Flight to Russia

Memories of home keep Neeraj Chhibba going as he goes abroad for higher studies
Ihad a perfectly normal childhood, and like most people, took all the joys for granted. The biggest tragedy was being scolded by my father for something my sister had done. Till, one day, the postman came with the letter carrying the news of my imminent departure to USSR for higher studies.The letter did not specify which country or city I would be going to and I automatically assumed it must be Moscow, as that’s where the USSR started and ended for me.
After the initial brouhaha, came a sense of shock. I had not moved out of Delhi for years and Moscow was almost 5,000 kms away. I consulted my mentor at school hoping that he would advise me not to go. To my disappointment, he recommended that I go, as USSR was famous for its space and nuclear programmes. I was glued to our battered TV for whatever news I could get on Russia. Prannoy Roy’s The World This Week told me that USSR was in bad shape and that the Russians were queuing up even to buy their daily loaf of bread.
I discussed this with Papa. He countered it by saying that after the uproar that followed Mandal Commission’s report even India was in turmoil and a TV show was not reason enough for me to change my mind.
The next few days were filled with frenzied activity. They were spent in buying clothes to equip me to fight the Russian cold. Everybody chipped in with their bit. Mama sold her gold bangles to ensure I had enough supply of clothes. She got me five trousers and an equal number of shirts. Papa, who had retired only the previous month and needed to find work to sustain the family, bought me a warm suit. He said I would need one for formal events. The little sacrifices that everybody made to get me everything, the growing creases on Papa’s and Mama’s foreheads, their saddened eyes, all added to my anguish. I was about to lose my home and had still not found a new one. I was all set but not ready to go.
The day of my departure came soon. Though the arrival and departure terminals at the IGI Airport were only separated by a floor, the difference in mood was palpable. It was very lively at the arrival and equally sad at the departure terminal. I said goodbye and broke down immediately on entering the terminal. It couldn’t get worse.
On the plane, I did not know how to deal with the strangers who surrounded me. So, I closed my eyes and reflected on what I was leaving behind. The biggest thing I missed was those fights with my sister. Suddenly, all those everyday things that I took for granted — the food that appeared miraculously on time, the clothes that were immaculately ironed and the dinners that we ate together, made me nostalgic and brought a smile to my face. I knew I had to cling to those memories to survive the tough days ahead.
Now I can say, spending all those years abroad was only made possible by the fact that I knew there were people waiting for me back home, wanting to celebrate my achievements as if they were their own. Today, I live with my parents, not regretting my decision of coming back and settling in India. The Sunday evening cup of tea that I share with them makes me agree with an advertisement when it says that such moments are indeed “priceless”.