A few days back I was driving out of the Cricket Club and a flowering Bougainvillea bush caught my eye. The big bush with bright red flowers is difficult to miss so noticing it wasn't a big deal but what surprised me was that I exclaimed aloud "reminds me of home".
Where did that come from? Which home did it remind me off? My parents present home doesn't have Bougainvillea bushes and nor does my sasural (parents-in-law's home). Was I thinking of Mumbai - where we've moved from or Delhi - where I grew up? And in Delhi - Lodhi Estate where I spent my childhood or Defence Colony where I went from being a teenager to a mature woman? But the visual in my mind was of a street lined with Bougainvilleas on either side somewhere in Rajasthan where I have never lived and at best, made a short visit.
An Air force brat, I moved about a bit but managed to get 15 continuous years in one city (Delhi) before being whisked away by my prince in shining armour (more like young Man in Benetton T-shirt, driving a blue Maruti) across 5 different cities in 18 years. Eight (the longest stint) of these have been in Hong Kong.
The journey has been and I'm sure will continue to be exciting, exhilarating, exasperating, with anxious, bitter-sweet and happy moments.
If the sadness of not being able to defend my national title engulfed me in one moment, the excitement of seeing Greg Norman overjoyed me in another - both courtesy Melbourne. If not being able to speak Tamil was frustrating, the simplicity of the people in Chennai was heartening. The anxiety of getting a child into the school of choice came with work opportunities never envisaged. Furniture covered with moss was exasperating but discovering a cleaning service and lime furniture polish, elevating (honestly, it's the best smelling polish/cleaner ever!).
Each time we moved it's been the same - arrive, discover city, find people you know (a bit easier if you're Indian coz if no one else, Rakesh's sister-in-law's, brother's best friend's sister-in-law can be depended upon), make friends, find a job/ occupation, settle in and make it home.
Aah, but we're back to home. "L.A.'s fine, but it ain't home. New York's home but it ain't mine no more..." Every time I leave India and come back to Hong Kong, this song by Neil Diamond plays in my mind. I'm always a mess at the airport - the boys treat me gently and tiptoe around their agitated, uncharacteristically sensitive mum. Even the generally matter of fact checking in staff sense my grief and the immigration officers usually manage to say something nice. And then, I arrive in Hong Kong - the roads from the airport feel familiar, Andrew limping over to help us with our bags as we get out of the Taxi is normal . I fix the African neck piece that lies on top of the shoe cabinet at the entrance of our apartment and hey... I'm home!
So I guess my heart is a fickle little organ that likes to be where my body is.....
And the Bougainvillea, well, may they continue to flower..........
