The marigold flower swirls and floats to the road as I walk. The purple berries from the nearby tree are purple splotches that dot the landscape. I am back on familiar ground, a place I called home for a good many years. Everything seems just about familiar, yet different enough for me to give pause. I walk slowly, savoring the few minutes that it will take for my mom to catch up to me. We hail an auto at the end of the road and the landmarks float past lazily. It is a weekday morning, a bit past the morning rush. The absence of street vendors is conspicuous. I am merely an observer today watching my mom in her natural habitat as she navigates the work of everyday living. Standing in queues, awaiting her token, negotiating with the grocers and laying out the mechanics of life in concrete terms. We return laden with bags.
Sipping coffee and dipping into a generous portion of madras mixture, I ruminate. It is like a kaleidoscope I realize. The glass pieces behind the lens the same, their positions changing with each turn throwing up patterns that are unique and intricate. The town I left behind is essentially the same. The landmarks aging and etched with memories. There are newer markers, ones I have no clue about. I feel like I am a constant in the fast changing background.
The sun sets somewhere behind the trees. I see nothing behind the dark curtains and the hum of the split AC. The kids are hidden behind their tablet screens working away their jet lag. It will be a few days before we venture out. A few days before we acclimatize to the mosquitos, the muggy weather and the abundance of sun filled days ahead of us.