Summary

The author reflects on their complex feelings of belonging while visiting their hometown of Mumbai after many years, grappling with change and nostalgia, and ultimately finding a sense of connection through reunions with friends and memories of family.

Abstract

The essay "Defining Belonging" delves into the author's return to Mumbai, their childhood home, for a college reunion. Despite the city's transformation and the absence of their deceased parents, the author navigates a landscape of memory and change. Through the warmth of friends, familiar foods, and shared experiences, they reconcile with the evolving nature of home and belonging. The author concludes that while Mumbai may no longer be their hometown in the traditional sense, it remains a place where they feel a profound sense of connection and identity.

Opinions

The author initially feels a "strange sense of déjà vu" upon returning to Mumbai, indicating a dissonance between past memories and the present reality.
The absence of parents makes the author question the nature of "home" in Mumbai, suggesting that family is a central component of belonging.
The author notes that despite material comforts acquired abroad, the unconditional love of family is irreplaceable.
The essay reflects on the bittersweet nature of change, acknowledging that while much has changed in the city and in the author's life, the essence of home can still be found.
The college reunion serves as a catalyst for the author to confront their ambivalence towards Mumbai and to rekindle connections with the past.
The author expresses that the act of sharing life stories with old friends evokes a deep sense of compassion and solidarity, reinforcing the idea that belonging is also about shared human experiences.
The essay suggests that belonging is not solely tied to a physical place but is also shaped by the people and relationships we cultivate.
The author comes to realize that the concept of home is fluid and that Mumbai will always hold a special place in their heart, despite life's changes and their current residence abroad.

Defining Belonging

Untangling the complex weaves of family and home

I walk across the plush paisley carpet of Mumbai’s Terminal 2, battling a strange sense of déjà vu. Of course, I have been here before. Mumbai is my hometown — town, a woefully inadequate term to define this thriving megapolis and home, if I count the first two decades of my life spent here with parents, siblings, and a large extended family stretched across the suburbs. I should be happy about this homecoming but I can’t.

Without parents, there is a house but no home in Mumbai.

Why did I agree to attend my college reunion? The question plays on a soundless loop in the background as I study the swanky new terminal, very different from the dreary Sahar airport from which I had departed for America three decades ago. My parents had sent me off with blessings and smiles, careful to not weigh down my new beginning with tears.

On my first few visits to Mumbai, I used to arrive homesick but happy to be back in the fold. Our home didn’t have air-conditioning, expensive artefacts, or enough space. We didn’t own a car. I had all this in the U.S. But upon every return, the ease with which I resumed my place in the family hierarchy was proof of my right to belong.

My parents would be waiting outside the terminal, Amma having spent the afternoon preparing a home-cooked meal and Dada with mawa cake from Ahura bakery. Enveloped in their unconditional love, free to sleep away the jetlag, snacking at odd hours of the night, homecoming was something I looked forward to with unbridled enthusiasm. Home meant food, family, and freedom to be myself.

Distance had turned out to be the magic ingredient that made the heart grow fonder.

But little in life stays the same. Much about the city has changed, including its name. So has my life.

The last time I was here, six years ago, my brothers and I completed the rituals to mark the first death anniversary of our father. Mother had passed on five years prior. I have been reluctant to make a return visit, unwilling to be a visitor to my hometown. The college reunion request struck a note that resonated with the need to connect with people from the past. I agreed. A gesture of reconciliation with Mumbai.

Tina is supposed to pick me up. If she doesn’t show, I decide to check into The Leela, with confidence that stems from age, and of course, financial security. No point interrupting the lives of relatives who still live here.

Comfort can be bought. Belonging, however, is something else.

Tina and I talk all night. For lunch, she makes her signature aamras, sourcing the best Alfonso mangoes the season has to offer.

The reunion begins with exclamations of “you look the same,” and “what happened to your hair,” on the bus trip to the resort. En route we stop for vada pav. Piping-hot, batter-fried spicy balls of potatoes smothered with garlic chutney, enclosed within soft melt-in-your-mouth buns transport me to my teenage years.

For three days, we share jokes, sing old Bollywood songs, and engage in nostalgia-laden reminiscences. The facilities and food are excellent. The true highlight is listening to everyone’s life story. Everyone’s definition of success is different. Everyone has faced challenges on health, finances, or career fronts. No one is a stranger to relationship struggles. Women have been particularly plagued by the beast of work-life balance. In response to each story, a spring of compassion erupts within me.

Seema, who could not attend the reunion, serves me homemade pav bhaji and Naturals ice-cream at her home. We fondly remember Shiv Sagar, our favorite pav bhaji haunt. I doze off mid-sentence in her bedroom. When I wake up feeling sheepish, she just smiles and brings me masala chai. From food to friendship to freedom to be myself, my amazing circle of friends have somehow managed to fulfil my unspoken wishes.

I feel full. Of food. Of emotions. Of gratitude.

This fleeting, unpredictable life is valuable not just for my own experiences but for what I learn from others.

There is disappointment. There is loss. But there is also solidarity and strength in knowing that you are not alone. I am suffused with a lightness that I cannot name. Is it belonging?

I board my flight knowing that Mumbai may no longer be my hometown, but it will always be the place I belong.

This essay first appeared in Khabar, a magazine based in Atlanta, USA.

Ranjani Rao, scientist, writer, wife, and mother, originally from Bombay, now lives, reads, and works in Singapore. She is co-founder of Story Artisan Press and writes at www.ranjanirao.com