After what felt like forever, I finally returned home to Bangalore, having finished a long and trying trimester. The last few days of the trimester were characterised by surprisingly moderate weather, which I did not expect to experience in the middle of nowhere, in Andhra Pradesh. It felt quite pleasant. On the other hand, I was hearing complaint after complaint about how cold Bangalore was, and even though I was mentally counting down the days before going back home, there was a slight hesitation in my mind, mingled with the urge to remain wrapped in the comfortable blanket that was Sri City weather. However, I brushed it off and booked an AC sleeper back home as soon as my last exam ended. Nothing could have prepared me for the piercing cold that welcomed me on Christmas Eve as I got off, not even the AC in the bus, which was actually warmer than outside the bus. A senior who had gotten off at the same stop noted that there was condensation on the inside of the windows, something my half-frozen brain could not comprehend.
What did this mean? Sri City’s weather is becoming more serene (something Bangalore is originally known for), while Bangalore’s is becoming more icy—almost unwelcoming. This made me think of the beginning of college, when I wouldn’t go a day without whining about it being a whopping 36 degrees and longing for the classic Bangalore weather. However, as I became more accustomed to college, the weather gradually became more bearable, and now, as I mentioned earlier, Bangalore’s weather has become slightly more alien. Of course, I’m being a bit dramatic because I got used to the temperature fast enough. The point is, this subtle shift in weather signifies a much deeper phenomenon: that despite its multiple unfavourable quirks, college had started to grow on me more than I ever realised, to the point that coming back home felt like a bit of a shock.
Speaking of shocks, another thing I was taken aback by was the sheer crowd of people bustling on the streets. To put it dramatically once again, it felt quite overwhelming at first, after months of being surrounded by nothing but factories and seeing the same faces day after day. Throngs and throngs of people pushed past me as I squeezed my way through Spar, trying to hastily buy some new clothes for my upcoming trip. Why was I in Spar, out of all places, for clothes, you ask? Well, turns out I had forgotten half my clothes back at college and had only returned with mainly my night clothes. It was inexplicably frustrating to think that I had to scramble around for clothes at my own home, and that the wardrobe at college was more sufficient and accommodating than the one at home. But again, I’m being dramatic—I sorted out my clothes emergency soon enough by buying new ones and stealing some from my mom. Still, I can’t fully deny the feeling of being a visitor, instead of a full-time couch-potato, at my home.
The point I’m trying to make through these nonsensical rants is that over the past few months, I have been slowly getting acclimated to the idea of having two homes. And repeatedly, the same question pops up: which is my real home? If I had been asked this question at the beginning of this year, I would have answered it without having to think twice. Even now, my answer remains the same, but not without raising a tiny question mark in the back of my head. Neither the question nor the answer is as straightforward as it once was. I mean, think about it: instead of leaving and coming back home every day (like we did when we were in school), we now come back home after a significant period of time has passed.Â
All of these reflections make me wonder: what if my version of familiarity is not what it actually is? Apparently, it isn’t. Familiarity is not fixed, as I once thought it to be, because why else would coming back home feel a bit strange all of a sudden? More than a static anchor, I like to think of familiarity as more of a fluid wave, as something that shifts from one place to another without fully settling in either. Some places may unexpectedly start feeling more familiar, and vice versa. And this is one of the biggest, weirdest quirks of growing up and starting college—foundations transforming, and new ones beginning to grow. The thought of it is scary, yet somehow… rather beautiful.Â