Re:Her

There are certain times of the year when you miss a place a little more than usual. For me, it’s around the festive season.

Maybe it’s the videos of Ganpati celebrations popping up on my phone or photographs of Mumbai lit up for Diwali. Whatever it is, one picture leads to a memory, and before I know it, I’m thinking about a city that was once such an ordinary part of my everyday life.

I miss the streets, the food, the familiar faces and even the noise and chaos I probably complained about when I lived there. Funny how you don’t realise how much a place means to you until you’re no longer living in it.

Mumbai during the festive season has a feeling of its own.

I used to live on a street along the route taken by Ganpati idols for visarjan. I remember the prayers, the crowds, the music and the feeling of bidding goodbye to Bappa as the idols made their way through the streets. The celebrations were right outside my home; I didn’t have to make plans to be a part of them.

I also have fond memories of celebrating Ganpati at Saloni’s place. Some memories stay with you not because anything extraordinary happened, but because of the people you shared those moments with.

This year, while watching videos of Ganpati celebrations, I found myself thinking about those days and the familiar streets that once felt like such an ordinary part of life.

On the day of Dasara, exchanging Sona leaves was an important part of the celebrations. We would exchange them with neighbours and friends, wishing each other well. It was a simple gesture, but it brought people together and made the festive season feel even more special.

Then came Diwali

And I can’t talk about it without thinking of the tasty farsan Mummy made. The food, the preparations and the little traditions were all part of what made the festival more special.

Anisha and I had our little routine. We would make rangoli, light diyas, dress up and click pictures together. Sometimes, we’d walk around our locality admiring the lights; on other days, we’d head to our building’s terrace to watch the fireworks and chat.

And, of course, there was her mum’s badam milk on Lakshmi Pooja day. Anisha and I would hang around the kitchen, hoping to sneak in a little extra. It was such a small part of our Diwali, but I can still picture those evenings so clearly.

Back then, these were simply things we did every year. We didn’t know that one day, we’d look back and miss them.

Mumbai wasn’t only about festivals, either. I miss walking through Gorai when the streets were lit up, stopping for an ice cream, and shopping on the busy streets around Borivali station. At the time, it was just another evening or an ordinary shopping trip. I never imagined I’d miss these things someday.

I think that’s what happens when you live somewhere for years. You become attached not just to the big moments, but also to the streets you know by heart and the little routines you barely notice while living them.

And sometimes, I miss more than the city itself. I miss the version of me who lived there — dressing up for Diwali with her best friend, walking around her neighbourhood and finding a festival unfolding just around the corner.

Life has changed since then. There are new routines, new responsibilities and a different everyday life. And I’m not saying that the life I have today is any less meaningful.

I’ve simply realised that being happy where you are doesn’t mean you stop missing where you came from. You can enjoy your present and still feel a little sad when your old city celebrates a festival without you. Both feelings can exist together.

I’ve heard people say this so many times: You can leave Mumbai, but Mumbai will never leave you.

The older I get, the more I understand what that means. A city becomes part of your habits, your friendships and the memories that make you who you are. You carry it with you, even when your address changes.

I also think about Arjun and how much I want him to experience Mumbai. I want him to know the city his mother loves, not just through my stories and photographs, but by actually being there. I want him to him see my school, the street where I grew up, the temple I use to visit often and many more.

Maybe one day, we’ll walk through the area together, stop for an ice cream, go to the temple or wander around the streets near Borivali station. I’ll show him the places I remember, tell him how things used to be and let him discover his own favourite corners of the city.

He may not see Mumbai the way I do, and that’s okay. I’d just love for him to understand why a familiar street, a festival or even a glass of badam milk can take his mother back to another time.

Mumbai will always hold a part of my story — childhood, friendships, festivals, ordinary evenings and little moments that mean so much more when I look back.

Perhaps that’s why I miss it a little more during this time of year. Not because I want everything to be as it was, or because I’m unhappy with where I am now.

But because some places become a part of you.

And maybe, one day, I’ll get to show Arjun why.