After waiting for a freaking 45 days, I got my VISA. Half of me felt like dancing on the beach, and the other couldn’t quite handle the possibilities of the new life ahead.
I personally never missed the taste of ‘Ghar Ka Khaana'(Homemade food) despite staying away from parents, like going home once in 4 months. It never bothered me. Maybe it was the hope, the idea of being able to go home whenever I want. 4 Hours in a superfast train while binge-watching a season of ‘The End Of The Fu*king World’ could take me home. And, it is not going to be the same story anymore.
I got my Visa pretty late and I had to take the earliest and cheapest flight to Italy, just 10 days left to attend the International week, and my head was lost digesting the situation.
One week to go and I vacated my flat in Hyderabad. I still cannot understand how the last week in India has passed. It was a timelapse of events that should have stayed longer. My mom ‘being the most emotional and orthodox’ in the family has already plotted ways to take me to the temples and fulfill her deals with the families of Gods. And my dad being a dad has been dealing with my leaving in his ways. My brother started stretching his territories in the wardrobe, he started putting some efforts to fill the voids that will be left by me.
Dad approached my uncle for the address of the place where they’ll do the airport packing for the loads of pickles I have to take. Mom is going berserk loading my trolleys with the typical south Indian snacks (many of which I dropped later). My uncles started teasing me about finding a soulmate in Europe. My super old grandfather gifted me 10000 INR (around 125 Euros) and whispered in my ears ‘spend it carefully’, (we know our old people right!), then said something like ‘send me postcards’.
The oldest woman in the family, my Grandmother, she took me into the kitchen and gave me a glass jar (reusable kissan jam bottle) full of home-made GHEE, and I think that would be the most Indian thing I brought with me. I can see her struggling to peck the words out of her mouth fighting the wrinkles just down her cheeks and at the edges of her eyelashes, she has always been my favorite storyteller.
One of my best friends has been finding ways to bid goodbye, while the other one has started making plans of flying to Europe.
One took the window seat and was frozen watching me from the moving bus, another didn’t express much in the form of words but through the eyes. It was heavy. I still remember the warmth.
For more stuff about studying and living in Italy, and traveling Europe, feel free to mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org or can contact me on Instagram at @thedopepoet