I feel like I went away from home too many times now, all very clearly failed attempts. I left to hostel in undergrad and I was back home for masters. I left for Bombay for work, and I was back home because I felt too lonely. I left for Bangalore for a fellowship and I was back home because I did not get a job. I left for Chennai for a job and I was back home because of the pandemic. But this time, I am leaving again and this leaving feels like it is going to stick. That this is going to change what home means.
This time I am going away to a different country, far far away from home. I am told that a lot of people from home are there, that it is not going to feel alien or even that much more different than Kukatpally but, it doesn't snow in Kukatpally does it? Nor do all the people talk in a language that is not Telugu. Nor do the people in America look like me. I realised I always went away but never moved away. This time, I am moving away. And moving away is not easy.
Moving away is leaving behind a family that is a support system - not just the family that we are born into but a family that we chose to love and live with. IT means leaving behind friends who were always there, however hard things got. It means leaving behind all the people that you vowed to help, whenever they need. And all the people you promised to celebrate everything in life with.
Moving away is also leaving a house that saw all the laughter and tears. The walls - decorated with posters from favourite TV shows and the VV calendar in the corner with all his poems and photos. It means leaving a wardrobe designed specifically for the length of my kurtas. It means leaving the beautiful view from the balcony that calmed many an anxiety attacks.
Moving away means leaving the pen that I wrote my tenth class exams with. Not having the kurta that I wore on that lunch date with that one guy. It means leaving behind the earrings that the kids at the shelter home gave me. It means not having my graduation saree with me. It means not being able to wear that one ratty old T-shirt which I wear all the time. I know you can carry all those things with you but the luggage is limited, you see!
Moving away means not being able to go to Lamakaan again. Or being able to sit in vengal rao park. It means not knowing the route to a place by-heart. It means, not being able to think that you are smarter than google maps. It also means not knowing the new pubs that come up or the new pani puri bhaiya at the end of the road.
Moving away means leaving your comfort zone, of language, of culture, or traditions and practices. I know a lot of us want to do it. Break away from the caste system and the patriarchy and the shackles of identity. But where do we go that these things are not a problem anymore. Do we really move away from these things? Or do we just carry them with us in a different format and pattern?
I never wanted to move away from home. I was never one of those people who imagined living in a different country, or even a different city! Well, I did briefly when I was in love with that one guy! But I always wanted to stay, to do something, to become someone in Hyderabad. To do something for Hyderabad.
Because, leaving home means leaving a set of politics you grew to own as your own. A set of complex ideas of gender and planning and identity and politics. It means leaving behind all the knowledge you gathered, to go start from scratch. It means new adventures but it also means that my entire life up until this point is going to be just a set of memories. It means being able to reinvent myself to so many new people but it also means that nobody will be able to see past my smile at the tears behind. It means leaving behind amma and nanna and the immense love they showered upon me.
It means the start of something new. It means….a lot of things I have not yet felt.