It’s been five years since I moved out of India. I’ve been back twice since, but this time felt different.
I had been feeling out of place, even when surrounded by everything familiar. A sense of fragmentation, like bits and pieces of all my past selves were scattered across the years, and I couldn’t quite put them back together.
Then, amidst all the noise of everyday life, I found my Honda Activa — a simple scooter I hadn’t ridden in so long. I used to spend hours on it, weaving through the chaotic streets of the city, feeling the wind rush past, carrying all my emotions with it.
Every ride on that Activa was a memory etched deep — a whole timeline of moments. I’d ridden it home after heartbreak, feeling the sting of tears hidden behind my helmet. I’d left home on it after explosive fights with my parents, feeling like I’d never return. Each ride was a moment frozen in time, each journey a reminder of a different version of me — strong, scared, lost, hopeful. It feels strange to say that my scooter carried all the fragmented parts of my life.
This time, though, I was scared to get back on. The traffic felt overwhelming, chaotic, almost symbolic of my life’s mess. I avoided it for days. But one evening, when everything just felt too loud and too heavy, I decided to give it a try. I pushed myself to start the engine, and within moments, I was there again — the rush of the city, the breeze against my skin, the smell of rain on the earth, the familiar hum of the engine. It was like no time had passed.
I felt everything all at once — pain, joy, heartache, love. As I rode, it was as if all those fractured pieces of me were finally fitting together. It was just me, my Activa, and the crowded fractured, pot-hole-ridden road ahead, the thick canopies of Bengaluru tree, and in that moment, I felt whole. I scribbled it down in my sketchbook when I got back, trying to capture that feeling of unexpected peace in the simplest of things.
But now, back in Canada, my Activa isn’t here. It’s a piece of home I left behind, and without it, I’m trying to discover something equivalent, something that can bring me the same sense of calm and connection.
I haven’t found it yet, and maybe I won’t find the exact same feeling, but I’m open to the search. It’s a little unsettling to realize that what once grounded me is now miles away, but it also pushes me to look for new moments of peace in this new chapter.
We all have that one thing — something small that brings us back to ourselves when everything feels too much. It might be riding an old bike, sitting by the ocean, painting, cooking your comfort meal, or even just getting lost in a favorite book. It’s not about fixing anything but finding a sliver of calm amid the chaos. It’s about feeling every broken and beautiful part of you and letting that be enough.
So, what’s your Activa? What’s that one thing that grounds you, that connects all the versions of you?
Take a moment to find it, or maybe rediscover it. It might not fix everything, but it could be that little piece of home you didn’t know you needed. And when you find it, hold onto it.
Because sometimes, in the simplest things, we find our way back to ourselves.
Joy & light,
Shruti.
My Activa is walking the neighborhood, and I lost my Activa too because I'm too fatigued to do it much lately. And it's hard, I mourn it. I hope we both find a new Activa in our lives until we can get our old one back. (if!)
I don’t know about old one, but plenty of possibilities to find something else. In your case, I understand. Some days I’m too fatigued to get off the couch. Pain can change us in ways we don’t expect. But! There are pockets of moments where I can do a modified version of things I used to enjoy. Maybe, walk to the porch and watch the rain, keep my bare feet rooted in grass for a few minutes. Hug a tree…. And I know you’ll find your own way there.