Weeks, days, hours, minutes
‘Til I’ll be home,
One, two, three, four, five, six
‘Til I’ll be home, ’til I’ll be home

Last month, or probably much before that, I was living by the above stanza sung by ‘Boyzone’ from their song ‘Coming Home Now’.

I feel shy to write that stanza as I had been childish counting days to go home (especially, now that my world turned ‘manly’ after I returned back to the U.A.E), but it is not a surprise about how one is thrilled by the mere thought of going back to his hometown. Life is unabridged during such days, and I take this opportunity to describe my experiences of my travelogue.

A Friday for the software professionals isn’t especially soft. Most of the workload by those dreaded developers are dumped towards the weekend, and as we go by the flow, it tends to naturally spill over to the next week, maintaining an ominous atmosphere that the famous ‘office-home life balance’ is at a risk.

We technical writers are like the wolf pack, I mean, we are organized and prefer to be that way. That shows in our job that we disseminate the information after speaking with those developers and then, document it in a refined way. They say, living cohesively in the IT world is worth its salt, and that never happens on a Friday.

But that Friday was fine, as I had finished my plate clear, and was out of all chaos. I had promised my manager that I will work from India for a week (from the two weeks leave), so, I was no longer worried about the spill over part.

I reached Bangalore, the only place I love to be (you will know why?)

With my wife doing a Teachers Program, my initial plan was to stay at the Art of Living Ashram as a baby-sitter for my kid, but later, my nephew invited me over to his place. He lived at Jalahalli West, a place I had visited 20 years back, with no memories of the visit.

The fact that he was a bachelor only meant that I had to do all the chores (including my office work). I was up-to the challenge. Occasionally, we would plan to dine at a restaurant. Since, I’am a traditional localite (when in Bangalore), I prefer eating at Darshinis (the local term for Fast Food eateries).

Standing and eating Idlis dipped in Sambar and sipping a strong cup of tea, whilst watching girls seated in the front seats of a passing bus, is a typical past time of a Bangalorean. We lived those days and live by it (no offense to the women-folk or ill will).

Then came the monsoon rains. Although the day was warm, I used to spend long hours working on my laptop or sometimes watching movies. Evenings were spent watching the rain.

My nephew’s room was on the terrace and I could view the rain in its full. The rain brought back nostalgic feelings of the time when I used to ride my bike back from office and the time, when I used to stop at small road side shops, where many like me would seek shelter from the pouring rain. It was a wonderful sight, with bikes parked on the road side like ants discovering a sudden feast. It used to be a double wonder, how such small shops could even shelter those many people. But, I believe somethings just happen and we do not question why or how?

Coming back to my present state, I wake up at 6 am, and then walk on the road (our gully, I mean). A good exercise; and a fresh, crisp touch of the cold morning air brushing my face and the smell of moist earth mixed with the now fallen flowers of roadside trees, the sight of fresh green leaves, newspapers partly wet due to the watery floor, dogs cuddled in the corner or underneath parked cars and the muddy puddles; a sight only familiar with Bangalore, and aah.. I lived again to see another such moments of my lovely town. It was living a dream, and I was filled with gratitude towards my life and I longed to be here.

I never had been to the ‘Orion’ mall. A mall that boasted to be the biggest in Bangalore. The mall was crowded to the brim, with only a few wearing masks. Its been sometime that I had seen such a huge crowd at malls, as back in Dubai or Sharjah we see only, limited crowd. But malls talk the same script. Its just a place to spend some good time and shop. I had lost considerable interest in malls (unless there was a new eatery that I hadn’t tried) and hence, I leave it to the readers to guess how a mall would be, otherwise.

When it ceased to rain, I spent my time reading a good book called ‘Think Like a Monk’. Authored by the famous podcaster, Jay Shetty, the book talked about his experiences as a monk and the invaluable lessons that he had learnt, which he wanted to share it to the outside world.

Half way down, I felt it is a unique book as it takes us back to our roots, especially, when we seem to lose our way at times. ‘Basics first’ – should have been its motto and the books lives by its name.

Two days prior to my journey back to Dubai, I went back to the Ashram. As customary to a course in the Ashram, the course participants were not supposed to meet or interact with their kith and kin. It was the first time that me and my kid was away from my wife for such a long duration. But, I believe such experiences would make us strong, especially to the kid.

A visit to the Ashram is a blissful experience. The place is tranquil guaranteed. Any busy techie like me is just a mannequin of calmness. Such is its power of transformation that many families visit the place on a Sunday to experience its pleasantness. It’s a get together of a big family. I was glad that I had my second chance to stay at the Ashram.

With the promise that the nostalgic ‘Bangalore Days’ will return in Dubai, we left the days behind us and waited for my wife at the Ashram kitchen.

She had asked her to meet at the kitchen during lunch, as that was the common meeting point. But, we didn’t find her at the designated time and not for the next 20 minutes. She was not there. Did she miss us?

But, then she came, wearing a saree and her hair adorned with jasmine, as if she were a Goddess of the blessed place. The longingness to meet us was evident in her eyes too, and that was when I felt, my vacation really started. It was great to be together again.

Return is always a baggage of mixed feelings. Many can agree that happiness under such circumstances is a falsehood. I again longed to stay back for a few more days. A request to my Manager for an extended stay could have been made possible, but, I overcame it. I knew I will return. For now, I had my Emirates flight waiting for me.

Somewhere at 35,000 feet high, peering through the clouds below me, I could see the sight of my beloved land. I was recollecting the days I spent in Bangalore. I was ready to be a dreamer.

Welcome Back to Dubai!