Migratory Life
There is a strange grief reserved for those of us who have lived our lives learning the arithmetic of departure - who have folded home and bits of themselves in the large suitcases, carried entire neighbourhood, relations behind the ribcage of their hearts. They leave. They move on. They had to leave. They no longer hope or believe in permanence. Because, each time they saw home within something they had to lose it. Lose it in the cruelty of situations. Still, they carry a part of them everywhere they go. They keep furnishing the empty rooms with the tenderness of belongingness and ownership - no matter how temporary it is. Each time we leave, people ask us about the thrill of new beginnings, the excitement of exploring new streets, building new homes- within people and spaces in a brand new city. They ask me how do we feel who are just messengers of love and devotion, of sincerity, who keep moving one city to another- ever migrating, ever moving begun from childhood and la...