It is absurdly strange after a long time of solo travel to
be at home, which appears like a foreign land, unlike the foreign cities that I
have actually visited earlier. When I was in India for four months, I felt like
being at home. I never felt like people hated me there; rather they treated me
like I was their own kin who had come home after a long time. When it was time
to leave, my friend, Rohan asked me if I would feel okay to go home. I
understood what he meant to say, but I replied that I keep returning to the UK
once or twice in a year. However, this time, it had already been two years that
I had not seen anyone in the family face-to-face.
When I reached home, I really felt like I had arrived in a
new country. Kids in the neighborhood seemed more direct about everything, and
ruder to the strangers. I didn’t like it that way because I was brought up in a
time when everyone was taught to be polite, no matter what. Food choices of
people have changed, the clothing has acquired a new fashion sense among men
and women, and people seem to be busier than ever before.
Things do acquire a new meaning when you are out of touch
for a long time. I had heard it from everyone that travel changes the
personality of a traveler. I did notice a few changes in me, but a few subtle
vagaries went unnoticed. I never realized that I had become a completely
different person than I used to be. Amendments in the personality are very slow
when you are on a long, really long road trip. And I always felt like I had
been like this only all this while. Being back home made me realize that I had
actually become a different person.
Back there in India, I spent a long time in the south
admiring the natural beauty of the country. I would hire an Innova for hire for self drive in Chennai and
go for a long road trip. When I was in the middle-east, most of my time would
be spent in absorbing the shocking culture of the countries. Japan was way more
expensive than I had thought. However, all these things never bothered me
because I always knew that I was in a foreign country. I was the one who needed
to adjust because everyone else was born there, or had already spent a long
time there.
Maybe I am just being irrational while thinking of my own
country as a strange land. Maybe I am trying to find an excuse to fly to some
other place again. I cannot point out what is wrong with my mind, but I don’t
like the feeling of being a stranger in my own hometown. I would, perhaps, fly
to some other country really soon.
