Home : Between City Dreams and Small Town Peace

After months in Bangalore, the city of never-ending noise and Netflix dinners, here I am, back home. Diwali had finally arrived, and so had I, dragging along a suitcase stuffed with just enough clothes to survive my mom's “How do you not have warm clothes?” interrogation. Ah, the joys of home.

Note: The readers are encouraged to stress on the words written in "double" quotes.

Landing back in my house felt surreal. 

First, there's my bed! "My bed" With that fluffy old blanket that never needed a replacement and that pillow molded perfectly to my head over a decade. 

Bangalore’s trendy memory foam has nothing on this! 

And waking up in that bed to the familiar sounds of Papa’s 7 am bhajans, blasted across the house. In Bangalore, my 7 am means debating if I can squeeze in "five more minutes". 

Here, there’s no choice – bhajans, chai, and Dad's banter about the rising cost of vegetables set the scene. And let’s be real, they’re actually at very cheap prices only Dad could manage to get at the wholesale market.

Let’s talk about food — wow, "the food". At home, I’m on a strict "six-meals-a-day" plan.

By 10 am, I’ve already devoured two rounds of chai and breakfast, all before Bangalore even thinks to wake up.

By 2 pm, I’m basically a snack warrior, five mini-meals in. It’s bliss — and exactly opposite to my city schedule, where my first meal often slides in around 2 pm while I’m juggling work and deadlines. 

This might just be peak adulting: a full belly and zero guilt. 

Evenings here at home are a completely different vibe. 

They start with Mom’s classic question: “Kya banaun dinner mein?” 

And every time, without fail, I say, “Kuch bhi!” because honestly, anything home-cooked feels like luxury. No decisions, no complaints, just excitement because I know it’ll be good. 

In Bangalore, however, it’s a far cry from this. My evenings kick off with JIRA tickets to wrap up, check off work tasks, and think ahead to the dinner dilemma. 

The options? Haha, whatever lukewarm, tasteless thing the PG might be serving. 

And if it’s truly inedible (which is more often than I’d like to admit), I’m left scrolling through food delivery apps, trying to figure out what my stomach can tolerate "without breaking the bank".

Back at home, it’s a whole different story after work wraps up. 

I feel refreshed, like there’s still energy left to give! 

I go around watering my plants, catching up on kitchen gossip while sitting on the counter as Mom preps for dinner, and relishing every little detail about who said what in the family group chat. 

Trust me she gives the best gossip!

Every evening, when Papa returns from the shop, there’s a ritual we fall into without even realizing it. He catches me up on the “important things” — land and gold prices.

 And when he pauses, it’s my turn to unload, to tell him how work feels like an avalanche of deadlines, one thing piling up after another, how problems are running "into me" — that too all together, and how there is "always", "always" some shit to sort out. 

After I finish, he gives me a look — the kind of look that says he sees the weight I’m carrying. 

He tells me that I’m so brave and that he’s proud of how I manage everything on my plate. 

I smile and say, “Thanks, Papa,” but deep down, I’m thinking —

 "I wish I didn’t have to be brave. I wish I could just be a child again." (Looking up to him to fix it all, knowing he’s there to catch whatever I can’t carry.)

Bangalore mein? Evenings usually end with me dragging myself in full fledge traffic back to my place, half-dead and barely wanting to exchange “hellos” before I collapse onto my bed. No social hour, no plant therapy — just pure exhaustion. 

Then there’s the day’s grand finale — dinner. At home, it’s a full 8 pm family affair, winding down by 9 pm with lights dimmed, everyone discussing which neighbor bought the fanciest Diwali lights. 

My Bangalore schedule would look like a wild mystery to my parents: a late 10 pm walk, 

maybe a midnight chai run if I’m up for it. 

But here, 10 pm is lights-out territory. 

“Do we even need to sleep this early?” I once asked my mom, only to get a classic Indian mom response: “If  you’re awake, go clean some part of the house.” 

Needless to say, I volunteered to head straight to bed.

It’s funny how the same hour of the day can feel so different in two places, but here we are, balancing the chaos of both.

And how could I not mention about "weekends".

Weekends in Bangalore? They’re all about finding new brunch spots, attending some or the other event or, let's be honest, taking that much-needed nap. 

But here, weekends morph into quality family time and, of course, my designated “DIY repair” duties ("Engineer" hu na ). 

If there’s a drawer packed with a "century" of old cables and chargers, it’s mine to untangle, coz my mother hates seeing so many cables and wires wandering in the house.

She will ask me to throw all the wires that aren't working but will never allow me throw any other non-working, not-needed stuff for ages ("pata nhi kab kaam aajaye, rakhde isko tu")

Mom’s lipstick box that hasn’t been organized since who-knows-when? Yup, my job too.

In return, I get to keep all the lipsticks that she no longer uses.

And finally, the best part: Diwali preparations. 

This year, the whole family braved the shopping frenzy, loaded up on sweets, and hauled decorations home.

No club in Bangalore can match the thrill of spending hours untangling multicolored fairy lights with Dad, who says every year, 

“Next time, we’ll store them properly.” (Sure, Dad, that’s what you said last year!) 

Walking through the neighborhood at night, with each house lit up and the entire town glowing, is the highlight of Diwali. Nothing can replace that feeling — not even my favorite café in Blr.

But here’s where things get complicated. Part of me craves the "buzz" of city life. I love the new people, the conversations, the late nights — all of it. 

But there’s another part of me that aches for this "quiet life" with my family, endless tea breaks, and the fresh air of my hometown. 

Is it possible to love both and still have to choose? 

It’s a mystery I haven’t cracked yet, and knowing me, maybe I never will.

But until I do, here’s to the best of both worlds — family, food, and festival lights on one side, and the endless adventure of city life on the other. Someday, maybe in another 30 years, I’ll figure it out. 

Until then, I’ll keep writing. 

Who knows?

Maybe I’ll finally find the answer in one of these blogs.

If anyone has got their answer , I would love to listen !