“They say home is where the heart is

But what a shame,

Cause everyone’s heart

Doesn’t beat the same…”

Billie Joe very rightly said the above. For the heart changes beat, and finds new reason to keep beating.  It is only human nature, they say, but rather hypocritical really. Anyway, this is how it happens and that is the truth.

Shillong and the North East was my home. It was – until, I came to Pune and got lost in its roads and lanes and alleys. It did not take me long to forget the eighteen years of my childhood that I had spent sleeping on the laps of the hills and the rains. I was lost in the chaos of the city, louder and more alive at two in the morning than Shillong would ever be, even at two in the afternoon. I was lost in the comparative dearth of time. And to be totally honest, I still am.

I really can’t live in Shillong anymore or anywhere in the North East. The hustle and bustle of the city has caught up with me and I have quickly found myself addicted to it. The silence and the serenity have been forgotten. Forgotten. Not erased off my memory.

Thus, on my occasional visits to Shillong, the old memories, evanescent as they are, return to haunt me. Back home, in Pune, I would lie awake in bed dreaming of the simpler life. It would take time for the intoxication of the city to set in again. The transition period was quite tormenting.

Therefore, I figured out a way to deal with the problem in hand. This time around, I decided I would get a part of Shillong and the North East with me. A bit of the hills, a bit of the rain, a bit of the silence, a bit of those unknowing faces and a bit of who I was.