The rattling noise of the wheels on the rails envelop my soft whimpers as I lay crying, curled up on the narrow berth of the moving train.
A few seconds ago, I'd heard a ding. A new notification. An email. Sorry, we regret to inform.... I closed it immediately. The past month had been a slew of acceptances and rejections. Hope and disappointment. Now, I was on the train to Bangalore, to catch my flight to Bagdogra, looking for a place to stay the night. It was peak May, and the city was facing water scarcity. Residents were closing their doors to guests to save water. The airport was four hours from the furthest ends of the city. As I lay plotting a favoured destination to stay at, I'm left looking for an answer. I call Miru, as I always do, when the world crumbles around me.
The last time I called her after an emotional breakdown, she happened to be working a night shift at the forensic department. She entertained me with morbid stories that she had encountered and believe it or not, they made me feel better. This time, she gave a straight headed solution.
`11:40 pm`
*M: You've to go to the airport right! Call Meenakshi right now. Her college is close to the airport, and her hostel allows guests to stay at night.
How could I forget. I'd asked everyone except my close friend Meenakshi who studied in Bangalore.
*S: But isn't it too late? Will I be able to get permission to stay?
*M. Call her right now, and ask.
Dialling Meenakshi. She picks up after a few rings.
*S: Hey, I'm so sorry for the late night request, but can I stay at your hostel tomorrow night? I've to catch a flight tomorrow morning.
*M: Ohhh. Of course Swarna. Don't worry. My warden will be asleep by now, but I'll get the permission tomorrow morning. Until then, I'll inform the security guard. He will let you in at 5, and you can come stay at my hostel. You don't worry.*
I breathe a sigh of relief.
I've been used to staying at other people's places, and I feel at home wherever I go. When I lived in Goa, I would go to Kriti's house at least once in a week. She introduced me to the best Bollywood movies, the 'evergreen' DDLJ. I'd order chicken lollipops, at 12 am in the night. A friend Omkar, used to joke that lollipops ordered at night, can't be from a trusted chicken but rather from pigeons (funnily enough, he recently launched a new card game called Kabutar which I'm gonna plug in here). When we went into the homestay at Pedong, I was reminded of Kriti's house which says more about the idea of home, "not as a space but a feeling." (this phrase naturally came up in a conversation with Sona) During the trip, we watched yet another Shahrukh classic. Kal Ho Naa Ho. For two extremely rational people, we do love our emotional tearjerkers.
Prajjwal, our host, was an ardent Isha meditator. He would play chants in Sadhguru's voice, and it teleported the Velliangiri mountains up to the North East. Isha Home School became my second home during my teen years, and is where I met Miru and Meenakshi. It was a boarding school that blurred the boundaries between home and school. We stayed in houses, a group of about twenty kids, assigned under two dutiful houseparents. We'd have cookouts, study together, do our daily chores and have never ending gossip sessions. I found great friends there, and even if I meet some of them after years, they feel like home.

I told Prajjwal that his homestay reminded me of school. He asked me if he and his wife were being too strict (haha). Maybe it was the music that drifted around the serene reading cum dining space bordered with a bookshelf that had old yellowed pages like Oliver twist and a statue of the Buddha. A Wheel of Life tapestry hung on the wall lit up by ambient yellow lights. Within that common space, Kriti and I had conversations with him and even hot debates with other guests during our meals. Our laughter would resonate throughout the house before we ended our day. His wife and him, met while working for a hotel, after being trained in the hospitality sector. He shared their love story on Kriti's insistence while strumming the guitar shyly. They ran the neatest little household, with admirable efficiency and the sound of their labour was unheard. They moved about like partners in a swift dance, gracefully. They made us feel like a part of their home with their kind conversations and warm smiles. They stayed on the first floor, and the guest rooms were on the ground floor. We enjoyed all our meals as they prepared them with care. My favourite was the Chicken Thukpa, spiced with fresh homegrown chillies. The other special dish was the Tomato and Peas pickle seasoned with locally grown chillies that were sweetish in flavour. I never eat pickle, but I had multiple servings of this one. They were fresh and rejuvenating for the tongue, and I couldn't taste the salt at all! We cheekily asked if we could buy some, but they had prepared it in limited quantity. (It would be hard to reproduce the recipe as well, since the ingredients were sourced from their home garden from locally grown produce.)

They live with their daughter and Prajjwal's parents. Prajjwal's mother would tend to the plants in the garden followed around by her granddaughter. They also have a cat named Sweetie, an adorable snowy white cat, with a bushy tail and an existential attitude. Sweetie was not allowed inside the guest premises and would wait at the side of the gate. She would look around to see if Prajjwal was around. One afternoon, we had returned early and nobody was in the house. The family had gone shopping to the nearby market. We had forgotten to close the door, and later heard a knock and a meow once we were inside the room. I opened the door to find Sweetie had sneaked silently inside after us. She sat on Kriti's lap as we had tea. Once she heard Prajjwal's voice looking for her, she naughtily hid herself within Kriti's long shroud. She thought she could escape Prajjwal's eyes. But she later ran outside, in lighthearted mischief.

The first day staying at the Zostel Pedong, went by in a flash. We were supremely tired from our journey, and only remember going to sleep after a warm bowl of Thukpa. The second day was a more relaxed one. We took a walk in the nearby woods and sat chatting inside. That night, under the carpet of a million stars, I listened to Venmurasu. In the story, Kunti, Pandu and Matri were sent to exile in the Himalayas. The author described the flowing brook glistening in the moonlight and Kunti giving birth to Yudhistra underneath a tree. Pandu kisses the child and it feels like the a thousand flowers bloom on his effervescent pale skin. His happiness feels akin to the sky dripping with honey and he consuming it. In ecstasy, he disappears into the woods, celebrating the birth of his first child. The next morning, I woke up early and did my yoga. When I opened my eyes after meditation, the carpet of clouds uncovered to reveal the mountains. It was a splendid sight. I called Miru again. To show the mountains and the sky.


After a week of stay, we felt saddened to leave. They arranged a small send off ceremony, playing the Buddhist prayer bowl and offering flowers for travellers to have a safe journey home. Prajjwal chanted Asatho Maa Sath Gamaya.
From one home to another.
----Swarna
(to be continued to the finale)
It's crazy how I can smell, hear, see and feel everything through your words. Thank you swarna for making me fall in love with words! 🫂❤️