I have a ritual on every full moon night. Nothing elaborate – I just head to the terrace and I stay there for as long as I can. Full moon nights take me back home. It usually involves a balcony bathed in moonlight, excellent music, even better food and a lazy cat.
Just so you know, I don’t get as homesick as I used to. Obviously, I’m not wholly impervious to it and when the waves of homesickness come, my wallowing would put the despair of a 15 year old adolescent who has just discovered a pimple to shame.
So, I come to the terrace and I watch the watcher patrolling the neighbourhood on his cycle; a long low whistle preceding his arrival. Clear night skies are a luxury so I’ve reconciled myself to the smog, dotted with the occasional lights of a low flying plane (I live somewhat near the airport). The usually clogged roads are wonderfully empty and the temple draped in strands of lights shines comfortingly in the distance.
This city has taken root and started to grow on me. I still don’t feel safe like I do back at home and it has its flip side, but I’m at peace with this place. It’s a volatile, awkward kind of peace, but at least it’s something.
During the day, it belongs to its people. And the people can have it – the chaos, the dust, the bustle, the stress etched on their faces. I don’t want any of it; because you see, by night.. by night the city is mine.