12th Aug 2020

Dearest Palak,

A querencia is a place the bull naturally wants to go to in the ring, a preferred locality… It is a place which develops in the course of the fight where the bull makes his home. It does not usually show at once, but develops in his brain as the fight goes on. In this place he feels that he has his back against the wall and in his querencia he is inestimably more dangerous and almost impossible to kill.

– Ernest Hemingway, Death in the Afternoon

The Spanish word “querencia”, derived from the verb “quere” – to desire or want, is a metaphysical concept that means a place where a person feels relaxed, strong and safe. It is a place where he feels at home.

It is not necessarily a true home or a space. It can be anything, maybe a dream or a mountain, a thought, an activity or even a person.

Every person needs a querencia. Maybe he hasn’t found it yet. Or maybe he has; it’s just that he still doesn’t recognize it to be his querencia. But everyone needs something from which they need to derive their will to survive, their strength to live. So, deep inside, I believe man always searches for his querencia.

I remember back when I was in Silchar and used to stay with my uncle and his family, every evening we would return home from work together.

The house didn’t have a parking space. So, my uncle would drop me at the entrance of our street, then drive another half mile to park his car at a friend’s place.

He would then light a couple of cigarettes standing there in the dark – and I know it because I had followed him one day – and then take a slow walk back home, where his complaining wife and his excited son of three years would be waiting for him.

My uncle, a very dedicated telecom engineer, used to work for around 16-17 hours a day. More than love, it was, I feel, a certain kind of sincere responsibility that he felt towards his job. He was extremely serious and when you are serious about what you do, it is bound to engulf you whether you want it or not. It kills a part of you….

A vicious cycle of making reports, supervising the functionalities of telecom towers, ensuring network uptime, yelling at his juniors and getting yelled by his seniors kept him under constant pressure. It was tiring and I knew he was tired. But there was no way out. With a wailing wife and a growing child at home – both of whom he had chosen, he could not just leave everything.

But he wished, even if it’s just a passing thought that we are conditioned not to entertain, to free himself from these shackles of life. He wanted to escape.

And probably that’s why, after a long day at office and before getting sucked into the expectations and practicalities of what we call ‘home’, he would take a break for a few minutes, burn a couple of cigarettes, standing in the dark, after parking his car at his friend’s place.

I believe that brief moment in the days of my uncle was his querencia.

It might sound sad and all but I think that’s where the beauty of the concept of querencia lies. You need to be a little damaged to appreciate it.

And I have always found damaged people beautiful.

Maybe “beautiful” isn’t the right word. It’s just that they have this uncanny talent of looking at things in the most bizarre way…

I remember I once shared an auto with a stranger on my way home from office. With all my abilities to write ‘feel-good’ stories, deep inside I am a cynical person. I feel cynical especially when I see good things happening… I always think, “There’s a catch…” In fact, I hope against all hopes that things will go wrong.

The huge, rogue looking guy was reeking of alcohol and weed at 7 in the evening and the cynical part of me sensed trouble.

And the guy sensed my discomfort…

“I am a bit high… like every day,” he said. “But there is nothing to be scared of me.” He lit a cigarette. I lit my own.

We were stuck in the traffic near the Forum Mall.

He threw his cigarette outside and said, “Usually, it (the cigarette) gets over when I reach near the Adugodi Police Station. I think the traffic is exceptionally high today…” He paused.

Then he started again, “Even three months ago, an unexpected heavy traffic like today would have made me extremely happy. It meant more time to spend with my girl… stuck in the traffic. That used to be the only time of the day we could spend together, holding each other’s hand. Those 30 minutes every day was such a power-booster for me. Now all I have left are these smokes…”

Dramatic and sad.

I smiled and passed my cigarette to him…

I realized I don’t want anything destructive to be my querencia. Writing letters to you is enough. That’s my home, my querencia.

With love, hugs and other things,
P