Where is home?

He found himself staring down the same street he had left five minutes ago. Or was it? Growing up in the area had meant knowing every nook and corner by heart and it wasn’t something he thought he would ever forget. However, that was 25 years ago and as they say – things change. Finding […]

He found himself staring down the same street he had left five minutes ago. Or was it?

Growing up in the area had meant knowing every nook and corner by heart and it wasn’t something he thought he would ever forget. However, that was 25 years ago and as they say – things change.

Finding the market place was easy enough. It hadn’t changed at all, save one tiny detail – it lay abandoned. The shops stood exactly where he’d left them 25 years ago, but the criss-crossing alleys were empty. Some of the remaining shop-keepers fanned themselves with newspapers, looking out occasionally for any sign of people; yet barely bothering. One barely even acknowledged him when he stepped out of his car and walked straight up to the store to purchase a map. ‘All the same,’ he thought, ‘…now that I have found the market-place, finding ‘Home 617’ shouldn’t be very hard.’

And thus, began his troubles.

‘Home 617’ has always stood between a commercial complex and a train station. A series of lefts and rights led to the house, no matter how you approached it. It was impossible to go wrong even if one tried hard enough. Especially someone who knew all the nooks and corners by heart.

From the market-place, it took a combination of 14 consecutive left and right turns, starting left, and you would find yourself standing outside ‘Home 617’ – easy. As a child, he had committed to memory the combinations of lefts and rights it took to get home from the relevant places in the area:

– Commercial complex to ‘Home 617’ – Zero

– Train station to ‘Home 617’ – 6 (starting right)

– Market place to ‘Home 617’ – 14 (starting left)

– Community park to ‘Home 617’ – 1 (left)

As he stood with his back to where he thought the commercial complex had been, he faced the biggest number of baffling questions he had ever thought to face:

1). Where was the commercial complex?

2). Why had a giant brick wall replaced the commercial complex?

3). Was he dreaming?

4). Why were there so many lanes before him now, where there were none before?

5). Had the houses been renumbered?

25 years and ‘Home 617’ seemed lost in a maze of lefts and rights that was completely and utterly unfathomable.

So, there he stood staring at the street he thought he had left 5 minutes ago and still found no trace of where he’d grown up. 6 entrances he saw on the map that faced the giant brick wall and one of them he had already explored leaving him 5 more without a clue as to which one went where he wanted to go. He sat on the pavement feeling utterly helpless and needless to say, hopeless as he stared down at the map again. The park still stood untouched right at the heart of the maze. The park that had once been his universe; which now would likely seem incredibly tiny to a man his age. Still he stared at the green spot on the map hoping to find a way.

The single entrance out of the park that had once led him to ‘Home 617’ had now magically turned into 4 entrances, each with a corresponding lane of its own. Had every person who ever lived in the area planted a ‘home’ seed of their own that spurted a million more homes these past 25 years? Was it worth looking for something so lost? He shuddered at the thought and stood up.

“Some things may have changed,’ he said to himself, “but certainly not everything.” He glanced at the map one more time, nodding to himself, and marched towards the park with renewed vigour. There used to be an apple tree that his friend Rahul and he had planted as children and he was certain it would still be there. Why would anyone cut down trees, right? If he was lucky, he would find it and it would lead him to his house. Without a doubt. He traced his way on the map and found himself at entrance 3 of the park that had once defined his childhood.

‘Still massive,’ he thought, ‘…but very weird’, but walked in anyway. Surrounded by unfamiliar faces, he set off looking for his apple tree from years ago.

As children, Rahul and he often had long conversations with each other, atop different trees using their walkie-talkie sets and binoculars to ensure secrecy. If he ever climbed the highest branch in the tree and looked north, he always saw ‘Home 617’ standing right before him, the path unhindered. He hoped he would manage the same once he’d found the tree but was losing faith all the same.

A bed of synthetic grass lay before him like a fluorescent green carpet and on it stood a hundred odd artificial trees. It was like visiting a botanical garden with the occasional child running across the carpet of grass and a few old people walking their dogs. One lady looked right through him while her dog relieved itself on one of the fake trees that stood before it. The sheer absurdity of the moment baffled him. “I’d best be off as soon as possible” he muttered to himself, pushing past the lady onto the cemented pavement.

The trees lined the borders of the park, just like before and he began his search, examining every tree in sight. Walking around the park, he realised that while the artificial trees were in abundance, some of the old, ‘real’ trees had been painted bright colours to blend in. Another detail that struck him after circling the park three times was that the old, ‘real’ trees had been fortified within cemented walls, around the base, to keep them from falling in case of a storm. He was glad to have noticed this as he set about examining every cemented tree, making his task less confusing and arduous. However, after circling the park a total of 9 times, the apple tree was nowhere to be found.

Exhausted, he sat down on one of the cemented forts under an old Eucalyptus tree; its leaves yellowed with age, and looked around. ‘Why would anyone leave a stupid, old apple tree standing when they have so many shiny, new ones?’ he thought. He shut his eyes and leaned back. “This is harder than I thought” he said to himself. “Is that right?” said a gruff voice a few inches from him. His eyes fluttered open and he looked around for the voice he had just heard.

A tiny old man sat under a tree, trying desperately hard to cement it. The more he lathered the bricks with wet cement, the more chunks of it slid off, leaving him annoyed. Yet, he persisted. “Having a bad day?” he asked the old man. “I’ve been doing this my whole life,” the old man replied, “Every tree in this park was cemented by me. Yet this one proves the most difficult each time. It seems it wants to stand out no matter what.” Amused, he asked, “And what tree is this?” “It used to be an apple tree …” said the old man, “… but doesn’t bear fruit anymore. The authorities will chop it down next month.” He continued, “I just thought I’d give it one more chance before it gets lopped off.”

He stood up at once, ears ringing with what he had just heard. “An apple tree?” “Yes,” said the old man, “Why?” Without another word, he began climbing the tree, struggling and short of breath. The old man shouted at him from below, but he kept on, beads of sweat lining his brow. ‘This is definitely not as easy as it used to be’ he noted and swore never to scale one in the foreseeable future. Not even in a life and death situation.

He was at the top, 10 minutes later, heaving wordlessly as he clutched the topmost branch. He looked around. ‘Had there always been so many houses?’ he thought as he pulled out the map once again and looked for the lane that went north. Tracing his fingers along the map he turned himself around to face ‘Street 48’ that ran north. There, behind a cluster of smaller buildings lined with the same artificial trees, stood a 19 storeyed building that he didn’t recognise at all. Yes, 19 storeys, he had counted twice. ‘Is that ‘Home 617’?’ he thought. ‘Had it always been this tall?’ He noted the name of the street and made his way down.

The old man had made quite a spectacle of the event with his screaming and a small crowd had gathered around the base of the tree. He hurried past them and their quizzical faces and ran out entrance 4, down ‘Street 48’. He ran and ran and ran till he found himself standing before the 19 storeyed building he had seen just a few minutes ago.

The building loomed above him, hideous and unfamiliar. He looked around and finding no one, entered the main gate. Where his grandfather’s room had once been; was now a parking lot with a lot of big cars. In fact, the parking lot had taken up the entirety of the ground floor that had once been his home. He had grown up right here – in the parking lot. He began muttering to himself, pacing up and down, trying to remember what had been where, “… and here was the drawing room … and behind it … yes, here was the kitchen …” He remembered all that was there till he walked right to the end of the parking lot to face a small, faded white wall with a tiny red gate. This wall stood untouched with the leaves of the old mango tree falling over it. ‘THIS is ‘Home 617’’ he thought, ‘the wall, the little red gate and mango tree would never lie.’ He had found it at last, his heart sinking at the sight.

He walked out the main gate, across the street and turned to look at the 19 storeyed building once more. Whoever it belonged to now had stripped it off it’s simplicity for something more grand.

Shaking his head, he opened the map once again, looking to find his way back to the car.