Home to me
is the smell of sambar wafting through the air on a Sunday morning.
is the sound of the pressure cooker going off for the fifth time,
the sound of my grandma shouting at me to turn it off.
it’s the sight of a bookshelf overflowing with books
Home is lying in my mother’s lap as she strokes my hair.
Home is going to second-hand bookstores despite my already filled shelves.
Home is going out at midnight just to get a plate of Biryani.
Home is warmth and comfort,
like the giant bowl of rasam
that somehow dissolves all your problems.
Home is this,
but somehow, home is so much more.
Home is waking up at 6:30 to grab breakfast before class.
Home is skipping the food court to get that plate of pasta
Home is going to the library to study
and ending up in the fiction section.
Home is crying over missed assignments
Home is pulling all-nighters to ace a test
Home is having the people you love by your side.
Home is the irony of Nostalgia.
It’s a twisted thing.
You can never quite find peace in where you are but you can always find peace in the fact that you’re going back home someday soon.
Salekha Reddy for MTTN
Featured image: Sudarshan