Homes...

mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

be it ever so humble, there's no place like home*

Home.. it's a very emotional word.. almost sacred.. in many ways... I have no home.. not in the physical sense that most people are used to... this is yet the story of my many homes.. the bundle of emotions that come with that and expectations of the future...

may be surrounded by
a million people I
still feel all alone
just wanna go home...**

The home I first remember had bee hives and plastic pools and a vegetable garden, I have vaguememories of picking beans and uprooting radish... The rest fades away in a sense of swirling brown furniture and some white walls... I don't know what became of it.. maybe someday I'll go back to it... 

There was a another home.. it was larger and more airy and I recall harmonium lessons... but that's most of it...

The home I grew up in.. in Jangpura - B is gone.. well it's still there but its been transformed into something ugly and functional... this home... my home went through many physical transformations.. yet it holds the only sense of home for me.. of standing still.. of belonging... I grew up here.. two decades worth of life, school friends and girl friends.. tents and beds, cupboards and wall posters, collages and carpets.. nights spends and days and afternoons, meals and parties.. birthdays and get-togethers.. many years of becoming who I am.. shaped in this abode.. yet.. today it is no more.. it was and will always be only in my mind the way I want it to be.. my home my only real home.. exists now only as a figment of my own mind.. 

After this my life has been a plethora of apartments.. 

Chennai.. three years three apartments.. Wallace Garden, Kilpauk and Harrington Road.. three makeshift lives, in three different stages, no real attachments.. you move from place to place taking with you little symbols of yourself.. books, curios, quilts and other scatterings, trying desperately to personalise an impersonal space.. trying to make it something you can call home.. very personally.. in a strange land.. in a new place.. you struggle to create a space of familiarity.. of comfort.. to come back to..

Bombay.. two years and two apartments.. different stages same building, same job.. you reach the city of dreams.. the one you always were drawn towards.. towards it's soul.. and you create again.. after being uprooted.. a sense of space you can climb into at the end of the evening.. to sink into a large beanbag and smoke a sheehsee and watch tele.. an look around the four walls.. bear now.. company accommodation... where someone else has been and someone else will be.. and while its yours.. you try your best to fortify that sense of mine..

Another aeroplane, another sunny place,
I'm lucky I know
but I wanna go home**

and between Chennai and Bombay... Gurgaon.. a beautiful home.. yet almost a guest house.. no time.. short visits.. by the time the sense of belonging grew it was always time to leave.. year after year time after time.. no time.. a home needs time.. time to belong.. to share.. to experience.. to create memories which you can carry.. on..

Delhi.. home again.. in some ways.. and in many more ways.. back to Nizz and the familiar.. another attempt of transplanting your life form one set of four walls to another and another struggle to adjust... but this time it was different.. human.. there was much more to coming home to this home than ever before.. thank you my hobbit.. for in some ways a real home after so long.. you can try as much as you like to personalise your space with as much of yourself but the only thing that makes it truly personal are the memories and love.. and the memories of love.. and for that.. you need someone.. to share that space with you.. truly.. and that makes it home.. people not just you care about and care for, but those you love, home is about being loved where you are... in some ways...

another year.. more travel, more apartments, Singapore & Ithaca, Nanyang Heights and Maplewood.. smaller rooms, more impersonal this time.. almost transitional almost knowledge that this time don't invest emotionally in this space.. it is transient.. passing..

and into a new tomorrow.. forward always onwards.. to a new home, to create a new home, somewhere else, another little haven a sense of slipping back into the familiar.. into that little comfort zone.. and again with someone.. with love.. with the one i love..

Let me go home
it'll all be alright
I'll be home tonight
I'm coming back home**

so many homes.. and none... homeless almost... but yet hopeful... 

*cf: John Howard Payne, 1823

**cf: Home, Michael Buble