Last weekend I stepped into my fourth decade. 40. Leaving behind more than a decade of closet claustrophobia and years of trying to please people and trying to be cool. So, this birthday, I decided it is time to go back home. Home that is Patna. A cozy apartment on Boring Road, with people I would take a bullet for. Home, where I didn’t drink even a drop of alcohol, yet my happy quotient was so high, I would struggle to put it in words. Ma Baba’s love language of food was omnipresent. Dada Boudi were there for a surprise visit. P made a card that sits as a reminder of warmth on my desk. And Kooby drew rainbows which I am yet to get my hands on. Loved ones from far called in with ready over-the-hill and age-is-just-a-number jokes. And Nishu, who has seen my evolution from kindergarten to now was in the middle of it all, with the largest (and poshest) cake I have cut in a while. 🙂 Every time I tell Ma that it is high time she moved to Calcutta from Patna, her usual answer is Patna is home. And I have often given a rebuttal that home is where your people are. I truly believe that but last weekend, I felt a little bit of what she feels. In the old photos on the walls and the tea time at the dinner table, there was something tangibly home-like. Something that’s hard to let go of.