The Oxford Dictionary defines the word 'separation' as "the action or state of moving or being moved apart". Seems a bit technical, doesn't it? So devoid of any emotions that are attached to this action. and, yet, quite accurate. Because no one ever wishes to be moved apart. But they simply are. Moved apart, so to say. Either forcibly, or by themselves, unwillingly though. 

The first time I had to experience this word was when I was 10 years old.
We had to move from my hometown to a somewhat nicer city. My hometown was somewhat unpleasant. Gutters overflowing, beggars on the streets, no regard for laws, full of criminal activities and some disagreeable population. I agree with this evaluation of my hometown. If I could, I would have selected a better place to be born, but, alas, I didn't have that ability. I also agree with my parent's concern with growing up in that town. They always did have my well-being on their mind. So, when they announced that we will being moving to Navi Mumbai, my reaction was one of sadness, not anger. As if my anger or sadness could have changed their mind. 

I had good things going for me. So, this announcement was a shock. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind. But when I rushed into the bathroom at night, to cry silently, they were quite clear. I was scared. Scared of living this place I called home. The place whose negative features I knew and understood, its beauty and peace was going to go away soon. The memories associated with that home, the birthday parties, festivals, gardens, the relatives and friends, they all just became a reminder of what I was going to lose. 

One thing that I loved in that house, because I cannot call it home anymore, were my beautiful blue-violet curtains. I liked to sleep in the afternoon with those curtains closed. And the sunlight which entered through it, were blue, instead of the usual red. They looked a little alien, but beautiful nevertheless. It gave me a sense of calm, peace and security. I could sleep without any worries. The red rays stung my eyes. 

But the thing that scared me the most was the fact that one day I was going to wake up in a new place, and I would be expected to continue living normally, as if I wasn't just moved apart from my home. Because I swear to God, I didn't want to leave!  God! I didn't want to leave!

It was my home damn it!

I loved that place and they had no right to take me away! So what that it was dirty, unsafe and had people of other religions staying there! It was my home and I loved it. And they took me. I know logically, it was the right thing to do. My parents only wished to keep me safe, give me a good education and a good society to live in. And they did all that. I am healthy, smart and I have good people in my life. 
And I am a wreck. 

My father often told me that he too loved his home. When his family was moving from Mumbai to my hometown, he cried a lot. He loved his home so much, that when they were leaving, he stayed back, and kissed the walls of his home. He always hated it in my town. He couldn't wait to get out of there. I remember the day we were leaving, he was so happy. Like a curse was lifted from him. I was happy for him. 

But, I just have one complaint. I never got to kiss the walls of my home goodbye.