Fifty two months and a week, sounds like a loan repayment schedule, unfortunately for me it’s the time, I last step foot in my soil. Sixty more days and I will be home
Thirty days of pure happiness follows, favourite food, late night with cousins, occasional nap on Amma’s lap, catching up on news and stories, while she runs her finger through my hair, ignoring Appa’s where’s my coffee calls.
Lighting candles on Grandparents graves, mingling with the locals after Sunday Mass, coaxing ’chetthu vasu’ to give unadulterated toddy, enjoying ‘baby chayans’ nadan soda narenga, little pleasures, immense satisfaction, in Europe’s most vibrant city, I missed it all.
Going out in the evenings, returning way too early to Dublin standards, to be greeted by Amma at the door, to hear the ‘what time it is’ and see the when will you learn look, still she will sit at the dining table, watching her pride eat, mumbling nothings
Home is where my heart is , sixty more days to go, time flies, thirty days at home, its time to return, the goodbye hugs, the tears, the sadness, will they be there when I return, will they be waiting at the arrival lounge
Memories, memories of ‘God’s own Country’, kudos to the copy writer who wrote that, to brighten up even my dullest day, all I need is to think about home, my folks, my home, my city, sixty more days to sleep in my room….
Thirty days of pure happiness follows, favourite food, late night with cousins, occasional nap on Amma’s lap, catching up on news and stories, while she runs her finger through my hair, ignoring Appa’s where’s my coffee calls.
Lighting candles on Grandparents graves, mingling with the locals after Sunday Mass, coaxing ’chetthu vasu’ to give unadulterated toddy, enjoying ‘baby chayans’ nadan soda narenga, little pleasures, immense satisfaction, in Europe’s most vibrant city, I missed it all.
Going out in the evenings, returning way too early to Dublin standards, to be greeted by Amma at the door, to hear the ‘what time it is’ and see the when will you learn look, still she will sit at the dining table, watching her pride eat, mumbling nothings
Home is where my heart is , sixty more days to go, time flies, thirty days at home, its time to return, the goodbye hugs, the tears, the sadness, will they be there when I return, will they be waiting at the arrival lounge
Memories, memories of ‘God’s own Country’, kudos to the copy writer who wrote that, to brighten up even my dullest day, all I need is to think about home, my folks, my home, my city, sixty more days to sleep in my room….
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