Home

Home. The very word conjures up an image so evocative of a secured feeling. A feeling surpassing most other feelings. A place where one can be just himself, no pretensions, no affectations.

Home is not merely four walls. Home reminds me of my mother, the kitchen her domain...the smell of food…its all permeating flavour of the spices and condiments….all those deeply ingrained aroma. Home is also a place, which makes me think of my father, his table, his books and his ever-familiar spectacles. Picking up his books, I feel nostalgic going back into time when he used to teach me. His no-nonsense attitude, his firm voice all invade my mind and heart it ceases to matter that he is no more. His very thought wherever I am, feels home.

My corner, my bed, my books, my music and all those silly stuff collected over the years bring back sweet memories of the times gone by. Certain music playing in the background, certain books, those familiar books read long time back, the feel of it these and the old musty smell of the olden golden books of bygone era induces such feelings of familiarity. My art paraphernalia, those canvasses, those sketches charcoal pieces and stubs of pencils are all my domain and home for me wherever I am.

Those lanes and by lanes where I used to play with my siblings and friends; on hot summer days or cold wintry ones, sharing secrets, fighting for supremacy. And now, drinking endless cups of coffee or tea, or just hanging out doing nothing, gossiping to no end or just silences, which speak volumes. Cool winds during summer evenings, cooling the heated skin or the warm sun on a cold winter day are so welcoming. The feel and smell of nature…its beauty, filled with joy and laughter, filled with memories, sharing, caring….are all home for the restless soul residing within me.

Children running to you, touching hesitatingly, hugging with gusto and their sweet smiles, their innocent chatter, giving us a purpose and security. And isn’t that feeling akin to home?

Love is home and home is love. After a long day of work, long leisurely bath, dinner with family or close friends. Can any feeling compare with that? And does it matter where we are? Home is when all of us….sister and brothers…get together with our respective families, at the drop of a hat, just like that, having an impromptu session of card game or board game with not a care in the world. Laughing, getting across each other understanding, anticipating perfectly the others’ move and preparing for it accordingly.

A blissful dreamless sleep after a hard days work, waking up fresh, rising and shining is home.

Home too for me is open spaces, open minds, open thoughts and letting those thought infuse me. Being with friends, talking about those times long gone just chilling, relaxing with them. My family, my friends, and all the love I have for them and all the love they have for me is indeed home for me. They are the ones who love you unreservedly. Wanting the best for you, encouraging you. They are there at the times of need, at the time of adversity and are there to share your happiness too. Their very presence soothes you; their very thoughts calm you, giving one a sense of belonging and feeling of being at home.

Not a big house, material possessions, mere thoughts of those who are so close bringing a smile to our faces and those who touch us in some way or other, is what is home for me.

We search for roots but we are by nature, wanderers how can we have roots? Home is where the heart is. It can be anywhere: inside a house, a movie hall, open spaces, under a tree or just a tiny corner….does not matter where.

Sense of freedom, unadulterated by material possessions, breaking those shackles of bondage and being one with our maker and us is home in the truest sense.

(c)gautami.tripathy
~Feb 2006
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