Indore is the city where I spent my entire childhood. For the longest time, it was simply home. Familiar streets, familiar faces, a certain way of life, and a pace that never seemed to be in too much of a hurry. It was the kind of place where life unfolded in its own time, and back then, I never really thought much about it. It was just how life was.
I sometimes wonder if I remember it that way because I grew up there, or if the years I've spent in Bangalore have changed my relationship with a slower pace of life. Somewhere along the way, I've become accustomed to a city that is always moving, where there is always somewhere to be, something to do, or something to work towards. I've grown into that pace, perhaps more than I realise.
This was the trip I had looked forward to the most this year. And, funnily enough, it was also one of those trips that came together at the very last minute. After ten years away, I was finally going back to a city that had once been my entire world.
I had no grand expectations. Or perhaps I had too many, without quite knowing what they were.
And surprisingly, everything felt the same.
Yet, somehow, different.
The familiar roads, the little corners, the food I could never quite forget and they were all still there. But I found myself looking at them differently. Maybe ten years away had given me enough distance to appreciate the things I had once taken for granted. Or maybe the city hadn't changed as much as I had.
There is a strange kind of comfort in returning to a place that knows so much of your history, even when it knows nothing of the person you've become. You recognise everything, but you don't quite recognise yourself in it anymore. You feel at home, yet a little distant. You belong there, but you also know that a part of you now belongs somewhere else.
I don't quite know how to explain that feeling. It's not homesickness, exactly. It's more like standing in a familiar room and realising that, while everything around you looks the same, you've lived an entire life since you last stood there.
Of course, Indore had to remind me of itself through its food. Some things don't need revisiting or reintroducing; one familiar bite is enough. And between meals and memories, I found myself thinking about all the versions of me this city had known - the difficult days, the little victories, the celebrations, and everything in between.
Indore had seen me grow up. It had been the backdrop to the years when I was still figuring out who I was, what I wanted, and what I was capable of. It welcomed us wholeheartedly and gave us a place to grow. So much of who I am today has roots in a place I haven't called home in a decade.
And I think we sometimes forget to acknowledge the places that shape us.
We spend so much time looking ahead, chasing the next opportunity, moving to a new city, building a career, and becoming someone we once imagined we could be. We get so caught up in the life we're building that we don't always pause to appreciate where we started, or the people and places that helped us get here.
There is a part of me that will always belong to Indore. Not because I want to go back to the life I had, but because I wouldn't be the person I am today without it.
My father always taught us to respect the land you were born in, but equally respect the land that helps shape you into who you become.
I've come to understand those words a little differently with time. You can be grateful for where you began and equally grateful for where life takes you. One place gives you your roots; another might give you the room to grow in ways you never expected. You don't have to choose between the two. Both can be home, in their own ways.
Somewhere between revisiting familiar places and remembering old versions of myself, I wondered if I had crossed paths with that little girl again.
The girl who didn't yet know what she was capable of. The girl who failed, picked herself up, and tried again. The girl who knew, perhaps a little too early, that no one was coming to save her. If she wanted something for herself, she would have to keep showing up and build it on her own.
I wonder what she would think of the person I've become. What would make her proud? What would surprise her? And what would she remind me not to forget?
Maybe growing up is spending years trying to become someone, only to occasionally look back and realise how much of that person was already there.
I went to Indore to revisit a city. I didn't expect to find myself revisiting the person I was before life took me in so many different directions.
Maybe that was the point of the trip all along.
Maybe I didn't just go home.
Maybe I went back to meet myself again.
