In 20 years, I have lived in about six cities and attended six schools – which, from experience, I can vouch that it is… messed up. It’s not a very nice scenario to be in. However, I must give credit to the journey that influenced me in the most bittersweet way possible. Every place I lived in gave me something I would never want to give back – each one brought out a different side of me, ones that I had always wanted in my life, or did not realize I could be.
Bangalore introduced me to a childish and playful Muskaan. I was just a kid there, at the age when you don’t know what is happening in the outside world, in your own bubble, going to school (mostly because you don’t have much of a choice). Coming back home, doing your homework (which seemed like such a tough job then), and finally going to the park in the evening with your friends. Simpler times. Then came home – Chandigarh. Here, I got to be more connected to my roots, and especially, to my grandparents. I got the freedom of using my mother tongue, and talking in Hindi felt instantly refreshing. I also got to mix both the cultures – the one in which I grew up and the one I had always belonged to – creating an even newer self. Following this was my last anchor, Pune, where I (not to be dramatic) was alone. I felt too much distance from my friends, like my world had ended. Although this did lead to some good outcomes. Being apart from everything I knew, I took more interest in committing to my hobbies. I became freer, literally, and immersed myself in dancing, practicing music, playing the guitar, and painting. The stuff I always knew I liked, I gave more time, and lo and behold, found myself to be crazy passionate about them. Pune was the city where I discovered myself. I am grateful for that because all hell broke loose after.
“Ni Hao Ma”. Touchdown in Taipei. Taiwan was a much bigger change compared to the others. It felt even more alone and fast-paced. It sounds like a nightmare, yes, but I was there for only one year, and the exposure I got to being independent was, well, unexpected. It dragged me out of my shell of being conscious about entering a new place, creating yet another self. Finally back again to India, and this time to Delhi. Completing twelfth grade there was surprisingly … how should I put this? I guess I would quote Notting Hill, “it was surreal but nice.” Being back in India was sweet but so different for some odd reason, even though I was abroad only for a year. Delhi forced me to deal with the confusion of “Where am I even going at this point? What is happening?” And I finally came to the conclusion, or rather the declaration, that I shall not bother myself with this question – I accepted the vagabond lifestyle. The city’s environment essentially gave me what I cannot describe as anything but a dhakka – forced me to accept the constant changes my life entailed, and taught me to “suck it up”. The city basically told me, “It is what it is.” And so, adjustments became a habit.
From spending my childhood in Bangalore, to living my teenage years in Pune, all the while suffering from changing four schools and four cities in four years, I can proudly admit myself to be unanchored indeed. All these cities and experiences gave me something different to deal with. And some of it, I am still figuring out. There is no doubt that it became tiring – I felt I was living different lives every time, and was forced to reckon with the ever-increasing versions of me. That is why, if I had to write my own memoir, it would be called, “The Addresses I Answer to.”