The Going.

So,it is with a misplaced need to unbelong that I step off the train that brings me back to Bombay. Six months in Manipal. Perhaps Bach felt the same way when he wrote his first composition. Who knows? I'm taken aback at the weather here - it is chilly, and it is a welcome respite from the weather I'd encountered back there. A porter's throaty baritone jugs my mind to the present and I start walking towards the exit.

As I start to walk across the footbridge, stray memories jostle for my attention. I will be honest. There were times I felt like screaming and tearing at my hair, there were times when I lost myself in the subjectivity of an eighteen-year old's emotions, there were times I laughed till I cried. No emotional roller-coaster, really. More like an emotional Ferris wheel. I never did the math, because I never felt like doing it. Because that would involve being stoic, distant and detached - which, by the by, can never be practised in Manipal, and because it would not allow me a chance to observe, to ponder, to reflect. I'd rather amble along here, although, frankly, it's not a bad idea any longer.

I hail a kaali-peeli. Shove my bags in the rear and myself in the front-seat, and head towards home. Looking at the faces whizzing by.