Now that my tickets are booked and my trip back home is sniffing distance away, it feels not so unhealthy to become homesick. I realise how much I miss my folks, friends, filter coffee, masala dosas, pani puri and all. Ah hell, I never thought I'd say this, even uppittu! Besides, I need a break from
° the animal feed that I cook and pretend is food.
° the crummy furniture; especially the one chair that now sits in the farthest corner of the living room because it still reeks of Rajat Wagle's* hair oil.
° the godawful smell in our air-tight corridor during dinner time; mixture of aromas from one north indian, a vietnamese, an east european and two south indian kitchens.
° the tamilian neighbour who even now starts looking for the coin she never dropped when I enter her peripheral vision.
° sleep walking in the cold to catch the 6:40 train.
° monthly sunshine quotas of 60 hours.
° Sawa's squealing laughter in the train that makes you wish there was no humour in the world.
° the laundromat socialising.
° watching movies alone because my potential companions would rather save that money and watch seven and a half movies in India.
There! that felt good. Now I can't wait to go home and whine about the pollution and the mosquitoes and the crowds and the dirt. Its exactly this kind of pessimism that'll kill me in 2036.
* Name changed to prevent the kind of sticky situation I once found myself in, when another protagonist stumbled upon this page while ego-surfing. Sooner or later everyone does google his/her own name.