DSC02670Home is the sight of the familiar, the known, the practised.
Home is the comfort of being in one’s city, traversing through routes so oft-travelled that conscious thought is unnecessary, shopping at stores where the eyes of vendors widen slightly in recognition on seeing you, reading one’s mother-tongue on every passing billboard and poster.
Home is the hostel where one’s sister lives, the college in which she studies – because they remind you of her.
Home is the apartment with no gardens and new, uncomfortable furniture that holds all your expectations of happiness because it houses your parents, even if it’s located an ocean’s length away.
Home is the wisp of a song, the whiff of a scent, known in happier days.
Home is the clean, empty house waiting for a tenant, even if it taunts one with its echoing loneliness – because it contains too many memories of daily life lived,to be otherwise.
Home is the sight of a friend, the help of a loved one whom one had thought lost forever, when most in need.
Home is the knowledge of self, and the self-esteem and self-knowledge that is a prerequisite for a happy and trustful nature to survive everywhere, and anywhere.


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