Where our story begins is home– home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts..
We all grew up with the dream of leaving home, as a kid running behind moving trains and flying aeroplanes, thinking of soaring high and finding a home, faraway from where we started. But somewhere between the wild goose chase we would have changed the dream to come back home. Everything begins within a home, we always think about the four walls, a roof and find comfort by recollecting the image of our house.
I do have a comfortable place to call my own, I still cannot understand why i can’t call it my home but when i come back to my place and open the door at the end of the day, there is no life welcoming me back. It is my escape room for sure, a hideout of my own, i do have comfort, freedom but i don’t find the warmth and love that my home reverberates .But the thought of going back to hometown always kept me cheerful, especially to think of sleeping on my bed and to walk barefoot on the terrace, tending to plants and the list is never ending.
But recently when i went home, my amma was not there for a couple of days and when i opened the gate, i couldn’t see the usual light in the kitchen or her head through the window, and there was no sound of clattering vessels or any aroma to satiate my prolonged hunger or simply there was no life that was pulling me in. It did not feel home at all, after all this was my home.
I suddenly felt to run away from there and i felt i don belong here, what am i doing in this building, where is my warmth and comfort that this place should have offered. I felt lost and in a couple of days, my home came back to me, walking in two feet, with wide arms and in few minutes the place was filled with life. It was not to my bed i wanted to go home too, it was to the bed my amma made that i wanted to go home too. There is a huge difference, we don’t want to go back to those buildings in the street we grew up, we want to go back to the person with whom we built our life.
Coming back home is a feeling and most of the times it is not a building, it is a heart that beats for you. To call my place a home i have to build it with a person and then when i come back and open the doors one day i will again find my home faraway from where i started.