Strings of tiny lights shone around the three-story house in the dim evening light. A large canopy decorated with garlands of marigolds and jasmines stood next to it. Inside the canopy, other than the hustle –bustle that a wedding usually witnesses, there was the whispering sounds that a tussar kurta makes every time it rubs on the crisp dhuti, the vases of blooming rajnigandha, the brightness from the yards and yards of silk and dhakai draped by the guests and the sounds of the shehnai in the backdrop.
Where is home?
I have always struggled in my mind and searched my heart for the right answer whenever confronted with that question.
“Home is here,” I tell the lady at Starbucks who has picked up a conversation with me because the barista is brewing a fresh batch.
“No, I meant where did you grow up? ” she asks after she has told me about her recent trip to New Delhi and her upcoming trip to Bangalore.
“Many different places, I have never been at a place for long. This is home now.”
“How many (places)? ”
It always seems very interesting to people when you tell them you have been through 8 schools from elementary to high, you have lived in few different places in the course of it.