Tomorrow, I'm moving out of the house I've lived in for the last 3.5 years. All good things come to an end and all that jazz. As far as this house is concerned, I've been lucky. It has all the amenities I needed, its close to all the places that matter in Bombay (train station, bus depot and Bandra) and it was affordable. I should have left when my previous room mate flew off to foreign parts, but chose to stay because of the incredible convenience of the place. If you read my previous post though, things haven't been that great around the house any more... and I woke up one morning and knew I had to move out.
Except for half a year in Phnom Penh, I've shared accommodations with different people since '06. I know that living with these people has made a positive difference to my life, teaching me to be more tolerant and independent. But it is time to live solo, especially as '30' is creeping ever closer. Even as I mentally went through the logistics of moving out, I wondered when the sadness and nostalgia would kick in. The house has a boatload of memories for me, more rich in some emotions than others. Yet, the days ticked away steadily and there was nothing. Just a feeling of relief that I was getting out of there, which was surprising and unfair.
Then, a couple of days back, a friend called in the evening. We made plans to meet at the Gymkhana down the road, where we've been countless times before. A few hours, beers and whiskeys later, I bid him goodbye and began my walk home. It was a little past midnight. All around me was the quiet thrum of a warm autumn night, pebble-dash shadow patterns thrown by the rain trees on the road, and the silent battle between the cold light of the moon and that of the street lamps. I've walked, stumbled, reeled and staggered up the road so many times before - both alone and with numerous friends. As I came up to my building gate and began the familiar process of hollering at the sleeping watchman to open the gate, it hit me - this would be the last time.
That's when I felt grateful. For it all.
Song for the moment: Hearts in the night - Bedouin Soundclash
Except for half a year in Phnom Penh, I've shared accommodations with different people since '06. I know that living with these people has made a positive difference to my life, teaching me to be more tolerant and independent. But it is time to live solo, especially as '30' is creeping ever closer. Even as I mentally went through the logistics of moving out, I wondered when the sadness and nostalgia would kick in. The house has a boatload of memories for me, more rich in some emotions than others. Yet, the days ticked away steadily and there was nothing. Just a feeling of relief that I was getting out of there, which was surprising and unfair.
Then, a couple of days back, a friend called in the evening. We made plans to meet at the Gymkhana down the road, where we've been countless times before. A few hours, beers and whiskeys later, I bid him goodbye and began my walk home. It was a little past midnight. All around me was the quiet thrum of a warm autumn night, pebble-dash shadow patterns thrown by the rain trees on the road, and the silent battle between the cold light of the moon and that of the street lamps. I've walked, stumbled, reeled and staggered up the road so many times before - both alone and with numerous friends. As I came up to my building gate and began the familiar process of hollering at the sleeping watchman to open the gate, it hit me - this would be the last time.
That's when I felt grateful. For it all.
Song for the moment: Hearts in the night - Bedouin Soundclash
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