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There are three symbolic routines that a man will keep on exhibiting in his actions, repeating them for his whole life: reclaiming the land, rekindling the love and reliving the memories. The land he may never have owned. The love that wasn’t even realized. Memories for which there could be no precedent at all. In Majha, these primal emotions start influencing me too. I feel like putting my ear to the ground or grabbing a fistful of that red soil. I begin hearing the faint tunes of tradition, traces of culture start rushing through my veins. A notion of identity and belonging firms up, as destiny beckons me to chart my own course there.