Three years seem nothing, just about a 1000 nights, sort of a magical mystery adventure of 1001 Arabian nights. 

How do I collect the memories, how do I arrange them, how do I string them together in a rosary, so that every time I run my fingers on them, they are meditative, thoughtful and ruminative.  The three years have taught me much, they have also taken a life of their own, they calmed me down yet they also gave me much angst.  My reflections, as emotional as they are, are also very crumpled.  And as I look for the torment, in all crevices, in all wrinkled corners, in all creased furrows, in deep recesses of my mind, I come out blank. It is just not there, or maybe I had put it out, maybe it will come and catch me off guard, fill me with an unexplained regret, fear, but for now, it is not to be found.  It could be the impending joy of going home, to my family, not being a vagabond anymore, not having to wake up at an unearthly 2.30 am every Monday morning, taking a cab, the dark, deserted roads, standing in long security lines, long and tedious on the body and to the mind, navigating the lines to the aircraft, the same persistent safety drill, the plastic smiles, the unfocused eyes of the overly made-up young girls on the plane, doing a mechanical job, unconcerned and undisturbed, their indifference enviable, my insignificance to them visible, the unending circling at Mumbai, trying to find order in chaos, a landing strip found,  in the middle of a hundred other aircrafts, waiting to touchdown and bring thousands of seekers to a vacant and vacuous city like Mumbai. 

And the reverse, every weekend. For three years. I did it. Why I did it, what made me, why did I not walk away, and what did I hope to find and finally, what did I actually understand?

I understood this.

Kahin pe pahunchne ke liye  kahin se nikalna bahut zaroori hota hai.

And now I am going home.

Three years seem nothing, just about a 1000 nights, sort of a magical mystery adventure of 1001 Arabian nights. 

How do I collect the memories, how do I arrange them, how do I string them together in a rosary, so that every time I run my fingers on them, they are meditative, thoughtful and ruminative.  The three years have taught me much, they have also taken a life of their own, they calmed me down yet they also gave me much angst.  My reflections, as emotional as they are, are also very crumpled.  And as I look for the torment, in all crevices, in all wrinkled corners, in all creased furrows, in deep recesses of my mind, I come out blank. It is just not there, or maybe I had put it out, maybe it will come and catch me off guard, fill me with an unexplained regret, fear, but for now, it is not to be found.  It could be the impending joy of going home, to my family, not being a vagabond anymore, not having to wake up at an unearthly 2.30 am every Monday morning, taking a cab, the dark, deserted roads, standing in long security lines, long and tedious on the body and to the mind, navigating the lines to the aircraft, the same persistent safety drill, the plastic smiles, the unfocused eyes of the overly made-up young girls on the plane, doing a mechanical job, unconcerned and undisturbed, their indifference enviable, my insignificance to them visible, the unending circling at Mumbai, trying to find order in chaos, a landing strip found,  in the middle of a hundred other aircrafts, waiting to touchdown and bring thousands of seekers to a vacant and vacuous city like Mumbai. 

And the reverse, every weekend. For three years. I did it. Why I did it, what made me, why did I not walk away, and what did I hope to find and finally, what did I actually understand?

I understood this.

Kahin pe pahunchne ke liye  kahin se nikalna bahut zaroori hota hai.

And now I am going home.