C
One more long haul flight. Few more weeks of asking the household maid to keep watering the plants every day. Few more weeks of living out of hotel bed, missing hearty home cooked meals and freedom to lay around the house like a dead rock.
C and I are in an unusual relationship. It did not start with hate. It did not start with sparkles either. It was meh. So meh that initially I used to dread spending time with C. The wannabe-ness of it all. The craze everyone felt about C. The throngs of people who would trade places with me to embrace C openly. Unlike the reluctance and reticence I showed.
From the beginning I stayed on the back foot. Gauging every move C threw at me. C expected me to be bold, fearless. C wanted me to drive after the first month or so. Explore the outside more. Not that I could not drive, but fear of the unknown. With much resistance I accepted it. Not the change, but the demand for it. May be it was out of some survival instinct. Gradually I realized how liberating it felt. Not being outside. But calling my own shots. Deciding which route to take. Learning to explore the neighborhoods. Hand in hand. Sometimes driving each other nuts.
Then came the time for me to depart. The first time I was little relieved. I mean adventures and all are ok. But a homebody like me loved the comfort of being cooped inside my nest. By chance I had to visit C a lot more over the past one year. It was mostly because of work. But we started getting to know each other better. Some of the trails C showed me became my companions for long runs. I started getting used to the moods and colors of C. If it was cold outside, I would put on a jacket, sip warm coffee. If it was sunnier, put on my sunglasses. Sun or shade we started figuring things out. Together. I also made a bunch of new friends while visiting C. Hikes amidst the mystical redwoods, house parties, conversations, sharing stories became a regularity.
C and I are in an unusual relationship. It did not start with hate. It did not start with sparkles either. It was meh. So meh that initially I used to dread spending time with C. The wannabe-ness of it all. The craze everyone felt about C. The throngs of people who would trade places with me to embrace C openly. Unlike the reluctance and reticence I showed.
From the beginning I stayed on the back foot. Gauging every move C threw at me. C expected me to be bold, fearless. C wanted me to drive after the first month or so. Explore the outside more. Not that I could not drive, but fear of the unknown. With much resistance I accepted it. Not the change, but the demand for it. May be it was out of some survival instinct. Gradually I realized how liberating it felt. Not being outside. But calling my own shots. Deciding which route to take. Learning to explore the neighborhoods. Hand in hand. Sometimes driving each other nuts.
Then came the time for me to depart. The first time I was little relieved. I mean adventures and all are ok. But a homebody like me loved the comfort of being cooped inside my nest. By chance I had to visit C a lot more over the past one year. It was mostly because of work. But we started getting to know each other better. Some of the trails C showed me became my companions for long runs. I started getting used to the moods and colors of C. If it was cold outside, I would put on a jacket, sip warm coffee. If it was sunnier, put on my sunglasses. Sun or shade we started figuring things out. Together. I also made a bunch of new friends while visiting C. Hikes amidst the mystical redwoods, house parties, conversations, sharing stories became a regularity.
C is growing on me. And I on C, because C likes me despite my baggage. Of another C gone by.
In case you were wondering the C in the post are California (present) and Chicago (past).
