This was sometime in the late 1980s. Summer was beginning to slyly set in. And the sight of the dry and dusty look of Agartala airport that I fleetingly caught as I peeked out of the plane’s window filled me up with disgust. Like Gollum, I was consumed by hatred – I wanted to hate everything about the Northeast – even its summer. I had been feeling disgusted the last six months anyway, and there was only one thing that I deeply desired – leave the Northeast, for good. And now that I indeed was (leaving), what with my worldly belongings stuffed in two suitcases, I was exhilarated.
I fished out a cigarette (yes, smoking was allowed in domestic flights those days) and vowed never to come back to the region. I think, I vainly prophesied that to myself. But life has its own way of getting back to you. In less than three years, I had begun taking an active interest in the Northeast. And before it had dawned on me, I was already specialising in the region as a journalist. It’s been more than 20 years now, and I simply can’t let go of the Northeast. The Northeast doesn’t let go of me either.
And memories of that callow, blood-rushed oath keep coming back to me. Prophecy indeed, it had been. You might call it fate; I prefer not to call it anything.
With Delhi it had turned out to be the same ironic story. Sometime in the late Nineties, I was in Delhi for a short course in publishing. My then wife was there too on deputation, and the efforts that she made at her workplace prompted her employers want her to take a transfer from Calcutta. She refused, throwing up a bunch of apologies; I didn’t want to shift either – not for my life.
Also, our collective assertion – there’s no way that we are migrating to Delhi. Yet, six months down the line, both of us were in the national capital. We had a one-track mind – Delhi was not for us; it was too ruthless, too uncouth; if there was a hell on earth, it was this. At least, that’s what we had probably wanted to subconsciously believe. Little did we know that Delhi too has its own way of getting back to you; it takes its own sweet time doing that. I never got hooked to Delhi so to speak, I got used to it; I hated the people, but loved what the place offered. For the 14 years that I lived there, I bitched incessantly about the city. I never knew I would miss Delhi – till, of course, I left the place earlier this year – for Bangalore.
The same tale had, in a way once again, repeated itself. For, when I had come to Bangalore for the first time, it had been a hurricane visit – it was over before I had realised as much. I did not go back (to Delhi) that time filled with revulsion for Bangalore – in fact, I went back with priceless memories, sweet memories that will remain forever fresh in my mind. I had, I should concede, left with a pang of immense regret. As if something was left unrequited, as if I had left something unfinished that I had not even started in the first place.
There was no compelling reason for me to return. I had never been to this part of the country earlier, and there was no reason why I would need to return either. I had come here with something specific in mind, and that done, I knew it was goodbye Bangalore. Unlike in the case of the Northeast which I had vowed never to visit again, here I genuinely believed that I wouldn’t be visiting Bangalore a second time. Unlike in the case of Delhi which I wanted to abhor even before I relocated there, here I indeed had loved Bangalore. All for my own good reasons.
In less than two months from that first visit, that I honestly thought would be my last, I was here in Bangalore – bag, baggage, and whatever else I had. For good. Or so I thought.
That was nine months ago. And all these nine sluggish months, I have been planning to blog about my discovery of Bangalore. Only, my grandiose plans and bright ideas that could never get the better of either my indolence or my lack of inspiration. But excuses are pathetically just that – excuses.
Excuses or not, there are things that can shake you out of shameless, mindless lethargy –premonitions, for instance. In my case, the premonition that has made me kickstart this blog is the gnawing presentiment that I would be moving out of Bangalore. Sooner, than later.
I may have called this blog “Sleepless in Bangalore” (since I have been afflicted with acute insomnia the last few weeks); but a more apt title would probably be “Last Days in Bangalore” (that would chronicle my last days in the city that I live in, till the day that I leave). Probably.
NB: For the record, the first time that I set foot in Bangalore was this day that year – December 14, 2011.
