The welcome smell as soon as you walk past the air curtain of a department store you've been shopping from since you were four,
Orange tongues from orange ice lollies after school that painted your tongue in the colour of the happiness they could afford you,memories at the cost of five rupees saved up carefully.The warmth of dosa melting in your mouth and other everyday phenomena
you almost cannot bid adieu to.
The streets where you never quite learnt how to ride a bicycle without training wheels,
and the shadows of the looming neem tree outside your bedroom window sighed goodnight
with the wind as you fell asleep,The monsoon clouds that stand testimony to all the years in school,spent watching out of the classroom,all those afternoons you longed to go home and read ,undisturbed, into the evening.Your friend's terrace where you watched a fraction of the city,countless times with dreamy eyes and that coziness is something you cannot replace.All those hours of sitting on the swing set,talking about everything under the sky.
You're not going to miss the place as much as what growing up meant in it,the good,the bad,the mediocrity of it all.You're going to miss it because you will desire the streets and the people and the simplicity for what they used to be,but they grew up,and so did you.
