Monday, November 28, 2011

Home is where the heart is

Jo bhi main

Kehna chahoon
Barbad kare..
Alfaz mere
Alfaz mere.........

Kabhi mujhe
Lage ki jaise
Sara hi yeh
jahan hai jaadu
Jo hai bhi aur
Nahi bhi hai yeh
Fiza, Ghata, Hawa, Baharein
Ishare yeh..
Kahani main innki......

Do you know that there maybe times when you long for something with every fibre of your existence and when you actually have it you may feel a sense of loss? The feeling is not unknown to me. funny thing this heart is... why does it keep longing for things, places and people?

I have been longing for my second home a lot in the past few months, can you guess the place? Bangalore it is... the place is absolutely mystical and i have had too intense an affair with her to never really get over her... love her, hate her but you surely can never get over her. As a student when I was there I would long for home that it kind of overshadowed every possible emotion I may have had for this beautiful city. As my flight took off for home, for what I thought was for good, I knew I was never going to return to it EVER!! Fate always smiles at my silly absurd ways!! For I was back within months.

The next time my flight took off from Bangalore, the thoughts that were rampant was that I will be back, tears were hardly contained, as they fell thick and fast. Over the past few months, i have always let my mind wander, I can almost see myself sitting in the CCD at Cunningham Road, feeling the cold winter wind on my face sipping coffee with Ranjini. I can almost feel that hot gravel beneath my feet as I walked barefoot to ISCKON temple. I can smell the rich smell of coffee as I used to place my order saying "Anna ondu coffee". I remember haggling with the autowallahs "Anna Brigade road Bartira?!" i remember the silent tears, emotions creating a havoc as the heart longed for the One. Now with the longed one around, the realization of impermanence makes me long for the place i call home.

Home is not Kolkata anymore. The room is still mine, I still wake up to my dad's call for "kachouri for breakfast" when I am home. I still sleep on the veranga railing after waking up in the morning. I still sit slouched on the bed frantically flipping channels trying to play memory game with myself trying to remember all the channels. Mom feeds me, dad fusses around, Roshni (my niece) hangs around me as if I will dissapear if she blinks, sister laments on my inactive life, same boring calls to relatives. Yes its home but for holidays.

So what is home? Is it a city?  a house? a place which has your loved ones? The concept of home has been plaguing me like a nightmare that I cannot forget. More than what I am doing with life, where is home is the thought that plagues me. Its not about how many friends you have around, its not about family members you have around, its not about the appliances you have, or the fancy house you have. Its a place you call home, its a shelter, its where you are you, with kohl smudged eyes, chapped lips, stained tee or frayed shorts or face full of black heads. Home is where every chore seems wonderful, every dime saved goes into buying a thing or two, home is where the heart is at peace, the mind is at ease and where fears of tomorrow is laid rest; heartbreaks are acknowledged, demons are fought and won over, in times of strife and failure the phonix rises from its ashes. Home is where the heart is.

1 comment:

Su said...

i love it!