1 April, 2023
(NaPoWriMo day 1)
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And after all this time
And all these places
Today's rain sounds the same
Feels the same
As it did in Guwahati several years ago.
Yesterday, my friend made chicken curry similar to my father's recipe
And all was right in the world again
As it was when ten-year-old me returned home from school
To the smell of chicken permeating through the house.
I don't know what returning means anymore but
Every city I go to has jigsaw pieces of my hometown scattered across it
The familiarity a jarring sight
Because now when I go back to my parents' house
I don't fit into the spaces anymore
The door handles are too tight
The lights too dim
The greys in my father's hair too many
The silence in the rooms too loud.
Guwahati stands the same in its torturous timelessness
As if chiding me for not doing the same
For stretching in any direction at all
As if my leaving was a betrayal to it
As if it doesn't know how it haunts my senses
No matter where I go
Memories of it growing heavier and heavier with each passing year
A hand on my shoulder that refuses to let go
No matter how old I grow.