Come as you are As you were As i want you to be

Aaah. To have the internet again. To be connected to a gazillion people, creatures, crossed wires, lingering thoughts in outer space, emoticons. What a relief.

First, I moved house. Yabba dabba doo...it is done.

Second, I realised this is the longest I have ever lived in a house. Six years. I was scared that when we moved, gnarled and mottled roots would be trailing me.

But, I’m happy to say, I have not looked back once. Not in the six days since we moved. Which means sometimes things you learn in your childhood, never go away. Like for instance how to do cycle wheelies, how to tell your mom the selective truth, how to tickle your nose till you get gigantic sneezes.

And of course how to move house every two years. Not just move house, but cities, schools, friends, teachers, uncles, aunties. In my twelve years of schooling (ha ha...if you could really call it that. I love the Kendriya Vidyalayas or Central School as I like to say smugly to my convent educated friends. But the schooling, that was always a little suspect). Anyway in my twelve years of dodgy schooling, I shifted school thirteen times.

And I loved it. This is the pattern I would follow. First six months in a new school I would be good girl, studious girl, wholesome girl, teacher’s pet etc etc. Then slowly the facade would slip. And I’d start to side with the groups, usually the last bench, last in class group. Then, I’d lose interest in the same old teachers and the same old classroom, and the same old school. But because of the first six months, the teachers would not give up on me. My marks would still be good, they’d still give me benefit of doubt if I didn’t turn in my home work, or skipped a class or two.

Then... things would start to go downhill. I would pray my dad got transferred. The teachers would shake their head when I passed them in the corridor and generally – I would be on the verge of tipping in to the loser list, when voila...saved by dad’s posting and a new school. And the cycle would start all over again.

The great thing about moving is leaving the past behind. We store so much of it. And even when we get rid of it from our minds, there are physical bits that we cling to.

I found a whole bunch of cards, from my hostel days. My first instinct was to keep them. To remind me of the carefree times. But then, I realised I didn’t need to cling to them. The times were gone, but most people who sent me those cards are still my friends. And I still talk to them, mail them, and even meet them once in a while.

The other thing I found was a poem I had written when A and I were going through a really bad time. We were on the verge of splitting. And I had written this very sad, very confused, very painful poem. Again, my first instinct was to keep it. Then I realised I didn’t need to. The pain was gone. We are still together. And I’m not shy to say, that if I ever had to live without him, it would be the most difficult thing to do.

So the cards and the poem are gone. The cards are buried somewhere, the poem I tore and scattered around the old house.

It’s a new house. A blank slate. I choose to fill it with nothing except the happiness that A, Milo and I share at the moment.

Amen to that then.

(and to those who commented on my earlier blog, I’m sorry I could not write back. But well, in my old age I must be getting senti, because thank you for all the nice stuff you guys wrote. And pinku, the funny thing is I really don’t think I had a bitter lonely childhood. I just had an interesting one!

And blog gore: who’s there?)