The scent of rain on dry dirt. Pellets on the roof. Wind rushing through bedrooms, old wooden doors resisting the slam. The dogs are scared of thunder and they all fight for a spot on my bed. The familiarity of this space settled in hours ago. The air feels harder to breathe, a humidity I'm a stranger to. Most of the roads and lanes are intact, exactly where I left them, but now there are bigger highways, more vehicles, and they lead to buildings too big for the city I grew up in.
The sea filled in. It's a city now. More land for more skyscrapers, sold in foreign currency under Bollywood fireworks. This new earth doesn't know of the spilled blood. Nights away from Gothami Road, my brain takes in live 90s rock and local beer. Press play from where I left off with old friends, the few left I bother to announce my presence to. The cocktails are infused with cinnamon, cardamom and pepper, The Ceylon kitchen sold back by the glass. The back garden, coconut trees like sentries now guarding where Sheeba is buried, and Lassie's bones under the curry leaf tree – I think. The greenery feels more vast than when I left. The black front gate is heavier, stubborn. There is a camera guarding the front, three dogs here to greet me instead of two who waited for my return. I'm fourteen again, figuring out a new house, a home where Thatha only visited.
Then there are things that never changed: the birds, the air in Gothami Lane, Amma's car mostly stationary in the garage, her house structurally the same, the walls, the bookshelf, the barks. Akka's sleeping in the front make-shift room where the living room sofa used to be, now a bed behind a large curtain, her presence only while I'm here. Amma's ordering food she thinks I like. I do. Sometimes I cook at her request, always with a lot of coconut oil and too many curry leaves from the garden tree. For two week, I'm called 'Malli' again. The crystal ornament Amma asked me to take flagged at airport security. Goodbyes through glass. Amma's tears I see through it. Before the airport, I pat the three dogs. Goodbye inside my head. They'll wonder where I've gone. The pats, the back scratches, the evening walks stop.