There is a particular loneliness that only shows up after 11pm on a Tuesday.
I was on my friend Riya's fire escape in Astoria, the one that overlooks a parking lot and a Greek bakery that closed hours ago. The whole neighborhood smelled like someone else's dinner. Cumin from somewhere. Grilled meat. A little bit of the sea, if you imagine hard enough.
I called my mother. It was already morning in Ahmedabad. She picked up on the second ring the way she always does, like she's been holding the phone waiting.
"Beta, jamyu?" Have you eaten. Always the first question. Always the whole love of a person packed into two words.
I said yes. I lied. I'd had half a bagel and a fistful of feelings.
Homesickness in NYC is a strange animal. It doesn't come when you expect it. Not on Diwali when everyone's posting. Not at the airport. It comes on a random fire escape in Astoria while your best friend refills the wine inside and you can hear her laughing at something on the TV.
It comes when your mother describes the exact way the morning light falls in our kitchen and you realize you can picture it perfectly and you may not stand in it again for a year.
We talked about nothing. The neighbor's new car. My cousin's engagement. Whether I'm wearing enough warm clothes, even though it's July and I told her that, and she said "still." Mothers and their "still."
I didn't tell her I was crying a little. She knew. She always knows. She just started humming the way she used to when I couldn't sleep as a kid, some old Lata song, off-key and perfect.
Homesickness in NYC isn't about wanting to leave. I love this city. I chose this city. It's about carrying two places inside one chest and knowing they'll never be in the same room.
Riya came out with a blanket and sat next to me without saying anything, which is its own kind of love.
My mother said goodbye. Told me to eat properly. Told me she's proud.
I stayed on that fire escape a while longer, held between two homes, missing one and sitting in the other.
You can be exactly where you belong and still ache for somewhere else. Both are true. I'm learning to let them be.
Love,