The Disconnect

Sometimes living abroad is not as enjoyable as it seems. 

Back home, my morning sometimes starts with a walk to the beach, always followed by mom's rich fresh filter coffee wafting through the apartment. I settle down with a copy of The Hindu for some mindless piece of information, but nevertheless find it soul satisfying. 

Now it is a different story. Away in my apartment by myself, I am unable to make the exact version of the lip smacking dreamy coffee and am forced to read The Hindu online. I am losing interest already. 

I dint know the ailing superstar Rajesh Khanna had passed away until a friend, obviously shocked by his death, called to share the news with me. I loved Kaka's movies and his charisma on screen. I grew up with a lot of Kishore's songs playing in the afternoons.   Kishore Kumar's voice was a perfect fit for the superstar who ruled Bollywood in the 70s and 80s as a romantic lead as well as heartbreaking character portrayals. My favourite always remains, Amar Prem. It was the kind of love to die for. I was sad at his passing, felt even sorrier for his personal life which was a far cry from his stardom. If I had been in India, I would have stayed glued to the tele, switching channels for more coverage. 


Fact of the matter is, I am away from everything that I grew up with. My only communication with my loved ones is over an email or an occasional video chat. I yearn to wrap them up in my arms. 

After a while, you find yourself isolated. It is as bad as being marooned on an island where your only recourse is to have conversations with an unseen God. You miss the sense of touch. 


Watching a movie at Satyam over a bowl of popcorn, lovely evening walks by the Elliots beach, temple visits, roadside chai and some hot bondas for Rs.5-- these are a few of my favorite things. 


I get a few surprise calls from my friends at ungodly hours. Living here makes economic sense, undoubtedly---- but is it worth it?