Far from home

Noor Kumar Chadha
Tridha Rudolf Steiner School, Mumbai, Maharashtra

The morning was cold and wet. The rain poured down heavily like silver serpents that fell from the sky and slithered between the cracks in the cobblestones. The houses had gone silent. Their roofs pull down like thick woollen hats to protect them from the rain. My heart was thumping against my chest. The fear pulled on my breath till it got entangled somewhere deep inside. The harsh winds hit my face as I ran. The rain was burrowing into my skin like pellets. My face felt parched, but I didn’t care. I needed to reach the bus station before I would regret this. I had left the house in such a hurry that all I had with me was a small cotton bag in which I had stuffed anything I could find.

The bus was packed. The only seat I could see was right at the back next to an old lady, whose face was hidden behind a tattered old magazine. I sat next to her and held my bag close to my chest, my heartbeat beating fast against it. The lady smelt of talcum powder and old paper. She reminded me of my grandmother. I hadn’t met my grandma for eight years. I hardly remember how she looks anymore and has completely forgotten the sound of her voice. Mother told me that she had moved abroad to live with aunt and uncle Ray, but I knew that wasn’t true. It was just like Mother to alienate anyone who loves her. How can she alienate them from me too? The thought made my teeth grit. Sitting next to this woman today made me feel safe, warm. It had been a while since I had felt this way.

I didn’t want to speak to anybody though. I sat there, staring at my shoes. My feet had gone cold and numb. “Are you here with someone?”  a voice asked me.  I didn’t look up but could tell that she wasn’t looking at me either. I shuffled uneasily in my seat. “No” I whispered. “Where are your parents, love?” she continued. I was dreading that question. I couldn’t tell her I had run away from home. She would never understand. “I never got to meet them”, I answered. I don’t know why I said that. The words slipped out in my anger. She was still reading her magazine, but I could sense her breath going heavy. She fell silent. At least she wasn’t asking me any more questions. A pang of guilt hit my stomach. Why had I said that?  I suddenly missed my mother. Her gentle touch. Softened eyes and droopy smile.

I was so angry with her. How could she not let me meet my father? Yet somehow, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she must be going through right now.  Do you think she found my note? Was she looking for me? Was she worried? I shut my eyes. They burnt like they were being pricked with a hundred needles, like stepping on the coal of a blacksmith’s forge. The tears swirled into my eyes; however, I didn’t have the energy to cry. I felt helpless. I didn’t know what to do. I could feel that the woman was looking at me for the first time.  I didn’t want to face her pitiful look, but I opened my eyes anyway. I turned my head to look at her for the first time. My throat went dry. “Grandma!”