So hard to say goodbye

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
- Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2

Its been one and a half months since I've left home for Mumbai. On the outside life has been going as good as ever. With friends for colleagues and an amicable office atmosphere, things can't be more better. But in the inside I really don't feel like having left home. I still haven't really said goodbye to my family back at Coimbatore. They're still close to my heart, their breath still brushes my face each time the wind blows.

Everything just goes around and round. I take a train at 7:45 and reach my place an hour and a half later. The journey is so awfully long that I sometimes need two newspapers to pass the time. The return journey is just as long and consumes another newspaper. The railway stations are so crowded that sometimes I wonder if all of India had suddenly migrated to Mumbai. Sometimes when I stand back to watch the crowd, it seems so awfully funny - people scurrying everywhere, all the time. Everyone is so busy, someone drops his bag and spends a quarter of an hour to pick it up. 'This is Mumbai,' quips a friend.

As I walk back to my sixth floor flat, I reminisce my sweet hometown, Coimbatore. A quiet and a calm place, a distant cry from the hustle and bustle of Mumbai. I often long for that night walk on my terrace, those cauliflower fry vendors and sugarcane stalls on the road side. People never ran there, they always walk, so unlike Mumbai. Yet for all that, Mumbai is a place where everyone feels at home. There's something so unique about this place that no one regrets for having come here.

Mom calls every other day to check out if I had my breakfast, lunch and dinner. Dad still recharges my prepaid connection. My brother Clarence is still my best friend ever. Life may never take me back to my sweet home. In fact, even I dont miss home that much after all - for there is always a world of dreams and illusions where I still sleep on momma's lap, where dad still prepares apple shakes and I still play chess with my brother.

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
- The Tempest Act 4, Scene 1