Home

Visiting our home after years, and i wonder. What is this thing we call home? Of bricks, walls, rooms and furniture? Or what?? Home is yes the tangible bricks and walls. Home is also the myriad intangible things.

Home is the sights that surround us, the ashoka tree and asbestos roof, the endless motta maadi, the long passage that used to alight a special “train vedi” for diwali, the sunset that the sky adorns faithfully every single day;

Home is those smells, of pulikachal, of kadugu popping in sesame oil, of hay that smells of dry cow dung, of familiar cologne, of breastmilk, of dirty diapers, of clean soap and disinfectants, of the enna kathrikkai, of coolant aged over the night shift that doesn’t go off your dress;

Home is the sounds, of prayer, of kids chattering, of dhadi thatha’s morning bells, of cows mooing, of cooker whistles, of the rooster calling out, of crows cawing; 

Home is the memories, of motta madi vathal, of walks to the beach and getting drenched in the waves, of thatha carrying me on his shoulder to the temple and getting kalkandu, of mama taking me up the tallest jungle gym and me screaming my lungs inside out, of growing up, of the pillow tower between Nithya’s and my side of the bed, of stealing badam from the neighbor’s tree, of friendships, of love, of heartbreaks, of finding purpose

Home is the people, too many, who make us smile, laugh, giggle, who make us cry out of so much joy, give us goosebumps, make us angry, make us feel inadequate, who make us raise our voice, who make us keep mum, who laugh and cry with us, and those who are there, there in silence.

Home is here, there and everywhere you reside, belong, and be you. Home is where the heart is. 

Cheers,

Hopie