There is a sweet attachment that one has with the place they hail from. Be it a great big city or a small town. Geographically, be it of immense importance or simply lost on the map. You belong to the place and now, it dwells within you somehow.
The sweet nostalgia when you saunter through the streets of the town. I live away but I still call it my home. I might have spent a substantial amount of time in this other lovely city but it will never be home to me.
When asked, “Where are you leaving for?”
I always answer, “Home”
‘Coming home’ is a feeling and this place gives me just that.
Strolling through the market, the shop-owner gives me a bright smile and slips an extra chocolate in my grocery bag. He recognizes the small girl he once knew and I guess she is still the same for him.
In the pitch dark sky, I see thousands and thousands of stars twinkling as I lay on my terrace for hours. The sound of crickets and occasional cries of the peacock from the jungle, mingle with the silence that warmly wraps my home atop the hill.
As I put up some little twinkling lights in my garden and look at my parents sitting, sipping tea…the corners of their eyes wrinkling with laughter…I certainly know that this is HOME.