandon, elderly share stories while the rest of us indulge in unending chatter, no one seems to be in a hurry to get anywhere.

Our apartment, located across a dilapidated lake, faces up to the open sky, unhindered by high-rises and accentuated only by swaying coconut trees. And when the night skies are clear, we feel closer to the heavens as we gaze in awe at the stars and the planets. It is a secure bubble for a peaceful existence while just outside the gates, the road teems with life as local traders and shops go about their business with alacrity - ‘the India that has a reputation of being busy, noisy, eager, and chaotic’. Roads lined with a colourful melange of tiny shops; people squatting on ground selling fresh flowers, fruits, plants, and pots; aromas of fresh-fried snacks rising above; the clamouring at shrines and small temples; this constant din is characteristically an Indian thing. My ‘society’ really is an oasis, an escape from the exhaustion of the raw and real India.

Our suburban life as a young Indian family in Kingston-upon-Thames feels light years away in a span of only a year. Sometimes, I do feel flashes from that time pass before my eyes, the freshness of a November morning or a stuffy commute back on the District line. The satisfaction of end-of-week work drinks or the delight of catching a play at the West End or simply a walk by the Thames with only the quacking of the ducks to break the stillness. My morning commute on the suburban train into London Bridge, sharpish nursery drop-off, a coffee-to-go at Pret’s, a lunch-time stroll to Borough market, early bedtimes for the little one and late night BBC binges for us, and such innumerable small and big moments are now encapsulated in a scroll of memories. I feel the uncontrollable urge to hold, touch and feel those memories, all but in vain, my only solace being that the memories are what make me, I am the memories and the memories are I. I loved London, will always do, there isn’t another one like it. We had our reasons and things were said, but I am glad we parted as friends, as I would love to return some day to say that you will always hold a special place.

Winding forward to present day, the purposeful yet mindful Bangalore mornings deserve a special mention. The day starts with alerts announcing the prompt arrival of my housemaid, milk and daily newspaper each delivered to the doorstep, rigorous exercise or a game of table tennis before a hot breakfast and a fresh brew, even I find it hard to complain when the weekday mornings are spent like this. I have come to draw unequivocal joy from such small things that others would probably take for granted. The smell of sun-soaked laundry or painstakingly chosen plastic-free fresh fruit and veg. And the sheer idleness of midday naps on hot summer days to just being more spontaneous and less planned, it is the little things, I have realised, that have the power to make a real difference to each day.

Of course, off late due to the ensuing pandemic we have had to change some of the routines that we were gradually settling into. The school run has been swapped with online classes and the office ‘dabbas’ with hot lunches. As a family that eats together, no doubt we have become a more cohesive unit.

In Bangalore, the time or ‘pahar’ of the day is clearly evident in the changing colour of the sky. The bright-blue morning sky turning to a glaring metallic for the afternoon. From the orange evening hue to the inky blue night sky, I can feel the mood of those around me tracing these changes in the sky. I remember how I used to agonise over the sameness of the ‘pahars’ in London, as the morning, afternoon, evening would often fuse together in a block of 12 hours, with day plunging into darkness suddenly at 4.30pm on a winter’s day and night arriving fashionably late after 9pm on a summer’s day. Now, my body clock is at one with nature once again.

Not all changes have been all that easy to adapt to however. Despite my Indianness, I don’t think I could become used to crossing the menacing roads on foot, or indeed get behind the wheel anytime soon, life in the UK has clearly got the better of me in this respect. The fact that I used to be able to drive and roam about carefree in Delhi when I was all of 21 years seems like fiction.

Upon arriving in Bangalore, I expected to find an uber-modern and world class city befitting its name and reputation as the ‘Silicon Valley of India’. Instead my rose-tinted shades were rudely knocked off the eyes, both figuratively and literally, what with the crumbling infrastructure across the city marked with potholes, dusty construction sites, and rough traffic etiquette. In many ways, the city didn’t even match up to the civic standards that I was used to from my recent trips to Delhi.

People, animals and cars, all navigating the treacherous city roads, jostling to move ahead of each other, hurtling towards some indefinite common goal. The notorious two-wheel drivers who appear and disappear swiftly like shadows, their fearlessness filling us ‘mere mortals’ with dread. But the one thing that stood out most was the curious network of wires aloft the electric poles, dangling ominously over the busy junctions and roads, jumbled and tied up in knots, brightly illuminating the city lights but only in spots.

I confronted my husband, a clear oversight on his part to factor all this in from one of his reconnaissance trips to the city, his retort though was crystal - ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’.

I think I now know why so many people here express that ‘once you come to Bangalore you will never leave.’ A tall claim at plain sight, but somewhat realistic when seen with an open mind, as what the city lacks in form it makes up with a spirited being.

At the risk of being touted as ‘a stereotypical expat returning from the UK’, the weather is my biggest comfort factor here. Weather that is stable and predictable, warm during summer and mild and breezy through the rest of the year. The sun is clearer and sharper than in Delhi despite a lower heat index, but comparable in altitude and visibility like in the UK. As I now bask in the assurance that tomorrow too shall be a glowing day, I reflect back on days that were spent anticipating that one warm sunny weekend. No doubt, like everyone else I loved London on such days and made the most of ‘the sun’ whenever it did appear. But somehow, I never could enjoy that warmth in my own time, it was always fleeting.

As I write this memoir, Bangalore is in the throes of the monsoon season, wherein the mornings and evenings are interspersed with thunder and rain showers and the afternoons are quieter and sunnier. The rain makes the all familiar pitter-patter sound (unlike the quiet and inconspicuous rain in London) and the air fills with sweet aroma drifting from the wet soil, beg your pardon if my bias towards the Indian rain is all too obvious but the rain finally feels like it must! Moreover, the rainy weather matched with the sinfully unique taste of ‘jamun’, a type of sharp tasting indigenous plum that signals the arrival of monsoon is truly like coming home. Enough said about the weather for now though, I think.

As a devout vegetarian, South Indian cuisine has always been my go-to comfort food, although admittedly my exposure was limited to the popular tiffin items served across eateries in Delhi, Mumbai, as well as the UK. The intricate differences in food preparation and tastes across the various southern states/regions are beginning to unravel only now. Regardless of the provenance though, some of the local food that I have come to savour is unmatched. From the soul quenching Onam Sadhya to the hearty Udupi vada sambhar, from the indulgent thali encompassing a multitude of flavours at a highway canteen to a simple rava idli at the iconic MTR cafes, I have tasted and eaten platefuls in the knowledge that this is only the tip of the iceberg with so much of this popular yet distant culture still left to explore. I am trying in earnest to bring the best of such flavours in to my kitchen, learning and cooking meticulously with a heart full of joy in the hope that the same aromas shall also fill up my home.

Given the variety and ubiquity of the traditional cuisine across the city, you’d be forgiven for not realising that Bangalore is also famed for being the original pub city of India, a melting pot of people from around the country and from abroad. Pubs with in-house breweries are somewhat in vogue which combined with an array of cuisines and garden restaurants pack a punch. The city owing to its vast base of young IT professionals has a cosmopolitan vibe, but owes it to the proud generational Bangaloreans who lend confidence stemming from their deep-rooted and rich culture.

My heart swells with pride when I see my offspring relishing this new setting every bit like me. Blessed with big gleaming eyes and black lustrous hair, his round cherubic face fronts an inquisitive mind. A steely sharp quality to quietly observe and deploy that power of knowledge when we least imagine. Old enough to acknowledge the momentous change yet equipped with a mind free from fear or prejudice. How he has come to adapt has left us, the adults, looking pale in comparison.

A special moment to etch in our hearts was when he went purposefully around a supermarket and came back looking inexplicably delighted upon discovering a box of Indian sweets ‘laddoos’, while we contemplated a box of blueberry muffins. Countless other times like when adapting to our interim abode or when being screened by teachers for school admissions or when meeting relatives and distant cousins, he displayed such composure and maturity that I couldn’t decipher if it was a mere result of shaking things up a bit or if there was indeed something more intangible even divine resulting from being connected with one’s roots. He has since grown into a confident and expressive boy, never shying away from a new person or a new hobby/activity. From our perspective, outcomes such as language skills, better eating habits, rigour in upholding traditions/festivals, and overall wellness, are the other tangible benefits to count. When I weigh up, his sweet British accent is the one thing that I have come to miss the most. 

Life has transformed itself into a fun-filled ride to be shared with friends, grandparents, cousins, each one adding a different shade to the canvas. Learning in a formal setting and from play with others from evening till night, exploring new sports and traditional games alike, impromptu visits to friends’ homes to rummage through toys, eating together without invites, all this and much more is now weaved in the fabric of my child’s life.

Unsurprisingly, my son’s love for travel and more precisely ‘holidays’ has found a new meaning, wherein, he now likes to conjure up plans to tag along grandparents and others with whom he has already forged a close bond. He wants to explore, share, and express about his new finds and make others a part of his ever expanding world. For a child who has been to some exciting destinations and seen impressive things in the West, how the relatively low-key city of Mysore had him enthralled, is rather fascinating. He has promised every family member a trip to Mysore since. Travelling has another dimension now. The realisation that trips with family in big contingents can be infinitely more adventurous where the journey can outclass the destination itself. Our trip around the mystical state of Rajasthan via Indian highways and trains was one such experience, memorable not only for the places we visited but for the people with whom we created these memories. As a parent, I am glad to have been able to give the gift of such an experience to my child, one that would stay with him forever and beckon him to his roots regardless of where in the world he goes.

It is no coincidence then that a childhood full of similar stories is perhaps what tugged back at the heartstrings bringing our soaring selves back to where the conscience reside, our home.