I had lived and and worked in India for years, but the turning point came when there was a flutter in my heart. I missed somebody I had met in Kolkata, who lived in Washington and wanted me to join her there.

When I mentioned the idea to my parents, who liked her, they supported the idea.

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It took me a lot more time to discover that my father, to whom I was close, was upset at the idea of my living so far away from him.

Over dinner one night, when he remarked that Heaven alone knew when he would see me again, I chose to tackle the subject head on.

“Even while I am in India,” I said, “I travel a lot, and you don’t always get to see me. Travel to the US is no greater barrier. I can always come and visit you in India. You too can visit me in Washington.”

“That is true,” he conceded, “but you are leaving your home here. You may not find it that easy to stay in touch.”

He was right. I got busy with my new job in the US, my travels were mostly in North America and the plan to visit India kept getting deferred. To tell the truth, settling down in my new life also seemed a higher priority than a nostalgic visit to my friends and family.

I tried to make up for it by writing long letters to my parents and making expensive long- distance calls to my father. He always said he missed me, but never asked when he would see me again. He was always a thoughtful and considerate man.

He was also an active and healthy person. So it was quite unexpected that a cable came to say that a surgery he had to undergo suddenly had gone badly and his condition was getting worse. I was travelling and never knew about it. Nor did I know about a second cable from my brother suggesting an immediate visit because my father’s condition was cr itical. When I returned to my apartment Saturday morning, a third cable had just been delivered. He had passed away the night before.

Suddenly all my immediate priorities seemed quite meaningless. I found I could not think clearly. I felt helpless, at a loss to know what to do next. I ambled out of the apartment building. I hadn’t even noticed that it was snowing. My glasses soon became opaque. I trudged on pointlessly, the realization slowly dawning that the past that I had so complacently taken for granted had forever slipped out of my reach.

I had irrevocably left home.

The writer is a Washington-based international development advisor and had worked with the World Bank. He can be reached at mnandy@gmail.com