Sick for home?

My wife, Kamini, is always a little bewildered and amused when I tell her that I am feeling home sick. ‘‘But I am with you,’’ she says with growing exasperation, ‘‘how can you feel home sick’’? But home sickness means more than missing your wife or family.

It means missing home and for me that means missing Mumbai. Saul Bellow has one of his characters, I think it was Humboldt, say that I spent most of my time in Paris thinking of Chicago and most of my time in Chicago thinking about Paris.

Those who do not love Mumbai fail to comprehend the buzz the city can give you. What can I say about Mumbai? Firstly that it is unique; secondly, that for all its faults it still pats you on the back when you occasionally do a good job and understands when you call in sick on the day of the Brazil-England quarter final.

It chuckles when you complain bitterly about Seaman being out of his line when Ronaldinho made that fateful kick. Despite being a Brazil fan, it empathises with you when you tell it that your World Cup got over with that thud in the English net. You cannot believe that you who are always complaining about work, are actually missing work.

You are suddenly missing your colleagues who are always trying to get the better of you. You miss your favourite newspapers, your favourite TV channels and your favourite magazines. You start missing the continuous political intrigue and the vacillation of the stock markets. What happens is that after three weeks you start missing everything that you were trying to get away from in the first place when you embarked on your holiday.

Of course, there is a cure. Even the common cold has a cure. The simple cure is to come back home and presto your home sickness is gone. But you cannot keep coming back home every three weeks, I mean think of the jet lag.

So I have now discovered a new remedy. Admittedly, it is a palliative and not a cure. It is the Internet cafe. They are now ubiquitous — even in small European towns. Some time you might even not have to venture out to locate an Internet cafe.

Many hotels in Europe have computers in the lobby which you can use. I activate my hotmail account. I check my e-mail. Friends have taken time out from their busy schedules to drop me a line or two. I reply telling them what is going on. It’s a conversation of sorts. It makes one feel a little less blue.

I log on to samachar dot com and, presto, there is all the news. Mumbai, of course, has its faults but you won’t find me discussing them in a hurry!