I grew up in a tiny town in Assam, a typical middle-class Bengali girl. Our values were quite basic. We were taught that elders deserve respect, no matter what they do. You cannot disagree with anyone because that means you’re being disrespectful. You cannot make friends because not everyone is trustworthy.  

 

Our world shut down after 5 PM, no sleepovers, no picnics, not even eating out. You might think they were super strict, but it wasn't that simple. My upbringing might have been strict, but one thing my parents never did was limit my dreams. 

 

With two daughters, my parents were understandably protective. Our town wasn't safe, not just girls but even grown men were unsafe. While some of their beliefs were a bit old-fashioned, their restrictions mostly came from a place of love. 

 

Our strict upbringing came with some quirks. Vacations weren't a thing in our family. Even if we did travel, it was always to visit relatives.  Whenever we complained, Mom would say, "Biyer por Bor er sathe jabi" (which means "go wherever you want with your husband after you're married"). It felt like mixed messaging. On the other hand, she'd threaten to marry me off if I didn't study well. So, I was always confused: was marriage supposed to be my ticket to travel or a punishment? 

 

But jokes apart, the truth is, growing up in a cage made me crave freedom. The key, I was told, was to excel in school and get a higher education. I did just that, topping my class. But my parents weren't ready to let me fly yet. So, I stayed put for two more years. That's when the lying began.  Since honesty about who I was with or where I went got me nowhere, I started sneaking around. 

 

Finally, I got the chance to move to Guwahati. Still Assam, but a big deal for me. No restrictions, no questions - freedom at last! Or so I thought. Turns out, freedom was a complicated mess.  Having never had friends, making them now felt impossible. Crossing the street was like navigating a firestorm. Soon, I was diagnosed with social anxiety and bipolar disorder - not exactly a dream combo. It was then I realized maybe home wasn't so bad. 

 

Homesickness hit hard, but it also pushed me to trust people. Starting with my roommate (now a close friend) and a few classmates who became my chosen family. Life was getting better, and then... COVID.  It changed everything. Almost losing my mom forced me to grow up fast.  Higher education went on hold, and I got a job before graduation. Seeing my family struggle during the second wave flipped a switch inside me. Financial independence became a must. 

 

I finished my degree while working, then landed a new opportunity in Bangalore, a much bigger city. The pandemic had me living with my family again. Initially, it was good, but the craving for space, the one I tasted in college, returned. Back into the trap, I went, quickly packing my bags for Bangalore. 

 

This time, making friends was easier. But Bangalore life has a way of sneaking up on you.  Everyone's busy, there's no time for yourself, and before you know it, you're stuck in the rat race. Everything, even partying, becomes routine. Even though I made great and unforgettable memories in Bangalore, I still long for a home. I’ve progressed greatly in my career, I’ve traveled to cities alone, but some part of it is just not okay. 

 

Three years in Bangalore, and I still search for my true home. Pieces of me are scattered - in my Guwahati dorm, with my parents back home, and here in my Bangalore apartment.  No matter where I go, a part of me feels like it's missing. I guess that's the price of change - leaving versions of yourself behind. You can't go back, but they're always a part of you. 

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