Home is where I long to be! Where is my home?

Home is where you return to at the end of a tiring day, and when you have had enough of wandering with your friends. Home is where the door is perpetually open for you to enter and waits for you patiently. And does not question why you are late, but is glad that you have returned to it even as the night seems to pass. Home – cannot be defined.

It has been almost seven years since I left my home. Trust me, I have been hopping from one locale to another nest, but solace has not been found. The smile on ma's face to see me come back unhurt, her anger coated concern that brings tears to my eyes now, and the cold cold coffee that always used to welcome me, cruelly tortures me every day. Narrating to her the events of the day and her responding always optimistically, if I say I miss, will be an understatement. Never telling me I am wrong but supporting me to correct it. Sitting on the kitchen slab while she cooked and tasting her curries till they were ready to be served. I love sharing those extremely feminine topics of love and romance, of abuse and womanhood, of nail-paints and skirts, of studies and career, with you Ma.

Home is where Baba never questions where I am off to in my pretty new dress and pointed high heels, because he trusts his daughter more than trust itself. But waits with his car outside the club to pick me up even at 12 in the night. Baba adores me in spite of our daily squabbles, arguments, poles-apart view points, and my stubborn-ness to do what I feel right. He cannot help talking to me even after a major 'fight'. Baba wants to ensure that I sleep peacefully every night, and am successful and happy in my every endeavor, so what if I chose it and he did not opt it for me. Baba, home is where I know you recline on the sofa every evening, lazily sipping your coffee and munching on the chanachur with moori.

Home is where Tini runs to me to show me her new pink pencil, and warns me not to dare use it. And I secretly open the cupboard, steal her new-est red kurta and jeans, wear it sheepishly, and then make her curse me aloud. Tini's chasing me with a knife, and my hiding behind Ma, her sharing experiences of college, my giving her long lectures on how to lead a good life, by the middle of which she usually dozes off. Home is where we fight like two cats and then snuggle and sleep on the same bed. In the midst of our bickering, our ego clashes, sibling rivalry and jealousy, home is where we know we are two bodies but same soul.

Cutu is my home. And so is Rocky and Chi-chi. Home is my mango tree with no fruits and roses that are pink. Home is where I walk carefree in the garden and sleep in the sun.

Seven years, and no home. I return to a house every evening since I left home. With the hope one day I shall have a home again, I sleep every night, with my home safely locked in my heart.