Breakfast Babble: ED’s own little space on the inter-webs where we gather to discuss ideas and get pumped up for the day. We judge things too. Sometimes. Always. Whatever, call it catharsis and join in people.
Just so everyone knows. The feature image is merely a representative one. That’s not me in the pic nor do any of us have that gorgeous blonde hair.
Home. A word, a place that brings up a lot of emotions in a lot of people. Is it where one was born in, one grew up in, one began their family in or something else or more?
It has a lot of different meanings for a lot of different people. And it raises a lot of different emotions too. Home. What does that word do for me? I honestly can’t say.
Over my 24 years on earth, I didn’t have a settled place or city I would live in. My parents are Malayali, and I grew up in Delhi. I did most of my schooling in Gujarat and Kerala, finished law school in Delhi and did my Master’s in Durham, UK.
Now, I sit munching on Walker’s chips and Madeleines in London. What a displaced life, right? Now, what would I call home? Honestly, I dunno.
Read: Breakfast Babble: Sunday Mornings and Growing Old
I don’t need a city or a place or a house to call home. That’s not what it is supposed to be, right? It is supposed to be a place where you make memories, a place you find heartbreaking to even say goodbye to.
Do I have such a place? No, I don’t. Does that make me a bad person, an unsympathetic, emotionless robot?
Well, you’re free to judge me. I think not. For me, home is wherever my family is. My parents, my grandparents, my friends and family, even my dogs. My bond is with them, and all my life and memories are tied to them. I may not have a home in the conventional, brick and cement sense of the word. But, I have a home wherever my family is.
My home is where my parents are. It is where my grandparents live in Kerala. It is wherever my friends choose to make bad decisions and go on a night of binge-drinking. It is wherever my dog chooses to do his business. Sry, that sounded oddly touching in my head.
This is perhaps why I have this odd tendency to correct people, without offering an explanation, when they ask me, Do I miss home? I miss my family, my friends and all that great home-cooked food. That’s all I care for and miss.
Image Sources: Google Images
