A few days back, I saw a photo on Social media, on a friend's timeline. It made me think, of "home". Now, Home is a concept I could never really grasp fully. For me hometown and home were never synonymous. My home always had heartbeats. My home always had a comfort, that is beyond the bricks and walls and "homely food".
Recently, while I was watching Little Things, season 3, on Netflix, I came to know a term "Happy place". I could relate to it. I know how does it feel to have a happy place, away from the hometown. I often discuss with one friend, how he has roots while I prefer wings. He once said, my root was my Mother, and may be that's why I don't want to acknowledge my hometown as my home. I later asked myself, is that so? The answer came from inside, No. My mother was my home, and not the house.
Home, means comfort. While sometimes (very rarely though) I feel like visiting my hometown, but it is never for comfort. There's a burden, that bothers me. I feel scared, when I see that everyone around me, know me. I dread that.
In Indian society, people take high grounds, when they visit hometown more frequently, than other people. We have been criticized for not visiting hometown frequently. I discussed with my man, are we at the wrong here? Then we concluded, No. We are just different from those, that's it. We don't judge them for their actions, but they do. Somehow, that's not nice.
Home, is a feeling, I get when I am on road. When I forget about the worries for a few moments. When I can sleep without bothering about the alarm clock the next morning. Where I can drink a bottle of wine and not bother about the tasks in hand, next morning. Home is, anywhere, with the heartbeats of favorite people (2 and 4 legged both).
Life, after all is a journey and may be, I am still searching for a brick n wall kinda home. However, I have my doubts, that I may not be able to find that ever in my life. I don't mind the journey though.
