For the better part of my life, I have known only one city. The city I grew up in, did my schooling in. I went to college here too. I've been navigating the same ways I've known all my life. I may have been born in Hyderabad, but Trivandrum is the city I hold closer to my heart - I take comfort in the warmth it provides (though of late it has been getting a bit too warm for my liking).

As the city dons its darker pyjamas, I realise I may have seen the last bit of light that Trivandrum glistens in. I must prepare myself for my eventual departure - something I'd always looked forward to but never got the time to prepare myself for. The clock on the wall of my room is now my only source of entertainment, each tick bringing me closer to a new chapter in my life. I haven't finished packing, to soothe a part of me that now hopes that not packing will somehow alter the path awaiting me. Change is something I have seldom accepted, but now I must befriend. I leave in the morrow, but I can't sleep tonight. I don't know what I'm overwhelmed by, but I sense the sweet poison of nostalgia kicking in. For once, I allow myself to indulge in it.

There are many things I haven't done, despite being here for 20 years. I'm going away too quickly to even draw up a checklist, which would otherwise have included a drive to Ponmudi in the morrow, a ride on a double-decker bus, a day out with friends at the Punchakkary toddy shop. At the same time, I'm content with whatever I have seen and experienced. Having regrets would only make it difficult to cut the strings. I now have a new city and language to conquer.

The orange hues of the heavens await my ascent into their abode as I watch the place grow smaller. The sun waits for to leave before it rises so it can kiss me goodbye one last time, taking my place in this fabulous place that I so dearly consider home. I look out the window to watch my city disappear into the clouds like it's slipping into a dream. As it blends into the horizon, I tell myself, "Here's looking at you, kid."