Expat pangs.

Being away from home has it downsides, no doubt. But on most days, life keeps us engrossed in it’s mundane throes and we fail to process and feel the underlying void within that is constant and unrelenting.

Don’t get me wrong folks, we have it good here; but there are times when it hits you. The sudden pangs of saudade; the inexplicable stab of yearning and possibly regret. Regret for missing a dear friend’s wedding, or not being at your parent’s or grandparent’s bedside when they have a small niggle or an insignificant procedure.

The searing heat makes things worse. I miss the rain, though I seem to have glossed over (in my head) the horrid rain-traffic woes of my home city.

I miss my morning run in the nearby 250 acre park. I long for outdoor coffee dates and the general air of casualness and simplicity.

Home. With it’s broken medians and aged Gulmohar trees. With earsplitting honks and mind numbing traffic. With food that I love and people that I now realize I care for.

But what I miss most this hot and humid Friday afternoon is my Mum’s post-prayers ghee rice and mutton roast/ chicken biriyani. To just gorge on the food and then lay comatose in bed till evening. No dishes or laundry to worry about, no cares in the world.

And then to wear tattered tracks and an over-sized top in the evening and leave the house without the phone, the car keys and your ID, your licence and lord knows what else, and just run. Free. On your own land. On your own terms.

Looks like some places will never be ‘home’.

Or maybe I’m disoriented by the heat, some retail therapy might mend my thinking 😉

Till next time..

Dr J.

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