“Where are you from?” I got that question a lot in my early days in Mumbai. Maybe because I clearly stood out. I didn’t speak the dialect, I didn’t wear city clothes, and I was always a little scared of this crazy big city. I didn’t look like I belonged. So I always said, “I am from Nanded.” And I always knew what the next question is going to be. “Where is that?” Because city-dwellers rarely know about the small towns in their own country. In fact, in Gujarati, they ask ‘Tame des ti ayva cho?’ which literally translates to ‘Have you come from the countryside?’. For the city dwellers, everything outside of their city is the countryside.
So I would reply to them, “It is a small town on the border of Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh. It is actually closer to Hyderabad.”. And they would nod. Like they knew exactly what I was talking about.
Slowly, I started looking like a city dweller and behaving like one too. But I never called South Mumbai ‘Town’ or ‘Bombay’. I never understood the nomenclature. And then I realized that the city is so big, it isn’t one city. But many small towns make it one. Anyway, nobody asks me where am I from anymore. Because, now, I fit in. I think.
So now when introducing myself, I always add – ‘My hometown is Nanded’. It is a funny word. Hometown. What does it even mean? I guess it means the town your home is in. But I have lived more outside of Nanded than in it at this point in time. I have been in Mumbai for close to 2 decades now. I own a house in Mumbai. So why do I still keep calling Nanded the hometown I wonder?
So, does hometown mean the place where you grow up? Where your roots are? Maybe. But you are always torn between your hometown and where you currently live. People who have grown up in a city will never understand that. And, sometimes, I envy that.
There is something about growing up in a small town, moving to a big city for education and work, and then being successful, that so many of us go through but nobody really talks about. It is so hard. It really is. When you leave your home(town), you don’t just physically leave. You leave behind many memories, all your friendships, the comfort of your home, and the ease of moving from one end of your town to another. You leave a piece of yourself behind. And not just a small slice of the pie. But almost the entire pie. You leave home with just the crumbs.
And then you reinvent yourself. People living in the city, probably don’t remember when they turned into an adult; when their childhood ended. We do. It was the moment we entered the big city and were left to cope with it on our own.
It is hard.
I remember all of my city firsts. The first time I took a local train. The first time I walked to my college knowing nobody. The first time I got scammed. The first time I ate the ‘mess food’ and almost threw up. The first time I had to wash my own clothes and do my own chores. The first time I stayed up all night because I could. The first time I visited Marine Drive and found a little piece of home in a scary big city.
When you have lived under the protection of your parents all your life and you are suddenly thrown into a place without anyone there to pick you up when you fall – you grow up really quickly. You start to water down your food and eat in big gulps because food isn’t something that your mom cooks to your taste anymore. It is just a chore you have to finish. When you have to lie to your parents about your health because you don’t want to worry them, you become an adult. And a lot of us became adults even before completing our teens. Shouldn’t we be getting bravery medals for that?
I envy the children who grew up in the city. Because they never had to go through that. But I would never trade a single moment of my life because it has got me here. It has defined who I am now. And without that, I don’t know who I truly am. I am a small-towner who moved to the city and made it. And I am proud of it.
But it is hard. So very hard.
College went through fast. Because in a crowd, you find somebody who is just as lost. And you hold their hands. Not to show them the way out. But to join them in their lostness. I don’t even know if that makes any sense. But that is what it is. I made so many friends while in college but the majority of them weren’t from the city. They were like me – moved to the city, trying to take one careful step at a time. And then sometimes, just running free in the night showing the city we aren’t scared.
When you are living with your parents, you never realize how the things you ask for present themselves before you almost instantly. You never think about money and ration and chores. You never think that I should probably take a yogurt cup along because the mess-lady has made tindi again. And you never have to think about monthly budgets and you never have to confront a friend to cough up their share of the ‘house expense’. Because that is where you actually live. A house, a room, a place to exist. You don’t live in a home for years.
And it never ends. Eventually, you get a job. All the friends you made in school and college are now scattered. You had just begun to put a home together – brick by brick with your friends. And now it gets bulldozed over without a warning. And you break in ways you never thought you would. We had just found each other. Hadn’t we? Must we break that promise of forever friendship and pretend it never existed? Who do you go back home to?
It is hard. It breaks your heart and no matter how much scotch tape you use, it will never be the same.
And then you start your new life slowly. And then all of it together. You get married. Maybe have kids. Buy a house. Get that new car. Life just sucks you in. And now it is time for you to take care of your parents. The circle of life. They move in with you. And you have to learn to live with them again because you haven’t lived with them for more than a decade.
My point is that maybe home isn’t a place, a thing, or a person. Or maybe it is a lot of places and a lot of things and a lot of people. Maybe it is a sum of all the scattered pieces of your hearts that you have left behind and gained a few along. Maybe home and hometown are just words that have no associated meaning. Or perhaps they are words that mean everything.
I am not from Nanded or Mumbai or so many other cities I have lived in. I am from all of those places and yet nowhere. I am all the stories that I have lived. I am my unique journey and that is where I come from. And it is time we celebrate the journey we have taken to reach here.
So, where are you from?
Like this blog post? Then you will love my other ramblings that are all heart.
